The Wind in the Willows: Home, Sweet Home

One December evening, Mole and the Rat were walking home after a long day out on the hills.As they passed through a village, they looked through the bright windows at people eating, laughing, and getting ready for Christmas.Then, out in the dark fields, Mole suddenly stopped, as if an invisible hand had pulled him.

A faint, familiar smell was calling to him: it was his old home, which he had left that first spring morning and almost forgotten.“Ratty! Please stop!” he cried. “It’s my home, my old home — it’s close by!”But the Rat was far ahead, worried about the coming snow, and he only called back, “Come on, Mole, don’t stop now!”

Poor Mole followed him sadly, but after a while he sat down on a tree stump and began to cry.When the Rat understood what had happened, he felt terrible. “What a pig I have been!” he said.“We’re going to find your home right now,” he said kindly, and they turned back together.

Following his nose, Mole led the way to a little front door with “Mole End” painted over it.But inside, everything was dusty and cold, and Mole felt ashamed of his shabby little house.“What a wonderful little house!” said the Rat, and he lit a fire and made everything cosy.

They found a tin of sardines, some biscuits, and a sausage for supper, and just then they heard small voices singing outside.It was the field mice, who came every winter to sing Christmas carols at Mole’s door.Mole invited them all in, and the Rat sent one of them to buy more food, so everyone had a warm and merry party.

Late that night, Mole lay in his own bed and looked around his old room in the firelight.He did not want to give up his new life in the sunshine by the river.But it was good to know that this simple little home would always be here, waiting for him.