But again there was a streak of bubbles on the surface of the river.

The Rat hummed a tune, and the Mole recollected that animal-etiquette
forbade any sort of comment on the sudden disappearance of one's
friends at any moment, for any reason or no reason whatever.

'Well, well,' said the Rat, 'I suppose we ought to be moving. I
wonder which of us had better pack the luncheon-basket?' He did not
speak as if he was frightfully eager for the treat.

'O, please let me,' said the Mole. So, of course, the Rat let him.

Packing the basket was not quite such pleasant work as unpacking' the
basket. It never is. But the Mole was bent on enjoying everything,
and although just when he had got the basket packed and strapped up
tightly he saw a plate staring up at him from the grass, and when the
job had been done again the Rat pointed out a fork which anybody ought
to have seen, and last of all, behold! the mustard pot, which he had
been sitting on without knowing it--still, somehow, the thing got
finished at last, without much loss of temper.

The afternoon sun was getting low as the Rat sculled gently homewards
in a dreamy mood, murmuring poetry-things over to himself, and not
paying much attention to Mole. But the Mole was very full of lunch,
and self-satisfaction, and pride, and already quite at home in a boat
(so he thought) and was getting a bit restless besides: and presently
he said, 'Ratty! Please, _I_ want to row, now!'

The Rat shook his head with a smile. 'Not yet, my young friend,' he
said--'wait till you've had a few lessons. It's not so easy as it