The Mole reached out from under his blanket, felt for the Rat’s paw in the darkness, and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll do whatever you like, Ratty,” he whispered. “Shall we run away tomorrow morning, quite early⁠— very early⁠—and go back to our dear old hole on the river?”

“No, no, we’ll see it out,” whispered back the Rat. “Thanks awfully, but I ought to stick by Toad till this trip is ended. It wouldn’t be safe for him to be left to himself. It won’t take very long. His fads never do. Good night!”

The end was indeed nearer than even the Rat suspected.