Chapter 3

"We won't discuss that," Grandfather Mole told him. "And since I don't want to get wet I'm going home.... I hope you'll take good care of my new sunshade. And please don't forget to return it!" he added anxiously.

"I'll leave it right here for you," Mr. Meadow Mouse promised.

Though Grandfather Mole was far from satisfied he crawled into the ground and left Mr. Meadow Mouse to enjoy the rain pattering on the top of the toadstool. And the next day, to his great relief, Grandfather Mole found his sunshade in the same spot. Mr. Meadow Mouse hadn't taken it away. To tell the truth, he had tried to; but he had found that he couldn't move it. Grandfather Mole said it was the first sunshade that a borrower had ever returned to him.

And that was the truth. For he had never owned a sunshade before.

XVI

GRANDFATHER MOLE'S VISITOR

WHATEVER Grandfather Mole's neighbors might say of him, they never could claim that he was lazy. He was always busy. When he wasn't eating or sleeping you could be quite sure that he was digging. He never seemed to be satisfied with his house, but was forever making what he called "improvements." If there was one thing he liked, it was plenty of halls. He had halls running in every direction. And since a person could never tell in which one Grandfather Mole might be, visitors might roam about his dark galleries a long time without finding him.

If anybody happened to point out to Grandfather Mole that his house had such a drawback, Grandfather Mole always answered that he liked his house just as it was and that he wouldn't change it for anything--except to add a few more halls.

He was very set in his ways. He claimed that he wouldn't be comfortable in a house that had maybe only two halls--a front and a back one, as Billy Woodchuck's dwelling was known to contain.

Maybe that was the reason why Grandfather Mole never went visiting. And as for anybody else visiting him--well, what was the use when most likely you never could find him?

Nevertheless there was one of Grandfather Mole's neighbors who called at his house frequently, and for the very reason that he knew he could probably do exactly as he pleased. Far from trying to find Grandfather Mole, Mr. Meadow Mouse always took pains to avoid him. And if by chance he met Grandfather Mole in one of his galleries Mr. Meadow Mouse was always extremely polite--and ready to run at a moment's notice.

During corn-planting time Mr. Meadow Mouse went regularly down into a gallery of Grandfather Mole's that ran under a corner of the cornfield. And somehow he soon grew quite plump.

Now, Grandfather Mole had met Mr. Meadow Mouse two or three times in that particular gallery. And he was not slow to notice that his visitor looked fatter each time he saw him. So one day Grandfather Mole asked Mr. Meadow Mouse bluntly what he was doing there.

"I'm taking a stroll!" Mr. Meadow Mouse told him meekly.

"Be careful"--Grandfather Mole warned him--"be careful that you don't take anything else!"

Trembling slightly (for Grandfather Mole could be terribly severe when he wanted to be) Mr. Meadow Mouse said that he hoped Grandfather Mole didn't mind if a person took a little exercise now and then in those underground halls. "On a warm summer's day it's delightfully cool down here," Mr. Meadow Mouse murmured.

His speech pleased Grandfather Mole.

"I'm glad there's some one that agrees with me!" he exclaimed. "Most people think I'm queer because I like to live underground."

Mr. Meadow Mouse hastened to assure him that _he_ didn't think him queer--not in the least!

"Thank you! Thank you!" Grandfather Mole said. "And since you're a person of more sense than I had supposed you're welcome to ramble through my halls--so long as you don't take anything except exercise and a stroll."

Then it was Mr. Meadow Mouse's turn to thank Grandfather Mole.

"I feel better," he said, "now that you've given me permission to come here. For to tell the truth, I've often felt that I was taking a chance."

So matters went on smoothly for a time. And Mr. Meadow Mouse spent hours in the gallery under the cornfield. And he grew fatter every day. Naturally he did not take such pains to dodge Grandfather Mole--after the talk they had had. And when the two met one evening Grandfather Mole stopped Mr. Meadow Mouse.

"There's something I want to say to you," he remarked. "I notice you're looking extremely well-fed. And I hope you're not eating any of my angleworms."

Mr. Meadow Mouse laughed right in Grandfather Mole's face.

"Oh, no!" he replied.

"Nor any of my grubs or bugs?" Grandfather Mole persisted.

"Certainly not!" said Mr. Meadow Mouse, making a wry face as he spoke--for he was rather a dainty person. And then he whispered something to Grandfather Mole.

"Oh!" said Grandfather Mole. "So that's it, eh? Well, I don't mind. I never eat anything of that sort. Take all you want of it!"

XVII

MR. CROW SCOLDS

OLD Mr. Crow was angry with Grandfather Mole.

Now, there was nothing strange about that, because Mr. Crow was always losing his temper. And his neighbors had long since learned not to pay much heed to his scolding. They knew that loud talk never really hurt any one. And generally Mr. Crow forgot a grievance quickly, because he was sure to get angry with somebody else.

There was one matter upon which Mr. Crow was especially touchy. That was corn. If anybody talked about corn-robbers, or even said much about corn as a food, Mr. Crow always lost his temper. And if anybody showed much liking for corn, or meddled in the cornfield, then old Mr. Crow would get so angry that he couldn't speak a pleasant word for days and days.

And now he was enraged because he had reason to believe that Grandfather Mole was eating the corn that Farmer Green had planted.

"He's eating it out of the hills," Mr. Crow told his neighbors.

"Farmer Green sometimes places scarecrows in the cornfield," Jimmy Rabbit remarked. "So why wouldn't it be a good idea to get him to set up a few scaremoles?"

"That wouldn't help any," Mr. Crow said gloomily. Usually the merest mention of a scarecrow sent him into a rage. But now he was too angry with Grandfather Mole to pick a quarrel with any one else. "Grandfather Mole couldn't see a scaremole if he ran head first into it," Mr. Crow continued. "And besides, even if he had eyes to see with, he's working underground. Grandfather Mole has dug galleries that run under the cornfield. And he can get right inside a hill of corn and gobble the seed corn without being seen."

"Then how do you know what Grandfather Mole is doing, when you can't see him?" Jimmy Rabbit inquired.

"The corn isn't coming up as it should," Mr. Crow told him. "So I scratched open a hill myself, to find out what was the matter."

"You didn't find Grandfather Mole, did you?" Jimmy Rabbit cried.

"No!" said Mr. Crow. "And I found no corn, either. But there was one of Grandfather Mole's galleries leading up to the center of the hill. So it's easy to guess where the corn goes."

Since news always travels fast in Pleasant Valley and tales such as Mr. Crow told spread more rapidly than any other, it wasn't long before Mrs. Robin repeated Mr. Crow's remarks in Grandfather Mole's hearing.

"What's that?" he called. "Please say that again!"

"Old Mr. Crow claims that you are eating Farmer Green's seed corn out of the hills," Mrs. Robin said. And she had the grace to grow somewhat red in the face, because it was hardly the sort of thing to say to an old gentleman like Grandfather Mole.

For a few moments Grandfather Mole was silent. He couldn't say a word for himself. And Mrs. Robin whispered to some of her friends that it certainly looked as if Grandfather Mole was guilty.

At last he managed to speak. But it was a most peculiar question that he asked; so far as Mrs. Robin could see, it had absolutely nothing to do with the case:

"If you happen to see Mr. Meadow Mouse, will you tell him that I'd like to have a talk with him?"

XVIII

A TALK WITH MR. MEADOW MOUSE

THE next time she saw Mr. Meadow Mouse Mrs. Robin gave him Grandfather Mole's message. "He says," said she, "he'd like to have a talk with you."

"Does he?" Mr. Meadow Mouse exclaimed. "Now I wonder what he has to say! I returned his umbrella to him, after the rain. So it can't be about that."

"If I wanted to know, I'd go and find Grandfather Mole," Mrs. Robin suggested tartly.

Being a mild sort of person, Mr. Meadow Mouse thanked Mrs. Robin politely, both for the message and for the advice. And then, scampering to a certain spot that he knew, near the fence, he disappeared through an opening into the ground. It was one of Grandfather Mole's doorways. Mr. Meadow Mouse did not hesitate to use it, being one of those fortunate folk that are quite at home anywhere. It made little difference to him whether he was above the ground or in it. And aside from Grandfather Mole and his own family there was no one that knew his way about Grandfather Mole's galleries as well as Mr. Meadow Mouse.

To be sure, he had some trouble in finding the old gentleman, there were so many different passages in which to look for him. But at last Mr. Meadow Mouse met Grandfather Mole in a long tunnel that followed a row of newly planted corn.

"Ah, ha!" Grandfather Mole cried. "There's something I want to say to you."

"So I hear!" Mr. Meadow Mouse replied a bit anxiously, for Grandfather Mole sounded none too pleasant.

"You've been getting me into trouble with old Mr. Crow," Grandfather Mole complained. "He thinks I've been eating the seed corn that Farmer Green planted. And if I told him that it was you that's done it, and that you've been using my galleries to reach the hills of corn, Mr. Crow would never believe what I said."

"It looks bad for you, doesn't it?" said Mr. Meadow Mouse more cheerfully.

Somehow his remark displeased Grandfather Mole.

"You'd better be careful what you say!" he warned Mr. Meadow Mouse. "If you make me angry it will go hard with you."

Now, Grandfather Mole was known to be a terrible fighter when aroused. And Mr. Meadow Mouse had no liking for a fight with any one. So he moved backward a few steps and made ready to run.

"I'm sorry if I have caused you trouble," he said. "Couldn't you explain to Mr. Crow that you have tunnelled into the hills of corn in order to catch the grubs that would eat the corn if you didn't eat them first? Can't you tell him that you are helping the corn crop, instead of ruining it?"

Grandfather Mole shook his head.

"You're not much acquainted with Mr. Crow," he replied. "If he has made up his mind that I'm stealing corn nothing I could say would change his opinion."

"Can't I help you in some way?" Mr. Meadow Mouse asked. "I'd do almost anything, because you've let me use your galleries."

Grandfather Mole pondered for a time.

"Perhaps there is a way you can help," he said at last. "If you'll manage somehow to let Mr. Crow catch you in one of these hills, with your mouth full of corn, he'd know that you were the guilty party."

Mr. Meadow Mouse paled at the thought of such a situation. And his legs shook beneath him. "Oh! I--I couldn't do that!" he stammered. "Can't you think of some other way?"

"Yes, I can!" Grandfather replied. "I'll let him catch me in a hill of corn."

"With corn in your mouth?" Mr. Meadow Mouse inquired eagerly.

"No!" said Grandfather Mole. "With _you_ in my mouth!" When he chose, Grandfather Mole could be very spry. And as he said those words he made a quick rush toward Mr. Meadow Mouse.

Then there was a great scurrying down there in the dark.

XIX

MR. CROW'S APOLOGY

IT was lucky for Mr. Meadow Mouse that he had placed a little distance between himself and Grandfather Mole down in the gallery under the cornfield. For when Grandfather Mole rushed at him, Mr. Meadow Mouse had just enough lead to escape. He made for the open air as fast as he could scramble, knowing that Grandfather Mole could never catch him once he reached the great out-of-doors.

Perhaps it was only natural that Grandfather Mole should have been angry with Mr. Meadow Mouse. Nobody likes to be accused of thieving--especially when he is innocent. And when the real corn thief (Mr. Meadow Mouse) declined to take the blame off Grandfather Mole's shoulders maybe his anger was not altogether uncalled-for.

After all, Grandfather Mole was glad, in a way, that Mr. Meadow Mouse had got away from him. "It proves"--Grandfather Mole told himself--"it proves that Mr. Meadow Mouse is not only a thief: he's a coward as well."

At the same time, any one that really knew old Mr. Crow couldn't have blamed Mr. Meadow Mouse for not wanting to follow Grandfather's suggestion. Grandfather Mole had asked Mr. Meadow Mouse to allow Mr. Crow to catch him with his mouth full of corn, so that Mr. Crow might know that it wasn't Grandfather Mole that was taking the seed corn, as Mr. Crow supposed.

Mr. Meadow Mouse was too well acquainted with old Mr. Crow to get himself into any such fix as that.

When he found himself above ground, after Grandfather Mole had chased him out of his galleries, Mr. Meadow Mouse felt so pleased with himself that he couldn't help telling his neighbors about his adventure. He boasted that he had been eating the seed corn out of the hills. And he declared that he didn't care if Mr. Crow heard of it himself.

"It's no more his corn than mine," Mr. Meadow Mouse said. "It belongs to Farmer Green. And since he has never spoken to me about missing any, I don't believe he cares. Besides, I've often noticed that he drops more kernels in a hill than he expects will grow. And really I've been saving him the trouble of pulling up a good many young stalks."

All this Mr. Meadow Mouse spread far and wide. And soon it reached the ears of old Mr. Crow.

"Ha!" Mr. Crow exclaimed. "So he's the thief! I'll have to teach him a lesson."

It was Jasper Jay that had related the news to his cousin, old Mr. Crow. And now he asked, "What about Grandfather Mole? Don't you think you ought to apologize to him?"

That was a strange thing for Jasper Jay to ask. He was the greatest rowdy in the woods, with shocking manners.

Mr. Crow gave Jasper a sidewise glance.

"Will you apologize for me?" he inquired. "I'm too busy to do it myself."

"Certainly I will!" Jasper Jay cried. "Leave that to me!" And he hurried off at once to find Grandfather Mole.

Jasper was lucky enough to see Grandfather Mole's head sticking out of the ground, when he reached the garden.

"I have a message for you!" Jasper told him. "My cousin Mr. Crow--the old black rascal!--was going to punish you for stealing corn. But he has made other arrangements."

"Mr. Crow"--Grandfather Mole spluttered--"Mr. Crow owes me an apology."

"Not now, he doesn't!" Jasper disputed.

"Why not?" Grandfather Mole cried.

"Because I've just brought his apology and given it to you," Jasper Jay replied.

But Grandfather Mole told him to be gone, and to take the apology away with him.

"It's nothing but an insult!" Grandfather Mole declared.

XX

A SIGN OF RAIN

OVER near the garden fence lay an old hollow log. Grandfather Mole discovered it one day; and thinking that it would be a fine place to look for grubs and other good things, he crept into one end of it.

If he had been able to see, near the other end of the log, a pair of bright eyes that peered at him out of the darkness perhaps he would have backed out in a hurry. But it was all right. The owner of the two eyes was only Sandy Chipmunk. And he spoke pleasantly to Grandfather Mole, in a soft sort of chatter, because he didn't want to alarm him.

"Good afternoon!" said Grandfather Mole. At Sandy's first word he had jumped. But as soon as he knew who was in the log with him he felt safe enough. "What are you doing here, young man?" Grandfather inquired.

"I came in to get out of the rain," Sandy told him.

"Rain!" Grandfather Mole exclaimed. "It's not raining!"

"I know that. But it's going to," Sandy Chipmunk replied.

"There's not the least sign of rain," Grandfather Mole declared. Being older than Sandy, he didn't hesitate to dispute what Sandy said. And he never troubled himself to apologize, either. Sandy Chipmunk noticed that, for he had been carefully reared by his mother. But he knew that Grandfather Mole was considered an odd old gentleman. And besides, what could Sandy have said that wouldn't have sounded rude?

"There's not a sign of rain," Grandfather Mole repeated, "so far as I can see."

"How far can you see?" Sandy inquired politely.

"Tut, tut!" said Grandfather Mole. "What I mean is that I haven't _noticed_ anything that foretells rain. For instance, I haven't had a twinge of rheumatism since I don't know when."

"Well, I'm glad of that, anyhow," Sandy assured him. "But I saw a sign of rain to-day that perhaps you never noticed."

"What was that?"

"Farmer Green's cat was washing her face on the doorsteps," Sandy explained triumphantly. "It's a sure sign of rain. My mother has never known it to fail."

"Farmer Green's cat!" Grandfather Mole repeated after him. And he shuddered as he spoke. "Don't you know that she's not a trustworthy person? You surely don't depend on her, I hope! She's not dependable."

"Well, you can always depend on her to jump at you," Sandy observed.

"She's a coward--that's what she is," Grandfather Mole scolded. "You never heard of her chasing anybody that was bigger than herself, did you? You never heard of her attacking Fatty Coon!"

Sandy Chipmunk said that if the cat hunted coons, she kept it to herself.

"She's too wise to run any risk," said Grandfather Mole. "But if she's washing her face just because she expects rain, then she's stupid.

"If the cat wants to wash her face, why doesn't she stick her head out in the rain?" Grandfather Mole demanded. And without waiting for his young companion to answer, he went on to say that in his opinion anybody that washed his face in anything but dirt was stupid beyond all hope. "I claim," said Grandfather Mole, "that there's nothing quite like a dirt bath."

"There aren't many that would agree with you," Sandy Chipmunk told him.

"There's a lot of stupid people in this valley," Grandfather Mole retorted.

Sandy Chipmunk thought deeply for a few moments.

"I know of one person who would say you were right," he remarked at last.

"Who's that?" Grandfather asked him.

"The boy, Johnnie Green!" Sandy Chipmunk replied. "If you could _see_ his face you'd know that he takes a dirt bath every day!"

XXI

MRS. WREN TRIES TO HELP

"HAVE you found him yet?" Mrs. Rusty Wren asked Grandfather Mole one day when the old gentleman had left his dark underground home to brave the dangers of the garden.

"Found whom?" Grandfather Mole inquired.

"Why, your grandson! I saw him wandering about the garden a little while ago. And I supposed of course that you had come up to find him."

"Now, that's strange!" Grandfather Mole exclaimed. "I wasn't aware one of them had strayed away from the house.... Which of my grandchildren was it that you saw!"

"I don't know them by name," Mrs. Wren replied. "But this was just a tiny chap."

"Then it must be my little grandson Moses!" Grandfather Mole cried. "He's the smallest of the lot.... I must find him at once, before the cat catches him."

Mrs. Wren saw that Grandfather Mole was greatly disturbed. And though she had enough to do--goodness knows!--to look after her own family, she told Grandfather Mole that she would help him find his grandchild.

"That's kind of you, I'm sure," Grandfather Mole remarked. "If I had your bright eyes I wouldn't need anybody's help."

"Oh, you're welcome!" Mrs. Wren assured him. "I shouldn't want a youngster of mine walking about the garden alone. I'm glad to do what I can. And meanwhile you had better stay close to that hole, for there's no need of your running any risks. If I can't find young Moses Mole, then nobody can."

Grandfather Mole said she was very kind and that he would take her advice. So he stationed himself beside the hole through which he had lately appeared and waited there while Rusty Wren's wife looked for his grandson.

She was a quick, spry little body--was Mrs. Wren. It wasn't long before she surprised the object of her search in the act of eating a fat grub beside a pumpkin.

"Here he is!" Mrs. Wren called to Grandfather Mole. "I've found him. Do you want to come and get him, or shall I bring him to you?"

"You'd better bring him," Grandfather Mole answered. And anybody could see that he was vastly relieved.

A little later Mrs. Wren called to him again.

"What shall I do?" she asked. "He won't mind me. And he's too heavy for me to carry."

"That's Moses, without a doubt!" Grandfather Mole declared. "Yes! If he won't mind, it's certainly my grandson Moses. He's the littlest of the family; and his mother has always spoiled him.... I suppose"--Grandfather Mole added--"I suppose I'll have to go and get him."

"Wait a moment!" Mrs. Wren suddenly sang out. "There's some mistake. This little fellow says his name isn't Moses!"

Well, Grandfather Mole's mouth fell open, he was so surprised. "Then what's his name?" he demanded.

"He says it's Mr. Shrew. And he seems very angry over something or other," Mrs. Wren explained.

"Tell me"--Grandfather Mole besought her--"has he a neck?"

Mrs. Wren glanced at the small person whose breakfast she had interrupted.

"Yes, he has one," she reported.

"Then he's no relation of mine," Grandfather Mole said. "Or at least, he's no more than a distant cousin. And I don't even know him." He was relieved to learn that his grandson Moses Mole was not wandering about the garden, after all. "Maybe you never stopped to think that none of our family have necks--so far as you can notice."

And now Mrs. Wren looked at Grandfather Mole. And she saw that his head was set right on his shoulders.

"I was mistaken," she faltered. "I'm sorry if I upset you about your grandson."

"It doesn't matter now," Grandfather Mole assured her. "To be sure, I was alarmed. And when you said he wouldn't mind I was sure it was Moses.

"Children," said Grandfather Mole, "are not brought up as strictly as they were when I was young."

XXII

TWO FAMOUS DIGGERS

BILLY WOODCHUCK had decided to move into new quarters before cold weather set in. Old dog Spot had learned where he lived; and to Billy's dismay Spot was spending altogether too much of his time watching Billy's front door.

There was only one reason why Billy Woodchuck didn't exactly care to dig a new home for himself in the pasture just then. The fall crop of clover was about to head out. And being very fond of clover blossoms, Billy hated to spend his time digging.

He was telling his troubles one day to old Mr. Crow. And as usual, Mr. Crow had an idea.

"Why don't you get somebody to help you?" he asked.

Billy Woodchuck looked a bit doubtful.

"Who is there?" he inquired. "Nobody would be willing to dig for me unless I paid him."

"Well--if I were you I'd offer a modest wage," Mr. Crow suggested.

But Billy Woodchuck shook his head.

"I couldn't pay anybody anything--unless it was clover-tops," he explained. "And why should any one dig for them when there are thousands to be had for the taking?"

Mr. Crow agreed that Billy Woodchuck knew what he was talking about.

"But," said Mr. Crow, "I've usually found that there's a way out of every difficulty. What you must do is to find somebody that _likes_ to dig--somebody that is so crazy to dig that he'd help you just for the fun of the thing."

Billy Woodchuck looked still more doubtful.

"Who is there?" he asked once more.

Meanwhile Mr. Crow had been thinking rapidly--for he was a quick-witted old scamp.

"I'll tell you!" he cried. "There's Grandfather Mole!"