The Willows in Winter Read Online Free PDF

final instructions to
Portly to stay exactly where he was and to keep the candle burning at the
window so Mole End could more easily be found in the dark.
    It was a route that the Rat had taken many
times before — though never in such an apprehensive frame of mind. The way
seemed longer than it really was, the hedges and
meadows gloomier, despite the snow that lightened their way.
    “These are definitely the tracks of Mole’s
Nephew!” said the Otter, but they were the only words the two spoke almost the
whole way there.
    The gloaming was already with them, and the
trees losing their colour and turning into silhouettes, and the snow all about
becoming more violet than white, as they came in sight of the river.
    As they did so they saw a figure running wildly
towards them out of the dark, shouting and gesticulating. For a moment they
thought it was the Mole himself, but it was his Nephew, and in a state of
considerable alarm. Indeed, so incoherent was he that the Otter thought the
worst and said, “Mole’s not —?”
    “Worse,” said his Nephew “O, far, far worse!”
    “Better show us what you’ve found,” said the
Rat, eyes narrowing, as he led the way down to the bank.
    “Mole’s lamp!” he cried out, pointing out where
it stood so conspicuously on the path by the bank.
    “But no Mole,” said his Nephew “Gone — gone forever!”
    Then he pointed mutely towards the willow tree
roots where Mole had left his message before trying to cross the river.
    “There are words there; he’s scribed words,”
said his Nephew.
    The Rat and the Otter peered at the roots, but
the light was now too poor to make anything out.
    “Otter,” said the Rat grimly, “give me the
candle and flint and that jam jar and let us read what Mole has written here.
Mole is no fool, you see. He guessed we might come looking for him, though why
he didn’t go straight back home after seeing the state of the river I can’t — I
mean — he couldn’t have — he —”
    Rat turned to look at the river and the ice
that still covered a good part of it, and a thought too terrible to think came
to him, and he shook his head and turned back to the tree.
    But as the Otter struggled to light the candle
in the cold night breeze it seemed to the Rat that the River was speaking to
him again, and that what she had to say was bad news indeed. He had never known
her splashes so — sonorous; her meanders so — miserable; her normally majestic
flow so — final!
    “There you are, Rat,” said the Otter, giving
him the flickering light, “you read it, for I’ve never had much time to
learn that sort of thing.”
    The Rat peered about, looked closer, and was
suddenly very still indeed; then, clearly shaken, he put the jam jar down on
the nearest flattest root he could find.
    “‘What does it say, Rat?”
    “I shall read it aloud,” said the Rat in a
terrible voice, which he clearly had great difficulty controlling.
    “It is headed ‘Mole’s Last ‘Will and Testament’
and this is what it says: ‘Before crossing the River, and Knowing I may not
return alive, I, Mole, of Mole End, hereby ‘Wish to make the following
Bequests: First, my Garden Seat is for Ratty, in memory of the many happy hours
we had on it sitting and talking; Second, my Brass Candle Stick is for Mr
Badger, as a token of my respect for him and since he needs one, along with
those of my books he might choose to take; Thirdly, my bust of Garibaldi is to
inspire Mr Toad to better things and remind him of his friend Mole; lastly, but
by no means the Least important, I leave Mole End to my Nephew to whom I may
not always have been as pleasant and welcoming as I should, but of whom I am
very proud. I know my good friends will take his future education in hand till
the day comes when he will be a most worthy Mole. Finally, I ask that Portly be
kept well clear of my Sloe and Blackberry wine as it goes to his head somewhat.
Now —’“
    And that was all, nothing more. Not