"That is very pleasant for you," said the Frau Councillor. "Our case is quite different. The Rats who keep the inn at the cross roads, are most disagreeable people. We can't associate with them."
"THE RATS WHO KEEP THE INN ARE MOST DISAGREEABLE PEOPLE."
"Gypsies!" cried Uncle Columbus at this moment. He had an unpleasant habit when he did not like the conversation, of suddenly reminding the family of a tragedy that had happened some sixty years ago, when a promising young Hedgehog had been carried off to captivity by a band of travelling Tinkers, and finally disposed of in a way too terrible to be alluded to.
The Councillor's wife looked angry, and hastily changed the subject.
"He is quite a trial to us sometimes!" she whispered to the Mole-mother. "Such bad taste to mention Gypsies. It makes me tremble in every quill!"
"I think I must be going now," said the Mole-mother hurriedly, putting away her knitting into a reticule, and tying a woollen hood over her head—for she felt that it would not do for strangers to be mixed up in these family matters.
Calling her children to her, she helped them into their warm galoshes; and lighting a small lantern, they were soon out in the snowy forest.