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In the one arm-chair sat the Mole-father, reading the newspaper; while his sister, Aunt Betta, with a cap with long streaming ribbons on her head, was busily stirring something in a saucepan. As the Mole-mother and her family, descended the stone stairway that led from the upper air, a delicious smell of cooking greeted them.
As soon as daylight dawned in the forest, the Mole-father, accompanied by his wife and children, and all their friends; went out in a long procession, with their shovels and wheelbarrows, and commenced work round the Hedgehogs' house.
Oh, what a series of misfortunes!" "Cheer up, my good neighbour, all will come right in time," said the Mole-father encouragingly. "As long as the Court Hedgehog doesn't appear in the middle," wailed the Councillor. "It makes me shudder in every quill to think of it. Not even a front door to receive him at!"
Two large tallow candles were burning brightly, and altogether the house presented a very lively appearance. "Here you are at last," cried the Mole-father. "Supper is just ready, and I have sent Karl to the Inn for some lager-beer." "I wonder if he will hear anything," said the Mole-mother taking off her galoshes; and then she related all the news of the evening.
The first visitors to arrive were the Moles; followed by the Rat family, who were filled with remorse when they received the invitation, at the thought of their treacherous behaviour. "I declare, mother," said the Innkeeper to his wife in a whisper, "the Mole-father is such a good creature, I shall be ashamed to quarrel with any of his friends for the future.
"All's well that ends well," he said cheerfully, "and as I heard the Tinker forbidding his sons ever to come near the place again, you will be quite safe in the future." "What has happened to that dreadful boy? Is he still in the hole, or have they got him out?" enquired the Hedgehog-mother anxiously. "Got him out some time ago," said the Mole-father, "and carried him off to the hospital.
"The Rat-father has started off to the Tinker's to tell the boy where the Hedgehogs are living!" The Mole-mother sank down on a bench gasping. "He's done it then! Oh, the poor Hedgehogs!" she cried wringing her hands, "They'll be cooked in clay before they can turn round." "Don't be in such a hurry, wife," said the Mole-father. "I've thought of something.
The Mole-father had by this time worked himself into the kitchen, dragging his spade after him; and seated on a bench by the stove, he related the whole story to the Councillor, but carefully omitted to give the name of the person who had betrayed the Hedgehogs to the Tinker's family; and notwithstanding the requests of the whole family, he firmly refused to do so.
"If there isn't some mischief brewing, may I be made into waistcoats!" exclaimed the Mole-father, throwing down his newspaper. It was his favourite expression when much excited, and never failed to give the Mole-mother a shiver all down her back. She called it such very strong language. At this moment Karl came clattering down the steps. "Oh, father! mother! I have heard something!" he shouted.
"If that boy dares to venture, may I be made into waistcoats, if he doesn't fall in!" cried the Mole-father, wiping his face with a red cotton pocket-handkerchief for though the snow was on the ground the work was exhausting. The Tinker's family sat round a fire, in one of the tumble-down wooden cottages that dotted the outskirts of the little town of Ruhla.
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