In the heart of a peaceful meadow, under the grand old oak, lived a little mole named Milo. He was in the safe warmth of his burrow, snuggled at the bottom. The sun was shining, the bright blue sky beckoning him to come out and play.
Milo loved to hear about the outside world from his friend, the little butterfly, with whom he had a close bond.
“Milo! Come out!”, the butterfly urged him, fluttering near the entrance. “You simply must see the beautiful grass and flowers and meet all my other friends.”
Unfortunately, whatever the butterfly said could not convince Milo to leave his snug little burrow. Every time he peeped outside, he became frightened and darted back to his den’s bottom. The butterfly worried for her friend and resolved not to visit for three whole days to see if he’d change his mind.
On the third day, the butterfly returned, excited to share the news with Milo. “My, what a lovely day! You will never guess who I met!” she exclaimed. But alas! No Milo appeared outside.
Sadly, she made a little chirp and flew away. But that very day, three other animals came by: the gentle owl, the cheerful little bird, and the chatty rabbit. They all came to invite kindly Milo to show himself, telling him what he’d miss if he refused. But no Milo would meet them.
In fact, there was a considerable world of discomfort waiting for him at the surface, where every living thing walks, hops, or runs; some things with wings or fins or four feet, and other creatures more than four feet and even animals with many more feet than these!
Indeed, it is always better at the surface, where warm sunshine is. Still, nest or burrow is the safest place for small creatures to live. Down in a burrow, there is often little danger, unless a bird that burrows is in the neighborhood.
At last, more than a week later, Milo’s friend the butterfly came to see if Milo was there, and to ask if the rabbit, owl, little bird, or any other friend had met him. But they hadn’t met him, and when the butterfly told them Milo would not even see her, they exclaimed in horror, “Whatever can be the matter with Milo?”
The rainbow was high in the sky, the air soft and sweet; everything tried to make the day as perfect as possible. But no, for our friend in the meadow nothing was so. Nobody saw him appear again or heard him climbing and tumbling to the door of his burrow.
Then came a gentle rain, and most animals hurried to find snug shelter in their burrows. But through it all, Milo slept quietly, almost down at the bottom of his burrow, warm and safe.
No animal that was scurrying to burrow or nest knew anything of the story of the little mole worm. Only the butterflies flew here and there, and when the rain was at an end, once more uttered sweet and joyful chirps.
Above him fell the gentle rain, a little water trickled down here and there, and a slight stream ran at the end of the burrow. All the little shell-fish along the banks of the stream climbed up the mossy walls and took lunch there at the top of their rooted sea-weed. Did no one think of poor little Scraps, who lay wedged at the bottom of his burrow!
However, one warm afternoon, when the earth was beginning to dry where the rain had lain on the surface, a great flood rushed towards the brook, and a tiny worm was torn at once from a bed of soft moss and borne off helplessly.
Floating in the water, or half out, several roots of trees drifted by. One of these roots caught the buried little mole, who held firmly on while great stones and lumps of earth were toppling around. The tree-roots were pulled along by the swift water; something was being pushed off the land and borne miles down to a bigger city and a larger brook.
But came a time when the water and dust and dead flowers and leaves seemed settling together. The water got lower and lower.
Now she was across the prison-yard, and behind the grand, old sunlight, and so went rapidly away, while a simple little girl came out to the very place where she stood. But there was nowhere a captive mole nasty thing with hooks and springs in its jaws.
But the girl sat down on the green earth, listened how Robinson Crusoe, his parrot, and his parrot-fish went fishing when arks-jumped and fell, and laughed as the water lay cool and fresh before her.
“Ah,” said the poor, drowned, little mole, all nesting in his instance, when she went away again, “if I’d only gone above ground when first I saw it! How could I have known I wouldn’t fall into it then, too?”
Although he didn’t actually know he was a mole, just then, drowning dead-drunk from the water above, yet up came a butterfly-case, a simple little butterfly-case, soon to be a butterfly, the moment she could be!
Face your fears to find joy!