"And what is this tall black stuff that grows so thick all over it? It isn't a bit like grass, or trees either."
"It is grass, of course, stupid! what else could it be? Come on! come on! we are nearly at the top, now."
"Scrabble," said little brown Squeak, stopping short, "you may call me stupid as much as you please, but I don't like this place. I—I—I think it is moving."
"Moving?" said little brown Scrabble, in a tone of horror.
And then the two little mice clutched each other with their little paws, and wound their little tails round each other, and held on tight, tight, for the black mass was moving! There was a long, stretching, undulating movement, slow but strong; and then came a quick, violent, awful shake, which sent the two brothers slipping, sliding, tumbling headlong to the floor. Picking themselves up as well as they could, and casting one glance back at the black hill, they rushed shrieking and squeaking to the cellar-door, and literally flung themselves through the crack. For in that glance they had seen a vast red cavern, a yawning gulf of fire, open suddenly in the black mass, which was now heaving and shuddering all over. And from this fiery cavern came smoke and flame (at least so the mice said when they got home to the maternal hole), and an awful roaring sound, which shook the whole house and made the windows rattle.
"Home to our Mother Mouse! Home to our Mother Mouse! and never, never, will we leave our cellar again!"
But Bruin sat up on his haunches, and scratched himself and stretched himself, and gave another mighty yawn.
"Haw-wa-wow-you-wonk!" said the good bear. "Those must have been very lively fleas, to wake me out of a sound sleep. I wonder where they have crept to! I don't seem to feel them now. Ha! humph! Yaow! very sleepy! Not morning yet; take another nap."
And stretching his huge length once more along the floor, Bruin slept again.