The Willows at Christmas by William Horwood Read Free Book Online

if they covered me with a rasher or two of fatty bacon. O my, to be cooked is not good, to be sure, but to be cooked badly is a tragic way to end one’s days!”
    He swooned once more, and when he next emerged into consciousness he found himself crying out, “Make sure you put some cranberry and onion comfit on the table, for I’ll taste a good bit better with that!”
    Then sanity returned and he told himself, “No, I will not be put into the cooking pot meekly, if only to show that we of the River Bank are not so easily vanquished! I’m sure it’s what Badger would advise and what Ratty would do!” And with that he lay still, safety pin in hand, ready to attack the moment the villains released him.

    How very differently had Mole’s friends passed the evening! How dolefully true is the adage that out of sight is very soon out of mind, especially when creature comforts are on offer!
    No sooner had the Otter settled down by the fire to explain how it was that the Mole had been captured than he yielded to the heady comforts of food, drink and companionship.
    “How much more I would enjoy these excellent crumpets,” he was saying, “if only I knew for certain that poor Mole was still alive!”
    A second glass of mulled wine and toasted crumpets as a rather unusual hors d’oeuvre to the mushroom stew that the Badger was cooking, plus the soothing effects of a warm fire, had calmed the Otter to such an extent that all urgency concerning Mole began to leave him.
    “And yet,” he mused, “there must be some way we can work out where he might be, so that we are ready to search for him at first light.”
    “The Wild Wood is a big place,” said the Badger as he stoked the fire under the stew to bring it to a final boil and helped himself to another crumpet, “and there are many holes and underground passages that would serve the role of dungeon for one such as Mole very well indeed. But —”
    Just then there was a slight movement in the shadows to the left of the Badger’s inglenook which stopped their conversation quite dead.
    “Good heavens, Badger,” cried the Rat. “In the excitement of Otter’s arrival and disturbing intelligence we have quite forgotten those villainous thieves we captured earlier tonight.”
    “Thieves?” said the astonished Otter, raising himself from his semi-slumber.
    “There, in that muddy sacking,” explained the Rat, pointing to the wet bundle by the hearth. “Three stoats and a brace of weasel at least. Caught ‘em thieving along the River Bank just near your house.”
    “Stoats?” cried the Otter angrily, rising to his feet and staring down at the sacking. “Weasels?”
    “Yes,” said the Badger, shaking his head. “They’ve always been the same, those animals. No standards, no values, no respect for property and people’s liberty. One would have thought that the trouncing we gave them at Toad Hall earlier this year would have taught them a lesson, but not so! They get more and more impudent as the months go by. Still, I suppose we ought to release them now and take their names.”
    “We should,” said the Rat, “and come to think of it they might give us some help in finding Mole.”
    “Help?” cried the roused Otter. “I should say they’ll give us some help — once I’ve given ‘em the drubbing they deserve.”
    Without further ado he set about kicking at the sacking. “Villains! This is for our friend Mole, whom your colleagues have abducted, and this as well, and this too!”

    “Really, Otter, I think perhaps —” essayed the Rat, trying to restrain his friend.
    “Desist, Otter, desist at once,” cried the Badger, his voice deep with alarm. A drubbing was one thing, but a common assault quite another.
    “Well…” growled the Otter, his ire suddenly gone, and feeling rather ashamed at getting so carried away.
    As the other two regarded the sacking with a mixture of concern and curiosity, the Otter bent down and untied the cords that bound its