The Wind in the Willows(柳间风)

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THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS

THE WIND IN THE

WILLOWS

KENNETH GRAHAME

AUTHOR OF "THE GOLDEN AGE," "DREAM DAYS," ETC.

THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS

CHAPTER I.

THE RIVER BANK

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

THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS

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. 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 spell-bound 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 bijo 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

THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS

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.

Small neat ears and thick silky hair.

It was the Water Rat!

Then the two animals stood and regarded each other cautiously.

`Hullo, Mole!' said the Water Rat.

`Hullo, Rat!' said the Mole.

`Would you like to come over?' enquired the Rat presently.

`Oh, its all very well to TALK,' said the Mole, rather pettishly, he

being new to a river and riverside life and its ways.

The Rat said nothing, but stooped and unfastened a rope and hauled on

it; then lightly stepped into a little boat which the Mole had not observed.

It was painted blue outside and white within, and was just the size for two

animals; and the Mole's whole heart went out to it at once, even though he

did not yet fully understand its uses.

The Rat sculled smartly across and made fast. Then he held up his

forepaw as the Mole stepped gingerly down. `Lean on that!' he said. `Now

then, step lively!' and the Mole to his surprise and rapture found himself

actually seated in the stern of a real boat.

`This has been a wonderful day!' said he, as the Rat shoved off and

took to the sculls again. `Do you know, I`ve never been in a boat before in

all my life.'

`What?' cried the Rat, open-mouthed: `Never been in a--you never--

well I--what have you been doing, then?'

`Is it so nice as all that?' asked the Mole shyly, though he was quite

prepared to believe it as he leant back in his seat and surveyed the

cushions, the oars, the rowlocks, and all the fascinating fittings, and felt

the boat sway lightly under him.

`Nice? It's the ONLY thing,' said the Water Rat solemnly, as he leant

forward for his stroke. `Believe me, my young friend, there is NOTHING-

THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS

-absolute nothing--half so much worth doing as simply messing about in

boats. Simply messing,' he went on dreamily: `messing--about--in--boats;

messing----'

`Look ahead, Rat!' cried the Mole suddenly.

It was too late. The boat struck the bank full tilt. The dreamer, the

joyous oarsman, lay on his back at the bottom of the boat, his heels in the

air.

`--about in boats--or WITH boats,' the Rat went on composedly,

picking himself up with a pleasant laugh. `In or out of 'em, it doesn't

matter. Nothing seems really to matter, that's the charm of it. Whether you

get away, or whether you don't; whether you arrive at your destination or

whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never get anywhere at

all, you're always busy, and you never do anything in particular; and when

you've done it there's always something else to do, and you can do it if you

like, but you'd much better not. Look here! If you've really nothing else on

hand this morning, supposing we drop down the river together, and have a

long day of it?'

The Mole waggled his toes from sheer happiness, spread his chest with

a sigh of full contentment, and leaned back blissfully into the soft cushions.

`WHAT a day I'm having!' he said. `Let us start at once!'

`Hold hard a minute, then!' said the Rat. He looped the painter through

a ring in his landing-stage, climbed up into his hole above, and after a

short interval reappeared staggering under a fat, wicker luncheon-basket.

`Shove that under your feet,' he observed to the Mole, as he passed it

down into the boat. Then he untied the painter and took the sculls again.

`What's inside it?' asked the Mole, wriggling with curiosity.

`There's cold chicken inside it,' replied the Rat briefly;

`coldtonguecoldhamcoldbeefpickledgherkinssaladfrenchrollscresssan

dwichespottedmeatgingerbeerlemonadesodawater----'

`O stop, stop,' cried the Mole in ecstacies: `This is too much!'

`Do you really think so?' enquired the Rat seriously. `It's only what I

always take on these little excursions; and the other animals are always

telling me that I'm a mean beast and cut it VERY fine!'

The Mole never heard a word he was saying. Absorbed in the new life

THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS

he was entering upon, intoxicated with the sparkle, the ripple, the scents

and the sounds and the sunlight, he trailed a paw in the water and dreamed

long waking dreams. The Water Rat, like the good little fellow he was,

sculled steadily on and forebore to disturb him.

`I like your clothes awfully, old chap,' he remarked after some half an

hour or so had passed. `I'm going to get a black velvet smoking-suit

myself some day, as soon as I can afford it.'

`I beg your pardon,' said the Mole, pulling himself together with an

effort. `You must think me very rude; but all this is so new to me. So--this-

-is--a--River!'

`THE River,' corrected the Rat.

`And you really live by the river? What a jolly life!'

`By it and with it and on it and in it,' said the Rat. `It's brother and

sister to me, and aunts, and company, and food and drink, and (naturally)

washing. It's my world, and I don't want any other. What it hasn't got is not

worth having, and what it doesn't know is not worth knowing. Lord! the

times we've had together! Whether in winter or summer, spring or autumn,

it's always got its fun and its excitements. When the floods are on in

February, and my cellars and basement are brimming with drink that's no

good to me, and the brown water runs by my best bedroom window; or

again when it all drops away and, shows patches of mud that smells like

plum-cake, and the rushes and weed clog the channels, and I can potter

about dry shod over most of the bed of it and find fresh food to eat, and

things careless people have dropped out of boats!'

`But isn't it a bit dull at times?' the Mole ventured to ask. `Just you and

the river, and no one else to pass a word with?'

`No one else to--well, I mustn't be hard on you,' said the Rat with

forbearance. `You're new to it, and of course you don't know. The bank is

so crowded nowadays that many people are moving away altogether: O no,

it isn't what it used to be, at all. Otters, kingfishers, dabchicks, moorhens,

all of them about all day long and always wanting you to DO something--

as if a fellow had no business of his own to attend to!'

`What lies over THERE' asked the Mole, waving a paw towards a

background of woodland that darkly framed the water-meadows on one

THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS

side of the river.

`That? O, that's just the Wild Wood,' said the Rat shortly. `We don't go

there very much, we river-bankers.'

`Aren't they--aren't they very NICE people in there?' said the Mole, a

trifle nervously.

`W-e-ll,' replied the Rat, `let me see. The squirrels are all right. AND

the rabbits--some of 'em, but rabbits are a mixed lot. And then there's

Badger, of course. He lives right in the heart of it; wouldn't live anywhere

else, either, if you paid him to do it. Dear old Badger! Nobody interferes

with HIM. They'd better not,' he added significantly.

`Why, who SHOULD interfere with him?' asked the Mole.

`Well, of course--there--are others,' explained the Rat in a hesitating

sort of way.

`Weasels--and stoats--and foxes--and so on. They're all right in a way--

I'm very good friends with them--pass the time of day when we meet, and

all that--but they break out sometimes, there's no denying it, and then--

well, you can't really trust them, and that's the fact.'

The Mole knew well that it is quite against animal-etiquette to dwell

on possible trouble ahead, or even to allude to it; so he dropped the

subject.

`And beyond the Wild Wood again?' he asked: `Where it's all blue and

dim, and one sees what may be hills or perhaps they mayn't, and

something like the smoke of towns, or is it only cloud- drift?'

`Beyond the Wild Wood comes the Wide World,' said the Rat. `And

that's something that doesn't matter, either to you or me. I've never been

there, and I'm never going, nor you either, if you've got any sense at all.

Don't ever refer to it again, please. Now then! Here's our backwater at last,

where we're going to lunch.'

Leaving the main stream, they now passed into what seemed at first

sight like a little land-locked lake. Green turf sloped down to either edge,

brown snaky tree-roots gleamed below the surface of the quiet water,

while ahead of them the silvery shoulder and foamy tumble of a weir, arm-

in-arm with a restless dripping mill-wheel, that held up in its turn a grey-

gabled mill- house, filled the air with a soothing murmur of sound, dull

THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS

and smothery, yet with little clear voices speaking up cheerfully out of it at

intervals. It was so very beautiful that the Mole could only hold up both

forepaws and gasp, `O my! O my! O my!'

The Rat brought the boat alongside the bank, made her fast, helped the

still awkward Mole safely ashore, and swung out the luncheon-basket. The

Mole begged as a favour to be allowed to unpack it all by himself; and the

Rat was very pleased to indulge him, and to sprawl at full length on the

grass and rest, while his excited friend shook out the table-cloth and

spread it, took out all the mysterious packets one by one and arranged their

contents in due order, still gasping, `O my! O my!' at each fresh revelation.

When all was ready, the Rat said, `Now, pitch in, old fellow!' and the Mole

was indeed very glad to obey, for he had started his spring-cleaning at a

very early hour that morning, as people WILL do, and had not paused for

bite or sup; and he had been through a very great deal since that distant

time which now seemed so many days ago.

`What are you looking at?' said the Rat presently, when the edge of

their hunger was somewhat dulled, and the Mole's eyes were able to

wander off the table-cloth a little.

`I am looking,' said the Mole, `at a streak of bubbles that I see

travelling along the surface of the water. That is a thing that strikes me as

funny.'

`Bubbles? Oho!' said the Rat, and chirruped cheerily in an inviting sort

of way.

A broad glistening muzzle showed itself above the edge of the bank,

and the Otter hauled himself out and shook the water from his coat.

`Greedy beggars!' he observed, making for the provender. `Why didn't

you invite me, Ratty?'

`This was an impromptu affair,' explained the Rat. `By the way-- my

friend Mr. Mole.'

`Proud, I'm sure,' said the Otter, and the two animals were friends

forthwith.

`Such a rumpus everywhere!' continued the Otter. `All the world seems

out on the river to-day. I came up this backwater to try and get a moment's

peace, and then stumble upon you fellows!--At least--I beg pardon--I don't

THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS

exactly mean that, you know.'

There was a rustle behind them, proceeding from a hedge wherein last

year's leaves still clung thick, and a stripy head, with high shoulders

behind it, peered forth on them.

`Come on, old Badger!' shouted the Rat.

The Badger trotted forward a pace or two; then grunted, `H'm!

Company,' and turned his back and disappeared from view.

`That's JUST the sort of fellow he is!' observed the disappointed Rat.

`Simply hates Society! Now we shan't see any more of him to-day. Well,

tell us, WHO'S out on the river?'

`Toad's out, for one,' replied the Otter. `In his brand-new wager-boat;

new togs, new everything!'

The two animals looked at each other and laughed.

`Once, it was nothing but sailing,' said the Rat, `Then he tired of that

and took to punting. Nothing would please him but to punt all day and

every day, and a nice mess he made of it. Last year it was house-boating,

and we all had to go and stay with him in his house-boat, and pretend we

liked it. He was going to spend the rest of his life in a house-boat. It's all

the same, whatever he takes up; he gets tired of it, and starts on something

fresh.'

`Such a good fellow, too,' remarked the Otter reflectively: `But no

stability--especially in a boat!'

From where they sat they could get a glimpse of the main stream

across the island that separated them; and just then a wager-boat flashed

into view, the rower--a short, stout figure--splashing badly and rolling a

good deal, but working his hardest. The Rat stood up and hailed him, but

Toad--for it was he--shook his head and settled sternly to his work.

`He'll be out of the boat in a minute if he rolls like that,' said the Rat,

sitting down again.

`Of course he will,' chuckled the Otter. `Did I ever tell you that good

story about Toad and the lock-keeper? It happened this way. Toad. . . .'

An errant May-fly swerved unsteadily athwart the current in the

intoxicated fashion affected by young bloods of May-flies seeing life. A

swirl of water and a `cloop!' and the May-fly was visible no more.

THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS

Neither was the Otter.

The Mole looked down. The voice was still in his ears, but the turf

whereon he had sprawled was clearly vacant. Not an Otter to be seen, as

far as the distant horizon.

But again there was a streak of bubbles on the surface of the river.

The Rat hummed a tune, and the Mole recollected that animal-

etiquette forbade any sort of comment on the sudden disappearance of

one's friends at any moment, for any reason or no reason whatever.

`Well, well,' said the Rat, `I suppose we ought to be moving. I wonder

which of us had better pack the luncheon-basket?' He did not speak as if

he was frightfully eager for the treat.

`O, please let me,' said the Mole. So, of course, the Rat let him.

Packing the basket was not quite such pleasant work as unpacking' the

basket. It never is. But the Mole was bent on enjoying everything, and

although just when he had got the basket packed and strapped up tightly

he saw a plate staring up at him from the grass, and when the job had been

done again the Rat pointed out a fork which anybody ought to have seen,

and last of all, behold! the mustard pot, which he had been sitting on

without knowing it--still, somehow, the thing got finished at last, without

much loss of temper.

The afternoon sun was getting low as the Rat sculled gently

homewards in a dreamy mood, murmuring poetry-things over to himself,

and not paying much attention to Mole. But the Mole was very full of

lunch, and self-satisfaction, and pride, and already quite at home in a boat

(so he thought) and was getting a bit restless besides: and presently he said,

`Ratty! Please, _I_ want to row, now!'

The Rat shook his head with a smile. `Not yet, my young friend,' he

said--'wait till you've had a few lessons. It's not so easy as it looks.'

The Mole was quiet for a minute or two. But he began to feel more

and more jealous of Rat, sculling so strongly and so easily along, and his

pride began to whisper that he could do it every bit as well. He jumped up

and seized the sculls, so suddenly, that the Rat, who was gazing out over

the water and saying more poetry-things to himself, was taken by surprise

and fell backwards off his seat with his legs in the air for the second time,

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摘要：

THEWINDINTHEWILLOWS1THEWINDINTHEWILLOWSKENNETHGRAHAMEAUTHOROF"THEGOLDENAGE,""DREAMDAYS,"ETC.THEWINDINTHEWILLOWS2CHAPTERI.THERIVERBANKTheMolehadbeenworkingveryhardallthemorning,spring-cleaninghislittlehome.Firstwithbrooms,thenwithdusters;thenonladdersandstepsandchairs,withabrushandapailofwhitewash;ti...

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