When, after following Mrs. Mole through a number of long, winding, passages, Mr. Bushy Tail came at last to the surface of the ground, it was snowing hard, and the dreaded North wind was blowing half a gale. [Illustration] He found himself outside the shelter of the woods, on a broad plain, and he felt that his only safety lay in getting back among the trees. He started off at full speed, and had gone some distance, when suddenly the North wind struck him, and lifted him completely off his four little paws. There was no use in struggling, so he lay quite still, and was whirled away, faster and faster. _Miles and miles was he blown_, until finally he fell asleep from sheer exhaustion and fright. When he awoke it was night, and still the wild wind was carrying him far, far away. His precious bag was still on his shoulder, for he had clung to it even in his terror, but the string had become untied, and most of the food had been blown away. He ate a little of the corn, but he was too frightened to be hungry, and very soon, numb and dazed with the cold, he fell asleep again. [Illustration] At the Top of the South Pole [Illustration] [Illustration: Chapter V _At the Top of the South Pole_] All the next day and night, the fierce North wind kept on blowing a gale, but towards morning of the third day, it seemed to Mr. Bushy Tail that he was going more slowly, and just as the sun rose, he was suddenly dropped. [Illustration] What he rested on he could not tell, but in a few minutes, as it grew lighter, he looked about him, and saw it was a very high wooden post. Then he knew he was sitting on top of the South Pole, where the North wind _has_ to stop blowing, or else it becomes a South wind. [Illustration] It was beautifully warm, and poor Bushy Tail stretched himself most comfortably in the sunshine, and thawed out his half-frozen little paws. He felt very much shaken-up and alone in the world, and, with tears in his eyes, he thought of his little wife and hungry babies, and wondered if he should ever get home to them. In the first place, he could not see any possible way of getting down from his lofty perch. The sides of the Pole were very smooth and slippery, and the Pole itself was much too high for comfort or safety, if you tried jumping off. [Illustration] While he was pondering ways and means of descent, he heard a high squeaky voice say: “Try the middle course.” Peering over the edge of the Pole, Mr. Bushy Tail espied on the ground, far below, a funny little creature, such as he had never seen before. It was covered with long blue quills, and moved slowly, and with much dignity. “What is the middle course?” asked Mr. Bushy Tail, timidly. [Illustration] “Why the middle of the Pole, you goose!” replied the squeaky voice. Mr. Bushy Tail thought this mode of address not strictly polite, especially to a stranger, but he said nothing, and looked about him on top of the Pole.