"Have you found him yet?" Mrs. Rusty Wren asked Grandfather Mole one day when the old gentleman had left his dark underground home to brave the dangers of the garden.

"Found whom?" Grandfather Mole inquired.

"Why, your grandson! I saw him wandering about the garden a little while ago. And I supposed of course that you had come up to find him."

"Now, that's strange!" Grandfather Mole exclaimed. "I wasn't aware one of them had strayed away from the house.p. 97... Which of my grandchildren was it that you saw!"

"I don't know them by name," Mrs. Wren replied. "But this was just a tiny chap."

"Then it must be my little grandson Moses!" Grandfather Mole cried. "He's the smallest of the lot.... I must find him at once, before the cat catches him."

Mrs. Wren saw that Grandfather Mole was greatly disturbed. And though she had enough to do—goodness knows!—to look after her own family, she told Grandfather Mole that she would help him find his grandchild.

"That's kind of you, I'm sure," Grandfather Mole remarked. "If I had your bright eyes I wouldn't need anybody's help."

"Oh, you're welcome!" Mrs. Wren assured him. "I shouldn't want a youngp. 98ster of mine walking about the garden alone. I'm glad to do what I can. And meanwhile you had better stay close to that hole, for there's no need of your running any risks. If I can't find young Moses Mole, then nobody can."

Grandfather Mole said she was very kind and that he would take her advice. So he stationed himself beside the hole through which he had lately appeared and waited there while Rusty Wren's wife looked for his grandson.

She was a quick, spry little body—was Mrs. Wren. It wasn't long before she surprised the object of her search in the act of eating a fat grub beside a pumpkin.

"Here he is!" Mrs. Wren called to Grandfather Mole. "I've found him. Do you want to come and get him, or shall I bring him to you?"

"You'd better bring him," Grandfatherp. 99 Mole answered. And anybody could see that he was vastly relieved.

A little later Mrs. Wren called to him again.

"What shall I do?" she asked. "He won't mind me. And he's too heavy for me to carry."

"That's Moses, without a doubt!" Grandfather Mole declared. "Yes! If he won't mind, it's certainly my grandson Moses. He's the littlest of the family; and his mother has always spoiled him.... I suppose"—Grandfather Mole added—"I suppose I'll have to go and get him."

"Wait a moment!" Mrs. Wren suddenly sang out. "There's some mistake. This little fellow says his name isn't Moses!"

Well, Grandfather Mole's mouth fell open, he was so surprised. "Then what's his name?" he demanded.p. 100

"He says it's Mr. Shrew. And he seems very angry over something or other," Mrs. Wren explained.

"Tell me"—Grandfather Mole besought her—"has he a neck?"

Mrs. Wren glanced at the small person whose breakfast she had interrupted.

"Yes, he has one," she reported.

"Then he's no relation of mine," Grandfather Mole said. "Or at least, he's no more than a distant cousin. And I don't even know him." He was relieved to learn that his grandson Moses Mole was not wandering about the garden, after all. "Maybe you never stopped to think that none of our family have necks—so far as you can notice."

And now Mrs. Wren looked at Grandfather Mole. And she saw that his head was set right on his shoulders.

"I was mistaken," she faltered. "I'mp. 101 sorry if I upset you about your grandson."

"It doesn't matter now," Grandfather Mole assured her. "To be sure, I was alarmed. And when you said he wouldn't mind I was sure it was Moses.

"Children," said Grandfather Mole, "are not brought up as strictly as they were when I was young."

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