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Updated: May 10, 2025
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.
In the squirrel's copse there is a spring, which is never frozen, but always affords excellent drinking water, and moistens a considerable extent of ground." This was the weasel's message, and without a moment's delay the humble-bee buzzed away direct to Choo Hoo's camp. At the same time the fly with the mole's message reached Ki Ki, the hawk, as he was soaring among the clouds.
There are many swampy places here, which should be avoided by those who dislike snakes. The common harmless snakes are numerous in this part, and they always keep near water. They often glide into a mole's "angle," or hole, if found in the open. Adders are known to exist in the woods round about, but are never, or very seldom, seen upon the heath itself.
He staggered about like a man in liquor, and made everyone yell again at the quaint manner in which he had hit off Mr. Mole's movements. "Whatever has he got on his head?" said someone. Mole shivered. He guessed. Guessed; alas, he was but too sure. Nero put all his doubts at rest by making a graceful bow and removing his wig instead of a hat. The wig! Yea; the identical wig which Mr.
The Mole's cap was missing from its accustomed peg. His goloshes, which always lay by the umbrella-stand, were also gone. The Rat left the house, and carefully examined the muddy surface of the ground outside, hoping to find the Mole's tracks. There they were, sure enough. The goloshes were new, just bought for the winter, and the pimples on their soles were fresh and sharp.
An eternity seemed bridged as he stood there against the door, his hands pressed to his temples in reality scarcely a second had passed. Time! It was like a clarion call, that word, clearing his brain, lashing him into instant action. There was time, a small, pitifully inadequate margin, but yet a margin the few minutes left before Carruthers would have the police hammering at the Mole's door.
And if that was the case, Mrs. Robin didn't mean to let anything of the kind occur again. So she went on searching for her children's breakfast and said nothing to any one about Grandfather Mole's latest bit of advice. Mrs. Robin worked harder than ever that day. It seemed to her husband that she had eyes for nothing but worms. Certainly she paid little attention to him.
The Court Hedgehog, with an escort of six guards, had meanwhile arrived at the Mole's house, and was being entertained by the Mole-mother and her children, who were all in a state of great nervousness. The Court Hedgehog, however, appeared to be more condescending than could have been expected from his position.
A man going to sleep in a mole's burrow, and awaking on the top of the Strasbourg steeple; such was the state of Gwynplaine. Giddiness is a dangerous kind of glare, particularly that which bears you at once towards the day and towards the night, forming two whirlwinds, one opposed to the other. He saw too much, and not enough. He saw all, and nothing.
Verily, all is affliction and warfare, and the strangest fatality drives men here and there, as has happened only in old marvelous stories, and the troubles only increase, and suspicion becomes greater. Where one only sees a soldier, one might creep into a mole's hole, even though one should be of the very best and exact faith." "Is your trumpeter not come back yet?"
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