“Not that it is his fault,” the mole continued. “Of course, he cannot be expected to make such wonderful places as I do. After all, what has he got to dig with? His feet are only paws, they are not spades, as mine are; and then he has two great big eyes for the dirt to get into, which must be a great inconvenience to him.”
“But haven’t you eyes, too, Mrs. Mole?” asked Tommy Smith.
“Would you like to try and find them?” answered the mole. “You may, if you like.”
So Tommy Smith knelt down on the ground and began to look all about where he thought the mole’s eyes were likely to be, and to feel with his fingers in the fur. But look and feel as he might, it was no use, he couldn’t find the eyes anywhere. But, just as he was going to give up trying, all at once he thought he saw two little black things hardly so big as the head of a small black pin. Could those be eyes? Tommy Smith hardly believed that they could be, for some time; they were so very small. “Are those your eyes, Mrs. Mole?” he asked at last.
“Yes, indeed they are,” the mother mole answered; “and are they not a beautiful pair? How difficult they are to find, and how well my fur hides them! It would not be easy for the mould to get into them; they are not like those great staring things of the rabbit.”
“They are very small,” said Tommy Smith.
“I should think so!” said the mole; “and what an advantage it is to have small eyes.”
“But can you see with them?” said Tommy Smith.
“Oh no,” said the mole; “and what an advantage it is not to be able to see.”
Tommy Smith did not understand this at all. “The rabbit can see,” he said, “and so can all the other animals.”