The Wind in the Willows

The Mole had been working hard all morning, cleaning his little home. Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, and it had even reached his dark and lonely house under the ground. So it was no wonder that he suddenly threw down his brush and said, 'Bother! Oh, bother!' and 'Hang the spring cleaning!' and ran out of the house without even waiting to put on his coat.

Something up above seemed to be calling him. He climbed and scraped and pushed his way through the narrow tunnel, working his small paws and saying to himself, 'Up we go! Up we go!' until at last his nose 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 cleaning!' The sun was warm on his fur, soft breezes touched his face, and after the quiet of his dark home the song of the happy birds was almost too much for him. He felt like a young animal again. He jumped up and trotted across the meadow, following a path until he reached something he had never seen before in all his life.

It was a full, broad river. The Mole had never seen a river before. This sleek, gleaming, winding thing seemed to be alive. It chased and chuckled, it caught things with a laugh and let them go again with another laugh, and it shook itself free and rushed on. The Mole was enchanted. He sat on the grassy bank and watched the river as it ran, and he felt that he could happily stay there forever, learning the secrets that the water seemed forever telling, just out of reach. Never in his life had he seen anything so lovely, and he knew at once that he never wanted to go back to his dark little home under the ground again.