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- Стр. 1/117
Wind in the willows
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
spring-cleaning
!
"
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
did
n't
you
tell
him
--
"
"
Well
,
why
did
n'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
.
And
instead
of
having
an
uneasy
conscience
pricking
him
and
whispering
"
whitewash
!
"
he
somehow
could
only
feel
how
jolly
it
was
to
be
the
only
idle
dog
among
all
these
busy
citizens
.
After
all
,
the
best
part
of
a
holiday
is
perhaps
not
so
much
to
be
resting
yourself
,
as
to
see
all
the
other
fellows
busy
working
.
He
thought
his
happiness
was
complete
when
,
as
he
meandered
aimlessly
along
,
suddenly
he
stood
by
the
edge
of
a
full-fed
river
.
Never
in
his
life
had
he
seen
a
river
before
--
this
sleek
,
sinuous
,
full-bodied
animal
,
chasing
and
chuckling
,
gripping
things
with
a
gurgle
and
leaving
them
with
a
laugh
,
to
fling
itself
on
fresh
playmates
that
shook
themselves
free
,
and
were
caught
and
held
again
.
All
was
a-shake
and
a-shiver
--
glints
and
gleams
and
sparkles
,
rustle
and
swirl
,
chatter
and
bubble
.
The
Mole
was
bewitched
,
entranced
,
fascinated
.
By
the
side
of
the
river
he
trotted
as
one
trots
,
when
very
small
,
by
the
side
of
a
man
who
holds
one
spellbound
by
exciting
stories
;
and
when
tired
at
last
,
he
sat
on
the
bank
,
while
the
river
still
chattered
on
to
him
,
a
babbling
procession
of
the
best
stories
in
the
world
,
sent
from
the
heart
of
the
earth
to
be
told
at
last
to
the
insatiable
sea
.
As
he
sat
on
the
grass
and
looked
across
the
river
,
a
dark
hole
in
the
bank
opposite
,
just
above
the
water
's
edge
,
caught
his
eye
,
and
dreamily
he
fell
to
considering
what
a
nice
,
snug
dwelling-place
it
would
make
for
an
animal
with
few
wants
and
fond
of
a
bijou
riverside
residence
,
above
flood
level
and
remote
from
noise
and
dust
.
As
he
gazed
,
something
bright
and
small
seemed
to
twinkle
down
in
the
heart
of
it
,
vanished
,
then
twinkled
once
more
like
a
tiny
star
.
But
it
could
hardly
be
a
star
in
such
an
unlikely
situation
;
and
it
was
too
glittering
and
small
for
a
glow-worm
.
Then
,
as
he
looked
,
it
winked
at
him
,
and
so
declared
itself
to
be
an
eye
;
and
a
small
face
began
gradually
to
grow
up
round
it
,
like
a
frame
round
a
picture
.
A
brown
little
face
,
with
whiskers
.
A
grave
round
face
,
with
the
same
twinkle
in
its
eye
that
had
first
attracted
his
notice
.
