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Rouse yourself! pull yourself together, and come with me and forage.'

They went and foraged accordingly, hunting through every cupboard and turning out every drawer.

The result was not so very depressing after all, though of course it might have been better; a tin of sardines-a box of captain's biscuits, nearly full-and a German sausage encased in silver paper.

'There's a banquet for you!' observed the Rat, as he arranged the table.

'I know some animals who would give their ears to be sitting down to supper with us to-night!'

No bread!' groaned the Mole dolorously; 'no butter, no--'

'No pate de foie gras, no champagne!' continued the Rat, grinning.

And that reminds me-what's that little door at the end of the passage? Your cellar, of course! Every luxury in this house! Just you wait a minute.'

He made for the cellar-door, and presently reappeared, somewhat dusty, with a bottle of beer in each paw and another under each arm, 'Self-indulgent beggar you seem to be, Mole,' he observed.

'Deny yourself nothing.

This is really the jolliest little place I ever was in.

Now, wherever did you pick up those prints? Make the place look so home-like, they do.

No wonder you're so fond of it, Mole.

Tell us all about it, and how you came to make it what it is.'

Then, while the Rat busied himself fetching plates, and knives and forks, and mustard which he mixed in an egg-cup, the Mole, his bosom still heaving with the stress of his recent emotion, related-somewhat shyly at first, but with more freedom as he warmed to his subject-how this was planned, and how that was thought out, and how this was got through a windfall from an aunt, and that was a wonderful find and a bargain, and this other thing was bought out of laborious savings and a certain amount of 'going without.' His spirits finally quite restored, he must needs go and caress his possessions, and take a lamp and show off their points to his visitor and expatiate on them, quite forgetful of the supper they both so much needed; Rat, who was desperately hungry but strove to conceal it, nodding seriously, examining with a puckered brow, and saying, 'wonderful,' and 'most remarkable,' at intervals, when the chance for an observation was given him.

At last the Rat succeeded in decoying him to the table, and had just got seriously to work with the sardine-opener when sounds were heard from the fore-court without-sounds like the scuffling of small feet in the gravel and a confused murmur of tiny voices, while broken sentences reached them-'Now, all in a line-hold the lantern up a bit, Tommy-clear your throats first-no coughing after I say one, two, three.-Where's young Bill?-Here, come on, do, we're all a-waiting--'

'What's up?' inquired the Rat, pausing in his labours.

'I think it must be the field-mice,' replied the Mole, with a touch of pride in his manner.

'They go round carol-singing regularly at this time of the year.

They're quite an institution in these parts.

And they never pass me over-they come to Mole End last of all; and I used to give them hot drinks, and supper too sometimes, when I could afford it.

It will be like old times to hear them again.'

'Let's have a look at them!' cried the Rat, jumping up and running to the door.

It was a pretty sight, and a seasonable one, that met their eyes when they flung the door open.

In the fore-court, lit by the dim rays of a horn lantern, some eight or ten little fieldmice stood in a semicircle, red worsted comforters round their throats, their fore-paws thrust deep into their pockets, their feet jigging for warmth.

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