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It was barely half seven in the morning, and there was already shrieking going on outside.
Ratty rolled over onto his stomach and pulled his pillow over his head to drown out the sound while Mole, still groggy, asked, “What is that?”
If there was one thing to be said for living underground, it was that the lifestyle was much more soundproof.
“Without looking,” Ratty replied, his voice muffled, “I’d say the twins are out and about on the Riverbank.”
“What, already?”
“I reckon it’s no small feat to keep them inside on a day like today. Or any other day of the week.”
Outside, there was a tremendous splash, followed by a moment of heavy silence before Portia’s voice piped through the open window, “Sorry about your boat, Ratty!”
He flailed out from under his pillow with such force that he ended up on the floor—which was just as well because that was where his shoes were, and he was already trying to put them on one-pawed while he used the other to leverage himself up and out the door.
Mole, who was still sleepy, and who never untied his shoelaces, followed more slowly. He remembered to put on a dressing gown before wandering outside, and even had the presence of mind to grab one for Ratty, who would be mortified as soon as he was awake enough to realize that he was on the Riverbank in his pajamas.
Once outside, he found the boat safely docked, and Portly climbing out of the river soaking wet, having dive-bombed in order to provide the necessary sound effect. Portia cheered him on from her spot on the bank, while Ratty looked on the verge of an apoplectic fit.
“—once, then I’ve told you two a hundred times, a boat is not a plaything. You’ve got to treat it with respect.”
“ Technically ,” Portly responded, shaking out his wet fur, “We didn’t touch your boat. Glasses?” He held out a paw to his sister, who had been guarding his spectacles. She pulled them off her nose and handed them over. Considering that Portia didn’t wear glasses, and considering that Portly’s were almost as thick as his, Mole wondered if Ratty realized that she had most likely been seeing him as nothing more than a moving, red-faced blob.
“Then why—“
“I know how to get you out of your house,” she responded with a cheeky grin. He scowled. But she wasn’t paying him much mind. With their vision restored, both twins noticed Mole and cheered. As he drew closer, Portia tossed him a grub from her ever-present bag of snacks. He caught it and, although it rather undermined the mood of Ratty’s lecture, popped it into his mouth. He didn’t like getting out on the Riverbank before breakfast.
“He’s right,” he said at last, when he had finished the snack, “technically, the boat is still safe and sound.”
“Don’t encourage them,” Ratty begged, rubbing sleep from his eyes. As if the action reminded him that he had just woken up, he gasped, his tail stiffening in mortification, “and look at us, out on the Riverbank like this .”
“Look at you ,” Mole corrected with tender amusement, draping the extra dressing gown over his shoulders.
“Oh, brilliant, thanks,” he responded with frank sincerity, momentarily distracted from his irritation as he shrugged his way into the jacket and cinched it around his waist. Before he had time to get wound up again, a warm voice interrupted.
“Out on the Riverbank already, you two?”
“Ratty and Mole are going to take us for a boat ride,” Portly interjected smoothly, before either of them could respond.
“Are they?” Mrs. Otter questioned drily, “Well. I suppose you’re going to let them dress first?”
Mole glanced at Ratty, half-expecting him to continue his lecture about the respect a boat demanded. But whether because he couldn’t stay angry at the twins for more than a few minutes, or because the prospect of boating always lifted his mood, he was already making plans and rubbing his paws together in excitement.
“Right. Won’t take a moment for us to dress, and then we’ll be off.”
“Can we row?” Portia requested, bouncing with excitement. This earned her a laugh from Ratty.
“I’d sooner let Toad row,” he promised, tweaking her ear, “But you two can help pack the picnic basket. Come along!”
The twins trailed him to his door, engaged in lively debate over what sort of biscuits to carry.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Mole asked, when he was left alone on the Riverbank with Mrs. Otter, “It seems they’ve all got their hearts set on it now.”
“Mind?” She laughed, “It will be the first quiet moment I’ve had in months.”
Mole grinned, waved her goodbye, and went to prepare for a day on the river.