"Some mischief will be done if we don't watch," she said to Emmie, who was a mole of unusual intelligence. "I'll tell your brother to keep his eye on the Rat Inn."
After about half an hour's walking, they arrived at home; for their house was in a secluded position in the most unfrequented part of the forest.
Though very simple, it was clean and well kept, and furnished with a large cooking stove, a four-post bedstead, and a few wooden benches.
In the one arm-chair sat the Mole-father, reading the newspaper; while his sister, Aunt Betta, with a cap with long streaming ribbons on her head, was busily stirring something in a saucepan.
As the Mole-mother and her family, descended the stone stairway that led from the upper air, a delicious smell of cooking greeted them. Two large tallow candles were burning brightly, and altogether the house presented a very lively appearance.
"Here you are at last," cried the Mole-father. "Supper is just ready, and I have sent Karl to the Inn for some lager-beer."
"I wonder if he will hear anything," said the Mole-mother taking off her galoshes; and then she related all the news of the evening.
"If there isn't some mischief brewing, may I be made into waistcoats!" exclaimed the Mole-father, throwing down his newspaper.
It was his favourite expression when much excited, and never failed to give the Mole-mother a shiver all down her back. She called it such very strong language.
At this moment Karl came clattering down the steps.