THE Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home.
First with brooms, then with dusters; then on ladders and steps and chairs, with a
brush and a pail of whitewash; till he had dust in his throat and eyes, and splashes of
whitewash all over his black fur, and an aching back and weary arms. Spring was
moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his
dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing. It was small
wonder, then, that he suddenly flung down his brush on the floor, said 'Bother!' and 'O
blow!' and also 'Hang springcleaning!' and bolted out of the house without even
waiting to put on his coat.
Something up above was calling him imperiously, and he made for the steep little
tunnel which answered in his case to the gravelled carriage-drive owned by animals
whose residences are nearer to the sun and air. So he scraped and scratched and
scrabbled and scrooged and then he scrooged again and scrabbled and scratched and
scraped, working busily with his little paws and muttering to himself, 'Up we go! Up
we go!' till at last, pop! his snout came out into the sunlight, and he found himself
rolling in the warm grass of a great meadow.
'This is fine!' he said to himself. 'This is better than whitewashing!' The sunshine struck
hot on his fur, soft breezes caressed his heated brow, and after the seclusion of the
cellarage he had lived in so long the carol of happy birds fell on his dulled hearing
almost like a shout. Jumping off all his four legs at once, in the joy of living and the
delight of spring without its cleaning, he pursued his way across the meadow till he
reached the hedge on the further side.
'Hold up!' said an elderly rabbit at the gap. 'Sixpence for the privilege of passing by the
private road!' He was bowled over in an instant by the impatient and contemptuous
Mole, who trotted along the side of the hedge chaffing the other rabbits as they peeped
hurriedly from their holes to see what the row was about.
'Onion-sauce! Onion-sauce!' he remarked jeeringly, and was gone before they could
think of a thoroughly satisfactory reply. Then they all started grumbling at each other.
'How stupid you are! Why didn't you tell him-' 'Well, why didn't you say-' 'You might
have reminded him-' and so on, in the usual way; but, of course, it was then much too
late, as is always the case.
It all seemed too good to be true. Hither and thither through the meadows he rambled
busily, along the hedgerows, across the copses, finding everywhere birds building,
flowers budding, leaves thrusting- everything happy, and progressive, and occupied.
