The Mole ran quickly to comfort the little animal; but Rat, lingering, looked long and doubtfully at certain hoof-marks deep in the sward.

“Some⁠—great⁠—animal⁠—has been here,” he murmured slowly and thoughtfully; and stood musing, musing; his mind strangely stirred.

“Come along, Rat!” called the Mole. “Think of poor Otter, waiting up there by the ford!”

Portly had soon been comforted by the promise of a treat⁠—a jaunt on the river in Mr. Rat’s real boat; and the two animals conducted him to the water’s side, placed him securely between them in the bottom of the boat, and paddled off down the backwater. The sun was fully up by now, and hot on them, birds sang lustily and without restraint, and flowers smiled and nodded from either bank, but somehow⁠—so thought the animals⁠—with less of richness and blaze of colour than they seemed to remember seeing quite recently somewhere⁠—they wondered where.