“The rabbit saved

them; and in saving them it saved the Island too. It founded Ingland,

this very Ingland on which we live to-day. In fact, it started the

British Empire by its action. The rabbit did it.”

“How? How?”

“It heard the squirrel’s whisper halfway down its hole. It forgot

about its front teeth, and the moment it forgot them they, of course,

stopped growing. It recovered all its courage. A grand idea had come

to it. It came bustling out of its hidingplace, stood on its hind

legs, poked its bright eyes over the window-ledge, and told them how

to escape. It said, ‘I’ll dig my hole deeper and we’ll empty the sea

into it as it rises. We’ll pour the water down my hole!’”

The figure paused and fixed his eyes upon each listener in turn,

challenging disapproval, yet eager for sympathy at the same time. In

place of criticism, however, he met only silence and breathless

admiration. Also—he heard that distant sound they had

forgotten, and realised it had come much nearer. It had reached the

second floor. He made swift and desperate calculations. He decided

that it was just possible … with ordinary good luck …

“So they all went out and began to deepen the rabbit’s hole. They

dug and dug and dug. The man took off both his coats; the rabbit

scraped with its four paws, using its tail as well—it had a nice long

tail in those days; the mouse crept out of his pocket and made

channels with its little pointed toes; and the squirrel brushed and

swept the water in with its bushy, mop-like tail. The rising sea

poured down the ever-deepening hole. They worked with a will

together; there was no complaining, though the rabbit wore its tail

down till it was nothing but a stump, and the mouse stood ankle-deep

in water, and the squirrel’s fluffy tail looked like a stable broom.

They worked like heroes without stopping even to talk, and as the

water went pouring down the hole, the level of the sea, of course,

sank lower and lower and lower, the shores of the tiny island

stretched farther and farther and farther, till there were reaches of

golden sand like Margate at low tide, and as the level sank still

lower there rose into view great white cliffs of chalk where before

there had been only water—until, at last, the squirrel, scampering

down from the tree where it had gone to see what had been

accomplished, reported in a voice that chattered with stammering

delight, ‘We’re saved! The sea’s gone down! The land’s come up!’”

The steps were audible in the passage. A gentle knock was heard.

But no one answered, for it seemed that no one was aware of it. The

figure paused a moment to recover breath.

“And then, and then? What happened next? Did they thank the

rabbit?”

“They all thanked each other then. The man thanked the rabbit, and

the rabbit thanked the squirrel, and the mouse woke up, and—”

No one noticed the slip, which proved that their attention was

already painfully divided. For another knock, much louder than before,

had interrupted the continuation of the story. The figure turned its

head to listen. “It’s nothing,” said Tim quickly. “It’s only a sound,”

said Judy. “What did the mouse do? Please tell us quickly.”

“I thought I heard a knock,” the figure murmured.