The Wind in the Willows

Grahame, Kenneth

Published: 1908
Categorie(s): Fiction, Fantasy
Source: http://www.gutenberg.org

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About Grahame:
Kenneth Grahame (July 20, 1859 – July 6, 1932) was a British
writer, most famous for The Wind in the Willows (1908), one of
the classics of children's literature. He also wrote The Reluct-
ant Dragon, which was much later adapted into a Disney film.

Also available on Feedbooks for Grahame:

• The Reluctant Dragon (1898)
• The Golden Age (1895)
• Dream Days (1898)

Copyright: This work is available for countries where copy-

right is Life+70 and in the USA.

Note: This book is brought to you by Feedbooks

http://www.feedbooks.com
Strictly for personal use, do not use this file for commercial
purposes.

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Chapter 1
THE RIVER BANK
The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-
cleaning his little home. First with brooms, then with dusters;
then on ladders and steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of
whitewash; till he had dust in his throat and eyes, and splashes
of whitewash all over his black fur, and an aching back and
weary arms. Spring was moving in the air above and in the
earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and
lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and long-
ing. It was small wonder, then, that he suddenly flung down his
brush on the floor, said 'Bother!' and 'O blow!' and also 'Hang
spring-cleaning!' and bolted out of the house without even
waiting to put on his coat. Something up above was calling him
imperiously, and he made for the steep little tunnel which
answered in his case to the gaveled carriage-drive owned by
animals whose residences are nearer to the sun and air. So he
scraped and scratched and scrabbled and scrooged and then
he scrooged again and scrabbled and scratched and scraped,
working busily with his little paws and muttering to himself,
'Up we go! Up we go!' till at last, pop! his snout came out into
the sunlight, and he found himself rolling in the warm grass of
a great meadow.
'This is fine!' he said to himself. 'This is better than white-
washing!' The sunshine struck hot on his fur, soft breezes
caressed his heated brow, and after the seclusion of the cellar-
age he had lived in so long the carol of happy birds fell on his
dulled hearing almost like a shout. Jumping off all his four legs
at once, in the joy of living and the delight of spring without its
cleaning, he pursued his way across the meadow till he
reached the hedge on the further side.

3
 'Hold up!' said an elderly rabbit at the gap. 'Sixpence for the
privilege of passing by the private road!' He was bowled over
in an instant by the impatient and contemptuous Mole, who
trotted along the side of the hedge chaffing the other rabbits
as they peeped hurriedly from their holes to see what the row
was about. 'Onion-sauce! Onion-sauce!' he remarked jeeringly,
and was gone before they could think of a thoroughly satisfact-
ory reply. Then they all started grumbling at each other. 'How
STUPID you are! Why didn't you tell him——' 'Well, why didn't
YOU say——' 'You might have reminded him——' and so on, in
the usual way; but, of course, it was then much too late, as is
always the case.
It all seemed too good to be true. Hither and thither through
the meadows he rambled busily, along the hedgerows, across
the copses, finding everywhere birds building, flowers bud-
ding, leaves thrusting—everything happy, and progressive, and
occupied. And instead of having an uneasy conscience pricking
him and whispering 'whitewash!' he somehow could only feel
how jolly it was to be the only idle dog among all these busy
citizens. After all, the best part of a holiday is perhaps not so
much to be resting yourself, as to see all the other fellows busy
working.
He thought his happiness was complete when, as he me-
andered aimlessly along, suddenly he stood by the edge of a
full-fed river. Never in his life had he seen a river before—this
sleek, sinuous, full-bodied animal, chasing and chuckling, grip-
ping things with a gurgle and leaving them with a laugh, to
fling itself on fresh playmates that shook themselves free, and
were caught and held again. All was a-shake and a-
shiver—glints and gleams and sparkles, rustle and swirl, chat-
ter and bubble. The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascin-
ated. By the side of the river he trotted as one trots, when very
small, by the side of a man who holds one spell-bound by excit-
ing stories; and when tired at last, he sat on the bank, while
the river still chattered on to him, a babbling procession of the
best stories in the world, sent from the heart of the earth to be
told at last to the insatiable sea.
As he sat on the grass and looked across the river, a dark
hole in the bank opposite, just above the water's edge, caught
his eye, and dreamily he fell to considering what a nice snug

4
dwelling-place it would make for an animal with few wants and
fond of a bijou riverside residence, above flood level and re-
mote from noise and dust. As he gazed, something bright and
small seemed to twinkle down in the heart of it, vanished, then
twinkled once more like a tiny star. But it could hardly be a
star in such an unlikely situation; and it was too glittering and
small for a glow-worm. Then, as he looked, it winked at him,
and so declared itself to be an eye; and a small face began
gradually to grow up round it, like a frame round a picture.
A brown little face, with whiskers.
A grave round face, with the same twinkle in its eye that had
first attracted his notice.
Small neat ears and thick silky hair.
It was the Water Rat!
Then the two animals stood and regarded each other
cautiously.
'Hullo, Mole!' said the Water Rat.
'Hullo, Rat!' said the Mole.
'Would you like to come over?' enquired the Rat presently.
'Oh, its all very well to TALK,' said the Mole, rather pettishly,
he being new to a river and riverside life and its ways.
The Rat said nothing, but stooped and unfastened a rope and
hauled on it; then lightly stepped into a little boat which the
Mole had not observed. It was painted blue outside and white
within, and was just the size for two animals; and the Mole's
whole heart went out to it at once, even though he did not yet
fully understand its uses.
The Rat sculled smartly across and made fast. Then he held
up his forepaw as the Mole stepped gingerly down. 'Lean on
that!' he said. 'Now then, step lively!' and the Mole to his sur-
prise and rapture found himself actually seated in the stern of
a real boat.
'This has been a wonderful day!' said he, as the Rat shoved
off and took to the sculls again. 'Do you know, I've never been
in a boat before in all my life.'
'What?' cried the Rat, open-mouthed: 'Never been in a—you
never—well I—what have you been doing, then?'
'Is it so nice as all that?' asked the Mole shyly, though he was
quite prepared to believe it as he leant back in his seat and

5
surveyed the cushions, the oars, the rowlocks, and all the fas-
cinating fittings, and felt the boat sway lightly under him.
'Nice? It's the ONLY thing,' said the Water Rat solemnly, as
he leant forward for his stroke. 'Believe me, my young friend,
there is NOTHING—absolute nothing—half so much worth do-
ing as simply messing about in boats. Simply messing,' he went
on dreamily: 'messing—about—in—boats; messing——'
'Look ahead, Rat!' cried the Mole suddenly.
It was too late. The boat struck the bank full tilt. The dream-
er, the joyous oarsman, lay on his back at the bottom of the
boat, his heels in the air.
'—about in boats—or WITH boats,' the Rat went on com-
posedly, picking himself up with a pleasant laugh. 'In or out of
'em, it doesn't matter. Nothing seems really to matter, that's
the charm of it. Whether you get away, or whether you don't;
whether you arrive at your destination or whether you reach
somewhere else, or whether you never get anywhere at all,
you're always busy, and you never do anything in particular;
and when you've done it there's always something else to do,
and you can do it if you like, but you'd much better not. Look
here! If you've really nothing else on hand this morning, sup-
posing we drop down the river together, and have a long day of
it?'
The Mole waggled his toes from sheer happiness, spread his
chest with a sigh of full contentment, and leaned back blissfully
into the soft cushions. 'WHAT a day I'm having!' he said. 'Let
us start at once!'
'Hold hard a minute, then!' said the Rat. He looped the paint-
er through a ring in his landing-stage, climbed up into his hole
above, and after a short interval reappeared staggering under
a fat, wicker luncheon-basket.
'Shove that under your feet,' he observed to the Mole, as he
passed it down into the boat. Then he untied the painter and
took the sculls again.
'What's inside it?' asked the Mole, wriggling with curiosity.
'There's cold chicken inside it,' replied the Rat briefly;
'coldtonguecoldhamcoldbeefpickledgherkinssaladfrenchroll-
scresssan
dwichespottedmeatgingerbeerlemonadesodawater——'
'O stop, stop,' cried the Mole in ecstacies: 'This is too much!'

6
 'Do you really think so?' enquired the Rat seriously. 'It's only
what I always take on these little excursions; and the other an-
imals are always telling me that I'm a mean beast and cut it
VERY fine!'
The Mole never heard a word he was saying. Absorbed in the
new life he was entering upon, intoxicated with the sparkle,
the ripple, the scents and the sounds and the sunlight, he
trailed a paw in the water and dreamed long waking dreams.
The Water Rat, like the good little fellow he was, sculled stead-
ily on and forebore to disturb him.
'I like your clothes awfully, old chap,' he remarked after
some half an hour or so had passed. 'I'm going to get a black
velvet smoking-suit myself some day, as soon as I can afford it.'
'I beg your pardon,' said the Mole, pulling himself together
with an effort. 'You must think me very rude; but all this is so
new to me. So—this—is—a—River!'
'THE River,' corrected the Rat.
'And you really live by the river? What a jolly life!'
'By it and with it and on it and in it,' said the Rat. 'It's brother
and sister to me, and aunts, and company, and food and drink,
and (naturally) washing. It's my world, and I don't want any
other. What it hasn't got is not worth having, and what it
doesn't know is not worth knowing. Lord! the times we've had
together! Whether in winter or summer, spring or autumn, it's
always got its fun and its excitements. When the floods are on
in February, and my cellars and basement are brimming with
drink that's no good to me, and the brown water runs by my
best bedroom window; or again when it all drops away and,
shows patches of mud that smells like plum-cake, and the
rushes and weed clog the channels, and I can potter about dry
shod over most of the bed of it and find fresh food to eat, and
things careless people have dropped out of boats!'
'But isn't it a bit dull at times?' the Mole ventured to ask.
'Just you and the river, and no one else to pass a word with?'
'No one else to—well, I mustn't be hard on you,' said the Rat
with forbearance. 'You're new to it, and of course you don't
know. The bank is so crowded nowadays that many people are
moving away altogether: O no, it isn't what it used to be, at all.
Otters, kingfishers, dabchicks, moorhens, all of them about all

7
day long and always wanting you to DO something—as if a fel-
low had no business of his own to attend to!'
'What lies over THERE' asked the Mole, waving a paw to-
wards a background of woodland that darkly framed the water-
meadows on one side of the river.
'That? O, that's just the Wild Wood,' said the Rat shortly. 'We
don't go there very much, we river-bankers.'
'Aren't they—aren't they very NICE people in there?' said the
Mole, a trifle nervously.
'W-e-ll,' replied the Rat, 'let me see. The squirrels are all
right. AND the rabbits—some of 'em, but rabbits are a mixed
lot. And then there's Badger, of course. He lives right in the
heart of it; wouldn't live anywhere else, either, if you paid him
to do it. Dear old Badger! Nobody interferes with HIM. They'd
better not,' he added significantly.
'Why, who SHOULD interfere with him?' asked the Mole.
'Well, of course—there—are others,' explained the Rat in a
hesitating sort of way.
'Weasels—and stoats—and foxes—and so on. They're all right
in a way—I'm very good friends with them—pass the time of
day when we meet, and all that—but they break out sometimes,
there's no denying it, and then—well, you can't really trust
them, and that's the fact.'
The Mole knew well that it is quite against animal-etiquette
to dwell on possible trouble ahead, or even to allude to it; so he
dropped the subject.
'And beyond the Wild Wood again?' he asked: 'Where it's all
blue and dim, and one sees what may be hills or perhaps they
mayn't, and something like the smoke of towns, or is it only
cloud-drift?'
'Beyond the Wild Wood comes the Wide World,' said the Rat.
'And that's something that doesn't matter, either to you or me.
I've never been there, and I'm never going, nor you either, if
you've got any sense at all. Don't ever refer to it again, please.
Now then! Here's our backwater at last, where we're going to
lunch.'
Leaving the main stream, they now passed into what seemed
at first sight like a little land-locked lake. Green turf sloped
down to either edge, brown snaky tree-roots gleamed below
the surface of the quiet water, while ahead of them the silvery

8
shoulder and foamy tumble of a weir, arm-in-arm with a rest-
less dripping mill-wheel, that held up in its turn a grey-gabled
mill-house, filled the air with a soothing murmur of sound, dull
and smothery, yet with little clear voices speaking up cheer-
fully out of it at intervals. It was so very beautiful that the Mole
could only hold up both forepaws and gasp, 'O my! O my! O
my!'
The Rat brought the boat alongside the bank, made her fast,
helped the still awkward Mole safely ashore, and swung out
the luncheon-basket. The Mole begged as a favour to be al-
lowed to unpack it all by himself; and the Rat was very pleased
to indulge him, and to sprawl at full length on the grass and
rest, while his excited friend shook out the table-cloth and
spread it, took out all the mysterious packets one by one and
arranged their contents in due order, still gasping, 'O my! O
my!' at each fresh revelation. When all was ready, the Rat said,
'Now, pitch in, old fellow!' and the Mole was indeed very glad
to obey, for he had started his spring-cleaning at a very early
hour that morning, as people WILL do, and had not paused for
bite or sup; and he had been through a very great deal since
that distant time which now seemed so many days ago.
'What are you looking at?' said the Rat presently, when the
edge of their hunger was somewhat dulled, and the Mole's eyes
were able to wander off the table-cloth a little.
'I am looking,' said the Mole, 'at a streak of bubbles that I see
travelling along the surface of the water. That is a thing that
strikes me as funny.'
'Bubbles? Oho!' said the Rat, and chirruped cheerily in an in-
viting sort of way.
A broad glistening muzzle showed itself above the edge of
the bank, and the Otter hauled himself out and shook the water
from his coat.
'Greedy beggars!' he observed, making for the provender.
'Why didn't you invite me, Ratty?'
'This was an impromptu affair,' explained the Rat. 'By the
way—my friend Mr. Mole.'
'Proud, I'm sure,' said the Otter, and the two animals were
friends forthwith.
'Such a rumpus everywhere!' continued the Otter. 'All the
world seems out on the river to-day. I came up this backwater

9
to try and get a moment's peace, and then stumble upon you
fellows!—At least—I beg pardon—I don't exactly mean that,
you know.'
There was a rustle behind them, proceeding from a hedge
wherein last year's leaves still clung thick, and a stripy head,
with high shoulders behind it, peered forth on them.
'Come on, old Badger!' shouted the Rat.
The Badger trotted forward a pace or two; then grunted,
'H'm! Company,' and turned his back and disappeared from
view.
'That's JUST the sort of fellow he is!' observed the disappoin-
ted Rat. 'Simply hates Society! Now we shan't see any more of
him to-day. Well, tell us, WHO'S out on the river?'
'Toad's out, for one,' replied the Otter. 'In his brand-new
wager-boat; new togs, new everything!'
The two animals looked at each other and laughed.
'Once, it was nothing but sailing,' said the Rat, 'Then he tired
of that and took to punting. Nothing would please him but to
punt all day and every day, and a nice mess he made of it. Last
year it was house-boating, and we all had to go and stay with
him in his house-boat, and pretend we liked it. He was going to
spend the rest of his life in a house-boat. It's all the same,
whatever he takes up; he gets tired of it, and starts on
something fresh.'
'Such a good fellow, too,' remarked the Otter reflectively:
'But no stability—especially in a boat!'
From where they sat they could get a glimpse of the main
stream across the island that separated them; and just then a
wager-boat flashed into view, the rower—a short, stout fig-
ure—splashing badly and rolling a good deal, but working his
hardest. The Rat stood up and hailed him, but Toad—for it was
he—shook his head and settled sternly to his work.
'He'll be out of the boat in a minute if he rolls like that,' said
the Rat, sitting down again.
'Of course he will,' chuckled the Otter. 'Did I ever tell you
that good story about Toad and the lock-keeper? It happened
this way. Toad… .'
An errant May-fly swerved unsteadily athwart the current in
the intoxicated fashion affected by young bloods of May-flies

10
seeing life. A swirl of water and a 'cloop!' and the May-fly was
visible no more.
Neither was the Otter.
The Mole looked down. The voice was still in his ears, but the
turf whereon he had sprawled was clearly vacant. Not an Otter
to be seen, as far as the distant horizon.
But again there was a streak of bubbles on the surface of the
river.
The Rat hummed a tune, and the Mole recollected that
animal-etiquette forbade any sort of comment on the sudden
disappearance of one's friends at any moment, for any reason
or no reason whatever.
'Well, well,' said the Rat, 'I suppose we ought to be moving. I
wonder which of us had better pack the luncheon-basket?' He
did not speak as if he was frightfully eager for the treat.
'O, please let me,' said the Mole. So, of course, the Rat let
him.
Packing the basket was not quite such pleasant work as un-
packing' the basket. It never is. But the Mole was bent on en-
joying everything, and although just when he had got the bas-
ket packed and strapped up tightly he saw a plate staring up at
him from the grass, and when the job had been done again the
Rat pointed out a fork which anybody ought to have seen, and
last of all, behold! the mustard pot, which he had been sitting
on without knowing it—still, somehow, the thing got finished at
last, without much loss of temper.
The afternoon sun was getting low as the Rat sculled gently
homewards in a dreamy mood, murmuring poetry-things over
to himself, and not paying much attention to Mole. But the
Mole was very full of lunch, and self-satisfaction, and pride,
and already quite at home in a boat (so he thought) and was
getting a bit restless besides: and presently he said, 'Ratty!
Please, I want to row, now!'
The Rat shook his head with a smile. 'Not yet, my young
friend,' he said—'wait till you've had a few lessons. It's not so
easy as it looks.'
The Mole was quiet for a minute or two. But he began to feel
more and more jealous of Rat, sculling so strongly and so easily
along, and his pride began to whisper that he could do it every
bit as well. He jumped up and seized the sculls, so suddenly,

11
that the Rat, who was gazing out over the water and saying
more poetry-things to himself, was taken by surprise and fell
backwards off his seat with his legs in the air for the second
time, while the triumphant Mole took his place and grabbed
the sculls with entire confidence.
'Stop it, you SILLY ass!' cried the Rat, from the bottom of the
boat. 'You can't do it! You'll have us over!'
The Mole flung his sculls back with a flourish, and made a
great dig at the water. He missed the surface altogether, his
legs flew up above his head, and he found himself lying on the
top of the prostrate Rat. Greatly alarmed, he made a grab at
the side of the boat, and the next moment—Sploosh!
Over went the boat, and he found himself struggling in the
river.
O my, how cold the water was, and O, how VERY wet it felt.
How it sang in his ears as he went down, down, down! How
bright and welcome the sun looked as he rose to the surface
coughing and spluttering! How black was his despair when he
felt himself sinking again! Then a firm paw gripped him by the
back of his neck. It was the Rat, and he was evidently laugh-
ing—the Mole could FEEL him laughing, right down his arm
and through his paw, and so into his—the Mole's—neck.
The Rat got hold of a scull and shoved it under the Mole's
arm; then he did the same by the other side of him and, swim-
ming behind, propelled the helpless animal to shore, hauled
him out, and set him down on the bank, a squashy, pulpy lump
of misery.
When the Rat had rubbed him down a bit, and wrung some of
the wet out of him, he said, 'Now, then, old fellow! Trot up and
down the towing-path as hard as you can, till you're warm and
dry again, while I dive for the luncheon-basket.'
So the dismal Mole, wet without and ashamed within, trotted
about till he was fairly dry, while the Rat plunged into the wa-
ter again, recovered the boat, righted her and made her fast,
fetched his floating property to shore by degrees, and finally
dived successfully for the luncheon-basket and struggled to
land with it.
When all was ready for a start once more, the Mole, limp and
dejected, took his seat in the stern of the boat; and as they set
off, he said in a low voice, broken with emotion, 'Ratty, my

12
generous friend! I am very sorry indeed for my foolish and un-
grateful conduct. My heart quite fails me when I think how I
might have lost that beautiful luncheon-basket. Indeed, I have
been a complete ass, and I know it. Will you overlook it this
once and forgive me, and let things go on as before?'
'That's all right, bless you!' responded the Rat cheerily.
'What's a little wet to a Water Rat? I'm more in the water than
out of it most days. Don't you think any more about it; and,
look here! I really think you had better come and stop with me
for a little time. It's very plain and rough, you know—not like
Toad's house at all—but you haven't seen that yet; still, I can
make you comfortable. And I'll teach you to row, and to swim,
and you'll soon be as handy on the water as any of us.'
The Mole was so touched by his kind manner of speaking
that he could find no voice to answer him; and he had to brush
away a tear or two with the back of his paw. But the Rat kindly
looked in another direction, and presently the Mole's spirits re-
vived again, and he was even able to give some straight back-
talk to a couple of moorhens who were sniggering to each oth-
er about his bedraggled appearance.
When they got home, the Rat made a bright fire in the par-
lour, and planted the Mole in an arm-chair in front of it, having
fetched down a dressing-gown and slippers for him, and told
him river stories till supper-time. Very thrilling stories they
were, too, to an earth-dwelling animal like Mole. Stories about
weirs, and sudden floods, and leaping pike, and steamers that
flung hard bottles—at least bottles were certainly flung, and
FROM steamers, so presumably BY them; and about herons,
and how particular they were whom they spoke to; and about
adventures down drains, and night-fishings with Otter, or ex-
cursions far a-field with Badger. Supper was a most cheerful
meal; but very shortly afterwards a terribly sleepy Mole had to
be escorted upstairs by his considerate host, to the best bed-
room, where he soon laid his head on his pillow in great peace
and contentment, knowing that his new-found friend the River
was lapping the sill of his window.
This day was only the first of many similar ones for the eman-
cipated Mole, each of them longer and full of interest as the
ripening summer moved onward. He learnt to swim and to row,
and entered into the joy of running water; and with his ear to

13
the reed-stems he caught, at intervals, something of what the
wind went whispering so constantly among them.

14
Chapter 2
THE OPEN ROAD
'Ratty,' said the Mole suddenly, one bright summer morning, 'if
you please, I want to ask you a favour.'
The Rat was sitting on the river bank, singing a little song.
He had just composed it himself, so he was very taken up with
it, and would not pay proper attention to Mole or anything else.
Since early morning he had been swimming in the river, in
company with his friends the ducks. And when the ducks stood
on their heads suddenly, as ducks will, he would dive down and
tickle their necks, just under where their chins would be if
ducks had chins, till they were forced to come to the surface
again in a hurry, spluttering and angry and shaking their feath-
ers at him, for it is impossible to say quite ALL you feel when
your head is under water. At last they implored him to go away
and attend to his own affairs and leave them to mind theirs. So
the Rat went away, and sat on the river bank in the sun, and
made up a song about them, which he called

'DUCKS' DITTY.'

All along the backwater,

Through the rushes tall,
Ducks are a-dabbling,
Up tails all!
Ducks' tails, drakes' tails,
Yellow feet a-quiver,
Yellow bills all out of sight
Busy in the river!

Slushy green undergrowth

Where the roach swim—

15
 Here we keep our larder,
Cool and full and dim.

Everyone for what he likes!

We like to be
Heads down, tails up,
Dabbling free!

High in the blue above

Swifts whirl and call—
We are down a-dabbling
Uptails all!

'I don't know that I think so VERY much of that little song,
Rat,' observed the Mole cautiously. He was no poet himself and
didn't care who knew it; and he had a candid nature.
'Nor don't the ducks neither,' replied the Rat cheerfully.
'They say, "WHY can't fellows be allowed to do what they like
WHEN they like and AS they like, instead of other fellows sit-
ting on banks and watching them all the time and making re-
marks and poetry and things about them? What NONSENSE it
all is!" That's what the ducks say.'
'So it is, so it is,' said the Mole, with great heartiness.
'No, it isn't!' cried the Rat indignantly.
'Well then, it isn't, it isn't,' replied the Mole soothingly. 'But
what I wanted to ask you was, won't you take me to call on Mr.
Toad? I've heard so much about him, and I do so want to make
his acquaintance.'
'Why, certainly,' said the good-natured Rat, jumping to his
feet and dismissing poetry from his mind for the day. 'Get the
boat out, and we'll paddle up there at once. It's never the
wrong time to call on Toad. Early or late he's always the same
fellow. Always good-tempered, always glad to see you, always
sorry when you go!'
'He must be a very nice animal,' observed the Mole, as he got
into the boat and took the sculls, while the Rat settled himself
comfortably in the stern.
'He is indeed the best of animals,' replied Rat. 'So simple, so
good-natured, and so affectionate. Perhaps he's not very clev-
er—we can't all be geniuses; and it may be that he is both

16
boastful and conceited. But he has got some great qualities,
has Toady.'
Rounding a bend in the river, they came in sight of a hand-
some, dignified old house of mellowed red brick, with well-kept
lawns reaching down to the water's edge.
'There's Toad Hall,' said the Rat; 'and that creek on the left,
where the notice-board says, "Private. No landing allowed,"
leads to his boat-house, where we'll leave the boat. The stables
are over there to the right. That's the banqueting-hall you're
looking at now—very old, that is. Toad is rather rich, you know,
and this is really one of the nicest houses in these parts,
though we never admit as much to Toad.'
They glided up the creek, and the Mole slipped his sculls as
they passed into the shadow of a large boat-house. Here they
saw many handsome boats, slung from the cross beams or
hauled up on a slip, but none in the water; and the place had
an unused and a deserted air.
The Rat looked around him. 'I understand,' said he. 'Boating
is played out. He's tired of it, and done with it. I wonder what
new fad he has taken up now? Come along and let's look him
up. We shall hear all about it quite soon enough.'
They disembarked, and strolled across the gay flower-decked
lawns in search of Toad, whom they presently happened upon
resting in a wicker garden-chair, with a pre-occupied expres-
sion of face, and a large map spread out on his knees.
'Hooray!' he cried, jumping up on seeing them, 'this is splen-
did!' He shook the paws of both of them warmly, never waiting
for an introduction to the Mole. 'How KIND of you!' he went
on, dancing round them. 'I was just going to send a boat down
the river for you, Ratty, with strict orders that you were to be
fetched up here at once, whatever you were doing. I want you
badly—both of you. Now what will you take? Come inside and
have something! You don't know how lucky it is, your turning
up just now!'
'Let's sit quiet a bit, Toady!' said the Rat, throwing himself
into an easy chair, while the Mole took another by the side of
him and made some civil remark about Toad's 'delightful
residence.'
'Finest house on the whole river,' cried Toad boisterously. 'Or
anywhere else, for that matter,' he could not help adding.

17
 Here the Rat nudged the Mole. Unfortunately the Toad saw
him do it, and turned very red. There was a moment's painful
silence. Then Toad burst out laughing. 'All right, Ratty,' he
said. 'It's only my way, you know. And it's not such a very bad
house, is it? You know you rather like it yourself. Now, look
here. Let's be sensible. You are the very animals I wanted.
You've got to help me. It's most important!'
'It's about your rowing, I suppose,' said the Rat, with an inno-
cent air. 'You're getting on fairly well, though you splash a
good bit still. With a great deal of patience, and any quantity of
coaching, you may——'
'O, pooh! boating!' interrupted the Toad, in great disgust.
Silly boyish amusement. I've given that up LONG ago. Sheer
waste of time, that's what it is. It makes me downright sorry to
see you fellows, who ought to know better, spending all your
energies in that aimless manner. No, I've discovered the real
thing, the only genuine occupation for a life time. I propose to
devote the remainder of mine to it, and can only regret the
wasted years that lie behind me, squandered in trivialities.
Come with me, dear Ratty, and your amiable friend also, if he
will be so very good, just as far as the stable-yard, and you
shall see what you shall see!'
He led the way to the stable-yard accordingly, the Rat follow-
ing with a most mistrustful expression; and there, drawn out of
the coach house into the open, they saw a gipsy caravan, shin-
ing with newness, painted a canary-yellow picked out with
green, and red wheels.
'There you are!' cried the Toad, straddling and expanding
himself. 'There's real life for you, embodied in that little cart.
The open road, the dusty highway, the heath, the common, the
hedgerows, the rolling downs! Camps, villages, towns, cities!
Here to-day, up and off to somewhere else to-morrow! Travel,
change, interest, excitement! The whole world before you, and
a horizon that's always changing! And mind! this is the very
finest cart of its sort that was ever built, without any exception.
Come inside and look at the arrangements. Planned 'em all my-
self, I did!'
The Mole was tremendously interested and excited, and fol-
lowed him eagerly up the steps and into the interior of the

18
caravan. The Rat only snorted and thrust his hands deep into
his pockets, remaining where he was.
It was indeed very compact and comfortable. Little sleeping
bunks—a little table that folded up against the wall—a cooking-
stove, lockers, bookshelves, a bird-cage with a bird in it; and
pots, pans, jugs and kettles of every size and variety.
'All complete!' said the Toad triumphantly, pulling open a
locker. 'You see—biscuits, potted lobster, sardines—everything
you can possibly want. Soda-water here—baccy there—letter-
paper, bacon, jam, cards and dominoes—you'll find,' he contin-
ued, as they descended the steps again, 'you'll find that noth-
ing what ever has been forgotten, when we make our start this
afternoon.'
'I beg your pardon,' said the Rat slowly, as he chewed a
straw, 'but did I overhear you say something about "WE," and
"START," and "THIS AFTERNOON?"'
'Now, you dear good old Ratty,' said Toad, imploringly, 'don't
begin talking in that stiff and sniffy sort of way, because you
know you've GOT to come. I can't possibly manage without
you, so please consider it settled, and don't argue—it's the one
thing I can't stand. You surely don't mean to stick to your dull
fusty old river all your life, and just live in a hole in a bank, and
BOAT? I want to show you the world! I'm going to make an
ANIMAL of you, my boy!'
'I don't care,' said the Rat, doggedly. 'I'm not coming, and
that's flat. And I AM going to stick to my old river, AND live in
a hole, AND boat, as I've always done. And what's more, Mole's
going to stick me and do as I do, aren't you, Mole?'
'Of course I am,' said the Mole, loyally. 'I'll always stick to
you, Rat, and what you say is to be—has got to be. All the
same, it sounds as if it might have been—well, rather fun, you
know!' he added, wistfully. Poor Mole! The Life Adventurous
was so new a thing to him, and so thrilling; and this fresh as-
pect of it was so tempting; and he had fallen in love at first
sight with the canary-coloured cart and all its little fitments.
The Rat saw what was passing in his mind, and wavered. He
hated disappointing people, and he was fond of the Mole, and
would do almost anything to oblige him. Toad was watching
both of them closely.

19
 'Come along in, and have some lunch,' he said, diplomatic-
ally, 'and we'll talk it over. We needn't decide anything in a
hurry. Of course, I don't really care. I only want to give pleas-
ure to you fellows. "Live for others!" That's my motto in life.'
During luncheon—which was excellent, of course, as
everything at Toad Hall always was—the Toad simply let him-
self go. Disregarding the Rat, he proceeded to play upon the in-
experienced Mole as on a harp. Naturally a voluble animal, and
always mastered by his imagination, he painted the prospects
of the trip and the joys of the open life and the roadside in such
glowing colours that the Mole could hardly sit in his chair for
excitement. Somehow, it soon seemed taken for granted by all
three of them that the trip was a settled thing; and the Rat,
though still unconvinced in his mind, allowed his good-nature
to over-ride his personal objections. He could not bear to disap-
point his two friends, who were already deep in schemes and
anticipations, planning out each day's separate occupation for
several weeks ahead.
When they were quite ready, the now triumphant Toad led
his companions to the paddock and set them to capture the old
grey horse, who, without having been consulted, and to his
own extreme annoyance, had been told off by Toad for the
dustiest job in this dusty expedition. He frankly preferred the
paddock, and took a deal of catching. Meantime Toad packed
the lockers still tighter with necessaries, and hung nosebags,
nets of onions, bundles of hay, and baskets from the bottom of
the cart. At last the horse was caught and harnessed, and they
set off, all talking at once, each animal either trudging by the
side of the cart or sitting on the shaft, as the humour took him.
It was a golden afternoon. The smell of the dust they kicked up
was rich and satisfying; out of thick orchards on either side the
road, birds called and whistled to them cheerily; good-natured
wayfarers, passing them, gave them 'Good-day,' or stopped to
say nice things about their beautiful cart; and rabbits, sitting at
their front doors in the hedgerows, held up their fore-paws,
and said, 'O my! O my! O my!'
Late in the evening, tired and happy and miles from home,
they drew up on a remote common far from habitations, turned
the horse loose to graze, and ate their simple supper sitting on
the grass by the side of the cart. Toad talked big about all he

20
was going to do in the days to come, while stars grew fuller
and larger all around them, and a yellow moon, appearing sud-
denly and silently from nowhere in particular, came to keep
them company and listen to their talk. At last they turned in to
their little bunks in the cart; and Toad, kicking out his legs,
sleepily said, 'Well, good night, you fellows! This is the real life
for a gentleman! Talk about your old river!'
'I DON'T talk about my river,' replied the patient Rat. 'You
KNOW I don't, Toad. But I THINK about it,' he added pathetic-
ally, in a lower tone: 'I think about it—all the time!'
The Mole reached out from under his blanket, felt for the
Rat's paw in the darkness, and gave it a squeeze. 'I'll do
whatever you like, Ratty,' he whispered. 'Shall we run away to-
morrow morning, quite early—VERY early—and go back to our
dear old hole on the river?'
'No, no, we'll see it out,' whispered back the Rat. 'Thanks aw-
fully, but I ought to stick by Toad till this trip is ended. It
wouldn't be safe for him to be left to himself. It won't take very
long. His fads never do. Good night!'
The end was indeed nearer than even the Rat suspected.
After so much open air and excitement the Toad slept very
soundly, and no amount of shaking could rouse him out of bed
next morning. So the Mole and Rat turned to, quietly and man-
fully, and while the Rat saw to the horse, and lit a fire, and
cleaned last night's cups and platters, and got things ready for
breakfast, the Mole trudged off to the nearest village, a long
way off, for milk and eggs and various necessaries the Toad
had, of course, forgotten to provide. The hard work had all
been done, and the two animals were resting, thoroughly ex-
hausted, by the time Toad appeared on the scene, fresh and
gay, remarking what a pleasant easy life it was they were all
leading now, after the cares and worries and fatigues of house-
keeping at home.
They had a pleasant ramble that day over grassy downs and
along narrow by-lanes, and camped as before, on a common,
only this time the two guests took care that Toad should do his
fair share of work. In consequence, when the time came for
starting next morning, Toad was by no means so rapturous
about the simplicity of the primitive life, and indeed attempted
to resume his place in his bunk, whence he was hauled by

21
force. Their way lay, as before, across country by narrow lanes,
and it was not till the afternoon that they came out on the high-
road, their first high-road; and there disaster, fleet and unfore-
seen, sprang out on them—disaster momentous indeed to their
expedition, but simply overwhelming in its effect on the after-
career of Toad.
They were strolling along the high-road easily, the Mole by
the horse's head, talking to him, since the horse had com-
plained that he was being frightfully left out of it, and nobody
considered him in the least; the Toad and the Water Rat walk-
ing behind the cart talking together—at least Toad was talking,
and Rat was saying at intervals, 'Yes, precisely; and what did
YOU say to HIM?'—and thinking all the time of something very
different, when far behind them they heard a faint warning
hum; like the drone of a distant bee. Glancing back, they saw a
small cloud of dust, with a dark centre of energy, advancing on
them at incredible speed, while from out the dust a faint 'Poop-
poop!' wailed like an uneasy animal in pain. Hardly regarding
it, they turned to resume their conversation, when in an instant
(as it seemed) the peaceful scene was changed, and with a
blast of wind and a whirl of sound that made them jump for the
nearest ditch, It was on them! The 'Poop-poop' rang with a
brazen shout in their ears, they had a moment's glimpse of an
interior of glittering plate-glass and rich morocco, and the
magnificent motor-car, immense, breath-snatching, passionate,
with its pilot tense and hugging his wheel, possessed all earth
and air for the fraction of a second, flung an enveloping cloud
of dust that blinded and enwrapped them utterly, and then
dwindled to a speck in the far distance, changed back into a
droning bee once more.
The old grey horse, dreaming, as he plodded along, of his
quiet paddock, in a new raw situation such as this simply aban-
doned himself to his natural emotions. Rearing, plunging, back-
ing steadily, in spite of all the Mole's efforts at his head, and all
the Mole's lively language directed at his better feelings, he
drove the cart backwards towards the deep ditch at the side of
the road. It wavered an instant—then there was a heartrending
crash—and the canary-coloured cart, their pride and their joy,
lay on its side in the ditch, an irredeemable wreck.

22
 The Rat danced up and down in the road, simply transported
with passion. 'You villains!' he shouted, shaking both fists, 'You
scoundrels, you highwaymen, you—you—roadhogs!—I'll have
the law of you! I'll report you! I'll take you through all the
Courts!' His home-sickness had quite slipped away from him,
and for the moment he was the skipper of the canary-coloured
vessel driven on a shoal by the reckless jockeying of rival mar-
iners, and he was trying to recollect all the fine and biting
things he used to say to masters of steam-launches when their
wash, as they drove too near the bank, used to flood his
parlour-carpet at home.
Toad sat straight down in the middle of the dusty road, his
legs stretched out before him, and stared fixedly in the direc-
tion of the disappearing motor-car. He breathed short, his face
wore a placid satisfied expression, and at intervals he faintly
murmured 'Poop-poop!'
The Mole was busy trying to quiet the horse, which he suc-
ceeded in doing after a time. Then he went to look at the cart,
on its side in the ditch. It was indeed a sorry sight. Panels and
windows smashed, axles hopelessly bent, one wheel off,
sardine-tins scattered over the wide world, and the bird in the
bird-cage sobbing pitifully and calling to be let out.
The Rat came to help him, but their united efforts were not
sufficient to right the cart. 'Hi! Toad!' they cried. 'Come and
bear a hand, can't you!'
The Toad never answered a word, or budged from his seat in
the road; so they went to see what was the matter with him.
They found him in a sort of a trance, a happy smile on his face,
his eyes still fixed on the dusty wake of their destroyer. At in-
tervals he was still heard to murmur 'Poop-poop!'
The Rat shook him by the shoulder. 'Are you coming to help
us, Toad?' he demanded sternly.
'Glorious, stirring sight!' murmured Toad, never offering to
move. 'The poetry of motion! The REAL way to travel! The
ONLY way to travel! Here to-day—in next week to-morrow! Vil-
lages skipped, towns and cities jumped—always somebody
else's horizon! O bliss! O poop-poop! O my! O my!'
'O STOP being an ass, Toad!' cried the Mole despairingly.
'And to think I never KNEW!' went on the Toad in a dreamy
monotone. 'All those wasted years that lie behind me, I never

23
knew, never even DREAMT! But NOW—but now that I know,
now that I fully realise! O what a flowery track lies spread be-
fore me, henceforth! What dust-clouds shall spring up behind
me as I speed on my reckless way! What carts I shall fling care-
lessly into the ditch in the wake of my magnificent onset! Hor-
rid little carts—common carts—canary-coloured carts!'
'What are we to do with him?' asked the Mole of the Water
Rat.
'Nothing at all,' replied the Rat firmly. 'Because there is
really nothing to be done. You see, I know him from of old. He
is now possessed. He has got a new craze, and it always takes
him that way, in its first stage. He'll continue like that for days
now, like an animal walking in a happy dream, quite useless for
all practical purposes. Never mind him. Let's go and see what
there is to be done about the cart.'
A careful inspection showed them that, even if they suc-
ceeded in righting it by themselves, the cart would travel no
longer. The axles were in a hopeless state, and the missing
wheel was shattered into pieces.
The Rat knotted the horse's reins over his back and took him
by the head, carrying the bird cage and its hysterical occupant
in the other hand. 'Come on!' he said grimly to the Mole. 'It's
five or six miles to the nearest town, and we shall just have to
walk it. The sooner we make a start the better.'
'But what about Toad?' asked the Mole anxiously, as they set
off together. 'We can't leave him here, sitting in the middle of
the road by himself, in the distracted state he's in! It's not safe.
Supposing another Thing were to come along?'
'O, BOTHER Toad,' said the Rat savagely; 'I've done with
him!'
They had not proceeded very far on their way, however,
when there was a pattering of feet behind them, and Toad
caught them up and thrust a paw inside the elbow of each of
them; still breathing short and staring into vacancy.
'Now, look here, Toad!' said the Rat sharply: 'as soon as we
get to the town, you'll have to go straight to the police-station,
and see if they know anything about that motor-car and who it
belongs to, and lodge a complaint against it. And then you'll
have to go to a blacksmith's or a wheelwright's and arrange for
the cart to be fetched and mended and put to rights. It'll take

24
time, but it's not quite a hopeless smash. Meanwhile, the Mole
and I will go to an inn and find comfortable rooms where we
can stay till the cart's ready, and till your nerves have re-
covered their shock.'
'Police-station! Complaint!'murmured Toad dreamily. 'Me
COMPLAIN of that beautiful, that heavenly vision that has
been vouchsafed me! MEND THE CART! I've done with carts
for ever. I never want to see the cart, or to hear of it, again. O,
Ratty! You can't think how obliged I am to you for consenting
to come on this trip! I wouldn't have gone without you, and
then I might never have seen that—that swan, that sunbeam,
that thunderbolt! I might never have heard that entrancing
sound, or smelt that bewitching smell! I owe it all to you, my
best of friends!'
The Rat turned from him in despair. 'You see what it is?' he
said to the Mole, addressing him across Toad's head: 'He's
quite hopeless. I give it up—when we get to the town we'll go
to the railway station, and with luck we may pick up a train
there that'll get us back to riverbank to-night. And if ever you
catch me going a-pleasuring with this provoking animal again!'
He snorted, and during the rest of that weary trudge ad-
dressed his remarks exclusively to Mole.
On reaching the town they went straight to the station and
deposited Toad in the second-class waiting-room, giving a port-
er twopence to keep a strict eye on him. They then left the
horse at an inn stable, and gave what directions they could
about the cart and its contents. Eventually, a slow train having
landed them at a station not very far from Toad Hall, they es-
corted the spell-bound, sleep-walking Toad to his door, put him
inside it, and instructed his housekeeper to feed him, undress
him, and put him to bed. Then they got out their boat from the
boat-house, sculled down the river home, and at a very late
hour sat down to supper in their own cosy riverside parlour, to
the Rat's great joy and contentment.
The following evening the Mole, who had risen late and
taken things very easy all day, was sitting on the bank fishing,
when the Rat, who had been looking up his friends and gossip-
ing, came strolling along to find him. 'Heard the news?' he
said. 'There's nothing else being talked about, all along the
river bank. Toad went up to Town by an early train this

25
morning. And he has ordered a large and very expensive
motor-car.'

26
Chapter 3
THE WILD WOOD
The Mole had long wanted to make the acquaintance of the
Badger. He seemed, by all accounts, to be such an important
personage and, though rarely visible, to make his unseen influ-
ence felt by everybody about the place. But whenever the Mole
mentioned his wish to the Water Rat he always found himself
put off. 'It's all right,' the Rat would say. 'Badger'll turn up
some day or other—he's always turning up—and then I'll intro-
duce you. The best of fellows! But you must not only take him
AS you find him, but WHEN you find him.'
'Couldn't you ask him here dinner or something?' said the
Mole.
'He wouldn't come,' replied the Rat simply. 'Badger hates So-
ciety, and invitations, and dinner, and all that sort of thing.'
'Well, then, supposing we go and call on HIM?' suggested the
Mole.
'O, I'm sure he wouldn't like that at ALL,' said the Rat, quite
alarmed. 'He's so very shy, he'd be sure to be offended. I've
never even ventured to call on him at his own home myself,
though I know him so well. Besides, we can't. It's quite out of
the question, because he lives in the very middle of the Wild
Wood.'
'Well, supposing he does,' said the Mole. 'You told me the
Wild Wood was all right, you know.'
'O, I know, I know, so it is,' replied the Rat evasively. 'But I
think we won't go there just now. Not JUST yet. It's a long way,
and he wouldn't be at home at this time of year anyhow, and
he'll be coming along some day, if you'll wait quietly.'
The Mole had to be content with this. But the Badger never
came along, and every day brought its amusements, and it was
not till summer was long over, and cold and frost and miry

27
ways kept them much indoors, and the swollen river raced past
outside their windows with a speed that mocked at boating of
any sort or kind, that he found his thoughts dwelling again
with much persistence on the solitary grey Badger, who lived
his own life by himself, in his hole in the middle of the Wild
Wood.
In the winter time the Rat slept a great deal, retiring early
and rising late. During his short day he sometimes scribbled
poetry or did other small domestic jobs about the house; and,
of course, there were always animals dropping in for a chat,
and consequently there was a good deal of story-telling and
comparing notes on the past summer and all its doings.
Such a rich chapter it had been, when one came to look back
on it all! With illustrations so numerous and so very highly col-
oured! The pageant of the river bank had marched steadily
along, unfolding itself in scene-pictures that succeeded each
other in stately procession. Purple loosestrife arrived early,
shaking luxuriant tangled locks along the edge of the mirror
whence its own face laughed back at it. Willow-herb, tender
and wistful, like a pink sunset cloud, was not slow to follow.
Comfrey, the purple hand-in-hand with the white, crept forth to
take its place in the line; and at last one morning the diffident
and delaying dog-rose stepped delicately on the stage, and one
knew, as if string-music had announced it in stately chords that
strayed into a gavotte, that June at last was here. One member
of the company was still awaited; the shepherd-boy for the
nymphs to woo, the knight for whom the ladies waited at the
window, the prince that was to kiss the sleeping summer back
to life and love. But when meadow-sweet, debonair and odor-
ous in amber jerkin, moved graciously to his place in the
group, then the play was ready to begin.
And what a play it had been! Drowsy animals, snug in their
holes while wind and rain were battering at their doors, re-
called still keen mornings, an hour before sunrise, when the
white mist, as yet undispersed, clung closely along the surface
of the water; then the shock of the early plunge, the scamper
along the bank, and the radiant transformation of earth, air,
and water, when suddenly the sun was with them again, and
grey was gold and colour was born and sprang out of the earth
once more. They recalled the languorous siesta of hot mid-day,

28
deep in green undergrowth, the sun striking through in tiny
golden shafts and spots; the boating and bathing of the after-
noon, the rambles along dusty lanes and through yellow corn-
fields; and the long, cool evening at last, when so many threads
were gathered up, so many friendships rounded, and so many
adventures planned for the morrow. There was plenty to talk
about on those short winter days when the animals found
themselves round the fire; still, the Mole had a good deal of
spare time on his hands, and so one afternoon, when the Rat in
his arm-chair before the blaze was alternately dozing and try-
ing over rhymes that wouldn't fit, he formed the resolution to
go out by himself and explore the Wild Wood, and perhaps
strike up an acquaintance with Mr. Badger.
It was a cold still afternoon with a hard steely sky overhead,
when he slipped out of the warm parlour into the open air. The
country lay bare and entirely leafless around him, and he
thought that he had never seen so far and so intimately into
the insides of things as on that winter day when Nature was
deep in her annual slumber and seemed to have kicked the
clothes off. Copses, dells, quarries and all hidden places, which
had been mysterious mines for exploration in leafy summer,
now exposed themselves and their secrets pathetically, and
seemed to ask him to overlook their shabby poverty for a while,
till they could riot in rich masquerade as before, and trick and
entice him with the old deceptions. It was pitiful in a way, and
yet cheering—even exhilarating. He was glad that he liked the
country undecorated, hard, and stripped of its finery. He had
got down to the bare bones of it, and they were fine and strong
and simple. He did not want the warm clover and the play of
seeding grasses; the screens of quickset, the billowy drapery of
beech and elm seemed best away; and with great cheerfulness
of spirit he pushed on towards the Wild Wood, which lay before
him low and threatening, like a black reef in some still south-
ern sea.
There was nothing to alarm him at first entry. Twigs crackled
under his feet, logs tripped him, funguses on stumps re-
sembled caricatures, and startled him for the moment by their
likeness to something familiar and far away; but that was all
fun, and exciting. It led him on, and he penetrated to where the

29
light was less, and trees crouched nearer and nearer, and
holes made ugly mouths at him on either side.
Everything was very still now. The dusk advanced on him
steadily, rapidly, gathering in behind and before; and the light
seemed to be draining away like flood-water.
Then the faces began.
It was over his shoulder, and indistinctly, that he first
thought he saw a face; a little evil wedge-shaped face, looking
out at him from a hole. When he turned and confronted it, the
thing had vanished.
He quickened his pace, telling himself cheerfully not to begin
imagining things, or there would be simply no end to it. He
passed another hole, and another, and another; and
then—yes!—no!—yes! certainly a little narrow face, with hard
eyes, had flashed up for an instant from a hole, and was gone.
He hesitated—braced himself up for an effort and strode on.
Then suddenly, and as if it had been so all the time, every hole,
far and near, and there were hundreds of them, seemed to pos-
sess its face, coming and going rapidly, all fixing on him
glances of malice and hatred: all hard-eyed and evil and sharp.
If he could only get away from the holes in the banks, he
thought, there would be no more faces. He swung off the path
and plunged into the untrodden places of the wood.
Then the whistling began.
Very faint and shrill it was, and far behind him, when first he
heard it; but somehow it made him hurry forward. Then, still
very faint and shrill, it sounded far ahead of him, and made
him hesitate and want to go back. As he halted in indecision it
broke out on either side, and seemed to be caught up and
passed on throughout the whole length of the wood to its
farthest limit. They were up and alert and ready, evidently,
whoever they were! And he—he was alone, and unarmed, and
far from any help; and the night was closing in.
Then the pattering began.
He thought it was only falling leaves at first, so slight and
delicate was the sound of it. Then as it grew it took a regular
rhythm, and he knew it for nothing else but the pat-pat-pat of
little feet still a very long way off. Was it in front or behind? It
seemed to be first one, and then the other, then both. It grew
and it multiplied, till from every quarter as he listened

30
anxiously, leaning this way and that, it seemed to be closing in
on him. As he stood still to hearken, a rabbit came running
hard towards him through the trees. He waited, expecting it to
slacken pace, or to swerve from him into a different course. In-
stead, the animal almost brushed him as it dashed past, his
face set and hard, his eyes staring. 'Get out of this, you fool,
get out!' the Mole heard him mutter as he swung round a
stump and disappeared down a friendly burrow.
The pattering increased till it sounded like sudden hail on the
dry leaf-carpet spread around him. The whole wood seemed
running now, running hard, hunting, chasing, closing in round
something or—somebody? In panic, he began to run too, aim-
lessly, he knew not whither. He ran up against things, he fell
over things and into things, he darted under things and dodged
round things. At last he took refuge in the deep dark hollow of
an old beech tree, which offered shelter, concealment—per-
haps even safety, but who could tell? Anyhow, he was too tired
to run any further, and could only snuggle down into the dry
leaves which had drifted into the hollow and hope he was safe
for a time. And as he lay there panting and trembling, and
listened to the whistlings and the patterings outside, he knew
it at last, in all its fullness, that dread thing which other little
dwellers in field and hedgerow had encountered here, and
known as their darkest moment—that thing which the Rat had
vainly tried to shield him from—the Terror of the Wild Wood!
Meantime the Rat, warm and comfortable, dozed by his
fireside. His paper of half-finished verses slipped from his
knee, his head fell back, his mouth opened, and he wandered
by the verdant banks of dream-rivers. Then a coal slipped, the
fire crackled and sent up a spurt of flame, and he woke with a
start. Remembering what he had been engaged upon, he
reached down to the floor for his verses, pored over them for a
minute, and then looked round for the Mole to ask him if he
knew a good rhyme for something or other.
But the Mole was not there.
He listened for a time. The house seemed very quiet.
Then he called 'Moly!' several times, and, receiving no an-
swer, got up and went out into the hall.

31
 The Mole's cap was missing from its accustomed peg. His go-
loshes, which always lay by the umbrella-stand, were also
gone.
The Rat left the house, and carefully examined the muddy
surface of the ground outside, hoping to find the Mole's tracks.
There they were, sure enough. The goloshes were new, just
bought for the winter, and the pimples on their soles were
fresh and sharp. He could see the imprints of them in the mud,
running along straight and purposeful, leading direct to the
Wild Wood.
The Rat looked very grave, and stood in deep thought for a
minute or two. Then he re-entered the house, strapped a belt
round his waist, shoved a brace of pistols into it, took up a
stout cudgel that stood in a corner of the hall, and set off for
the Wild Wood at a smart pace.
It was already getting towards dusk when he reached the
first fringe of trees and plunged without hesitation into the
wood, looking anxiously on either side for any sign of his
friend. Here and there wicked little faces popped out of holes,
but vanished immediately at sight of the valorous animal, his
pistols, and the great ugly cudgel in his grasp; and the whist-
ling and pattering, which he had heard quite plainly on his first
entry, died away and ceased, and all was very still. He made
his way manfully through the length of the wood, to its furthest
edge; then, forsaking all paths, he set himself to traverse it, la-
boriously working over the whole ground, and all the time call-
ing out cheerfully, 'Moly, Moly, Moly! Where are you? It's
me—it's old Rat!'
He had patiently hunted through the wood for an hour or
more, when at last to his joy he heard a little answering cry.
Guiding himself by the sound, he made his way through the
gathering darkness to the foot of an old beech tree, with a hole
in it, and from out of the hole came a feeble voice, saying
'Ratty! Is that really you?'
The Rat crept into the hollow, and there he found the Mole,
exhausted and still trembling. 'O Rat!' he cried, 'I've been so
frightened, you can't think!'
'O, I quite understand,' said the Rat soothingly. 'You
shouldn't really have gone and done it, Mole. I did my best to
keep you from it. We river-bankers, we hardly ever come here

32
by ourselves. If we have to come, we come in couples, at least;
then we're generally all right. Besides, there are a hundred
things one has to know, which we understand all about and you
don't, as yet. I mean passwords, and signs, and sayings which
have power and effect, and plants you carry in your pocket,
and verses you repeat, and dodges and tricks you practise; all
simple enough when you know them, but they've got to be
known if you're small, or you'll find yourself in trouble. Of
course if you were Badger or Otter, it would be quite another
matter.'
'Surely the brave Mr. Toad wouldn't mind coming here by
himself, would he?' inquired the Mole.
'Old Toad?' said the Rat, laughing heartily. 'He wouldn't
show his face here alone, not for a whole hatful of golden
guineas, Toad wouldn't.'
The Mole was greatly cheered by the sound of the Rat's care-
less laughter, as well as by the sight of his stick and his gleam-
ing pistols, and he stopped shivering and began to feel bolder
and more himself again.
'Now then,' said the Rat presently, 'we really must pull
ourselves together and make a start for home while there's still
a little light left. It will never do to spend the night here, you
understand. Too cold, for one thing.'
'Dear Ratty,' said the poor Mole, 'I'm dreadfully sorry, but
I'm simply dead beat and that's a solid fact. You MUST let me
rest here a while longer, and get my strength back, if I'm to get
home at all.'
'O, all right,' said the good-natured Rat, 'rest away. It's pretty
nearly pitch dark now, anyhow; and there ought to be a bit of a
moon later.'
So the Mole got well into the dry leaves and stretched him-
self out, and presently dropped off into sleep, though of a
broken and troubled sort; while the Rat covered himself up,
too, as best he might, for warmth, and lay patiently waiting,
with a pistol in his paw.
When at last the Mole woke up, much refreshed and in his
usual spirits, the Rat said, 'Now then! I'll just take a look out-
side and see if everything's quiet, and then we really must be
off.'

33
 He went to the entrance of their retreat and put his head out.
Then the Mole heard him saying quietly to himself, 'Hullo!
hullo! here—is—a—go!'
'What's up, Ratty?' asked the Mole.
'SNOW is up,' replied the Rat briefly; 'or rather, DOWN. It's
snowing hard.'
The Mole came and crouched beside him, and, looking out,
saw the wood that had been so dreadful to him in quite a
changed aspect. Holes, hollows, pools, pitfalls, and other black
menaces to the wayfarer were vanishing fast, and a gleaming
carpet of faery was springing up everywhere, that looked too
delicate to be trodden upon by rough feet. A fine powder filled
the air and caressed the cheek with a tingle in its touch, and
the black boles of the trees showed up in a light that seemed to
come from below.
'Well, well, it can't be helped,' said the Rat, after pondering.
'We must make a start, and take our chance, I suppose. The
worst of it is, I don't exactly know where we are. And now this
snow makes everything look so very different.'
It did indeed. The Mole would not have known that it was the
same wood. However, they set out bravely, and took the line
that seemed most promising, holding on to each other and pre-
tending with invincible cheerfulness that they recognized an
old friend in every fresh tree that grimly and silently greeted
them, or saw openings, gaps, or paths with a familiar turn in
them, in the monotony of white space and black tree-trunks
that refused to vary.
An hour or two later—they had lost all count of time—they
pulled up, dispirited, weary, and hopelessly at sea, and sat
down on a fallen tree-trunk to recover their breath and con-
sider what was to be done. They were aching with fatigue and
bruised with tumbles; they had fallen into several holes and got
wet through; the snow was getting so deep that they could
hardly drag their little legs through it, and the trees were
thicker and more like each other than ever. There seemed to
be no end to this wood, and no beginning, and no difference in
it, and, worst of all, no way out.
'We can't sit here very long,' said the Rat. 'We shall have to
make another push for it, and do something or other. The cold
is too awful for anything, and the snow will soon be too deep

34
for us to wade through.' He peered about him and considered.
'Look here,' he went on, 'this is what occurs to me. There's a
sort of dell down here in front of us, where the ground seems
all hilly and humpy and hummocky. We'll make our way down
into that, and try and find some sort of shelter, a cave or hole
with a dry floor to it, out of the snow and the wind, and there
we'll have a good rest before we try again, for we're both of us
pretty dead beat. Besides, the snow may leave off, or
something may turn up.'
So once more they got on their feet, and struggled down into
the dell, where they hunted about for a cave or some corner
that was dry and a protection from the keen wind and the
whirling snow. They were investigating one of the hummocky
bits the Rat had spoken of, when suddenly the Mole tripped up
and fell forward on his face with a squeal.
'O my leg!' he cried. 'O my poor shin!' and he sat up on the
snow and nursed his leg in both his front paws.
'Poor old Mole!' said the Rat kindly.
'You don't seem to be having much luck to-day, do you? Let's
have a look at the leg. Yes,' he went on, going down on his
knees to look, 'you've cut your shin, sure enough. Wait till I get
at my handkerchief, and I'll tie it up for you.'
'I must have tripped over a hidden branch or a stump,' said
the Mole miserably. 'O, my! O, my!'
'It's a very clean cut,' said the Rat, examining it again attent-
ively. 'That was never done by a branch or a stump. Looks as if
it was made by a sharp edge of something in metal. Funny!' He
pondered awhile, and examined the humps and slopes that sur-
rounded them.
'Well, never mind what done it,' said the Mole, forgetting his
grammar in his pain. 'It hurts just the same, whatever done it.'
But the Rat, after carefully tying up the leg with his handker-
chief, had left him and was busy scraping in the snow. He
scratched and shovelled and explored, all four legs working
busily, while the Mole waited impatiently, remarking at inter-
vals, 'O, COME on, Rat!'
Suddenly the Rat cried 'Hooray!' and then 'Hooray-oo-ray-oo-
ray-oo-ray!' and fell to executing a feeble jig in the snow.
'What HAVE you found, Ratty?' asked the Mole, still nursing
his leg.

35
 'Come and see!' said the delighted Rat, as he jigged on.
The Mole hobbled up to the spot and had a good look.
'Well,' he said at last, slowly, 'I SEE it right enough. Seen the
same sort of thing before, lots of times. Familiar object, I call
it. A door-scraper! Well, what of it? Why dance jigs around a
door-scraper?'
'But don't you see what it MEANS, you—you dull-witted an-
imal?' cried the Rat impatiently.
'Of course I see what it means,' replied the Mole. 'It simply
means that some VERY careless and forgetful person has left
his door-scraper lying about in the middle of the Wild Wood,
JUST where it's SURE to trip EVERYBODY up. Very thought-
less of him, I call it. When I get home I shall go and complain
about it to—to somebody or other, see if I don't!'
'O, dear! O, dear!' cried the Rat, in despair at his obtuseness.
'Here, stop arguing and come and scrape!' And he set to work
again and made the snow fly in all directions around him.
After some further toil his efforts were rewarded, and a very
shabby door-mat lay exposed to view.
'There, what did I tell you?' exclaimed the Rat in great
triumph.
'Absolutely nothing whatever,' replied the Mole, with perfect
truthfulness. 'Well now,' he went on, 'you seem to have found
another piece of domestic litter, done for and thrown away,
and I suppose you're perfectly happy. Better go ahead and
dance your jig round that if you've got to, and get it over, and
then perhaps we can go on and not waste any more time over
rubbish-heaps. Can we EAT a doormat? or sleep under a door-
mat? Or sit on a door-mat and sledge home over the snow on it,
you exasperating rodent?'
'Do—you—mean—to—say,' cried the excited Rat, 'that this
door-mat doesn't TELL you anything?'
'Really, Rat,' said the Mole, quite pettishly, 'I think we'd had
enough of this folly. Who ever heard of a door-mat TELLING
anyone anything? They simply don't do it. They are not that
sort at all. Door-mats know their place.'
'Now look here, you—you thick-headed beast,' replied the
Rat, really angry, 'this must stop. Not another word, but
scrape—scrape and scratch and dig and hunt round, especially

36
on the sides of the hummocks, if you want to sleep dry and
warm to-night, for it's our last chance!'
The Rat attacked a snow-bank beside them with ardour,
probing with his cudgel everywhere and then digging with
fury; and the Mole scraped busily too, more to oblige the Rat
than for any other reason, for his opinion was that his friend
was getting light-headed.
Some ten minutes' hard work, and the point of the Rat's
cudgel struck something that sounded hollow. He worked till
he could get a paw through and feel; then called the Mole to
come and help him. Hard at it went the two animals, till at last
the result of their labours stood full in view of the astonished
and hitherto incredulous Mole.
In the side of what had seemed to be a snow-bank stood a
solid-looking little door, painted a dark green. An iron bell-pull
hung by the side, and below it, on a small brass plate, neatly
engraved in square capital letters, they could read by the aid of
moonlight MR. BADGER.
The Mole fell backwards on the snow from sheer surprise
and delight. 'Rat!' he cried in penitence, 'you're a wonder! A
real wonder, that's what you are. I see it all now! You argued it
out, step by step, in that wise head of yours, from the very mo-
ment that I fell and cut my shin, and you looked at the cut, and
at once your majestic mind said to itself, "Door-scraper!" And
then you turned to and found the very door-scraper that done
it! Did you stop there? No. Some people would have been quite
satisfied; but not you. Your intellect went on working. "Let me
only just find a door-mat," says you to yourself, "and my theory
is proved!" And of course you found your door-mat. You're so
clever, I believe you could find anything you liked. "Now," says
you, "that door exists, as plain as if I saw it. There's nothing
else remains to be done but to find it!" Well, I've read about
that sort of thing in books, but I've never come across it before
in real life. You ought to go where you'll be properly appreci-
ated. You're simply wasted here, among us fellows. If I only
had your head, Ratty——'
'But as you haven't,' interrupted the Rat, rather unkindly, 'I
suppose you're going to sit on the snow all night and TALK Get
up at once and hang on to that bell-pull you see there, and ring
hard, as hard as you can, while I hammer!'

37
 While the Rat attacked the door with his stick, the Mole
sprang up at the bell-pull, clutched it and swung there, both
feet well off the ground, and from quite a long way off they
could faintly hear a deep-toned bell respond.

38
Chapter 4
MR. BADGER
THEY waited patiently for what seemed a very long time,
stamping in the snow to keep their feet warm. At last they
heard the sound of slow shuffling footsteps approaching the
door from the inside. It seemed, as the Mole remarked to the
Rat, like some one walking in carpet slippers that were too
large for him and down at heel; which was intelligent of Mole,
because that was exactly what it was.
There was the noise of a bolt shot back, and the door opened
a few inches, enough to show a long snout and a pair of sleepy
blinking eyes.
'Now, the VERY next time this happens,' said a gruff and sus-
picious voice, 'I shall be exceedingly angry. Who is it THIS
time, disturbing people on such a night? Speak up!'
'Oh, Badger,' cried the Rat, 'let us in, please. It's me, Rat,
and my friend Mole, and we've lost our way in the snow.'
'What, Ratty, my dear little man!' exclaimed the Badger, in
quite a different voice. 'Come along in, both of you, at once.
Why, you must be perished. Well I never! Lost in the snow! And
in the Wild Wood, too, and at this time of night! But come in
with you.'
The two animals tumbled over each other in their eagerness
to get inside, and heard the door shut behind them with great
joy and relief.
The Badger, who wore a long dressing-gown, and whose slip-
pers were indeed very down at heel, carried a flat candlestick
in his paw and had probably been on his way to bed when their
summons sounded. He looked kindly down on them and patted
both their heads. 'This is not the sort of night for small animals
to be out,' he said paternally. 'I'm afraid you've been up to
some of your pranks again, Ratty. But come along; come into

39
the kitchen. There's a first-rate fire there, and supper and
everything.'
He shuffled on in front of them, carrying the light, and they
followed him, nudging each other in an anticipating sort of
way, down a long, gloomy, and, to tell the truth, decidedly
shabby passage, into a sort of a central hall; out of which they
could dimly see other long tunnel-like passages branching, pas-
sages mysterious and without apparent end. But there were
doors in the hall as well—stout oaken comfortable-looking
doors. One of these the Badger flung open, and at once they
found themselves in all the glow and warmth of a large fire-lit
kitchen.
The floor was well-worn red brick, and on the wide hearth
burnt a fire of logs, between two attractive chimney-corners
tucked away in the wall, well out of any suspicion of draught. A
couple of high-backed settles, facing each other on either side
of the fire, gave further sitting accommodations for the soci-
ably disposed. In the middle of the room stood a long table of
plain boards placed on trestles, with benches down each side.
At one end of it, where an arm-chair stood pushed back, were
spread the remains of the Badger's plain but ample supper.
Rows of spotless plates winked from the shelves of the dresser
at the far end of the room, and from the rafters overhead hung
hams, bundles of dried herbs, nets of onions, and baskets of
eggs. It seemed a place where heroes could fitly feast after vic-
tory, where weary harvesters could line up in scores along the
table and keep their Harvest Home with mirth and song, or
where two or three friends of simple tastes could sit about as
they pleased and eat and smoke and talk in comfort and con-
tentment. The ruddy brick floor smiled up at the smoky ceiling;
the oaken settles, shiny with long wear, exchanged cheerful
glances with each other; plates on the dresser grinned at pots
on the shelf, and the merry firelight flickered and played over
everything without distinction.
The kindly Badger thrust them down on a settle to toast
themselves at the fire, and bade them remove their wet coats
and boots. Then he fetched them dressing-gowns and slippers,
and himself bathed the Mole's shin with warm water and men-
ded the cut with sticking-plaster till the whole thing was just as
good as new, if not better. In the embracing light and warmth,

40
warm and dry at last, with weary legs propped up in front of
them, and a suggestive clink of plates being arranged on the
table behind, it seemed to the storm-driven animals, now in
safe anchorage, that the cold and trackless Wild Wood just left
outside was miles and miles away, and all that they had
suffered in it a half-forgotten dream.
When at last they were thoroughly toasted, the Badger
summoned them to the table, where he had been busy laying a
repast. They had felt pretty hungry before, but when they actu-
ally saw at last the supper that was spread for them, really it
seemed only a question of what they should attack first where
all was so attractive, and whether the other things would obli-
gingly wait for them till they had time to give them attention.
Conversation was impossible for a long time; and when it was
slowly resumed, it was that regrettable sort of conversation
that results from talking with your mouth full. The Badger did
not mind that sort of thing at all, nor did he take any notice of
elbows on the table, or everybody speaking at once. As he did
not go into Society himself, he had got an idea that these
things belonged to the things that didn't really matter. (We
know of course that he was wrong, and took too narrow a view;
because they do matter very much, though it would take too
long to explain why.) He sat in his arm-chair at the head of the
table, and nodded gravely at intervals as the animals told their
story; and he did not seem surprised or shocked at anything,
and he never said, 'I told you so,' or, 'Just what I always said,'
or remarked that they ought to have done so-and-so, or ought
not to have done something else. The Mole began to feel very
friendly towards him.
When supper was really finished at last, and each animal felt
that his skin was now as tight as was decently safe, and that by
this time he didn't care a hang for anybody or anything, they
gathered round the glowing embers of the great wood fire, and
thought how jolly it was to be sitting up SO late, and SO inde-
pendent, and SO full; and after they had chatted for a time
about things in general, the Badger said heartily, 'Now then!
tell us the news from your part of the world. How's old Toad
going on?'
'Oh, from bad to worse,' said the Rat gravely, while the Mole,
cocked up on a settle and basking in the firelight, his heels

41
higher than his head, tried to look properly mournful. 'Another
smash-up only last week, and a bad one. You see, he will insist
on driving himself, and he's hopelessly incapable. If he'd only
employ a decent, steady, well-trained animal, pay him good
wages, and leave everything to him, he'd get on all right. But
no; he's convinced he's a heaven-born driver, and nobody can
teach him anything; and all the rest follows.'
'How many has he had?' inquired the Badger gloomily.
'Smashes, or machines?' asked the Rat. 'Oh, well, after all,
it's the same thing—with Toad. This is the seventh. As for the
others—you know that coach-house of his? Well, it's piled
up—literally piled up to the roof—with fragments of motor-
cars, none of them bigger than your hat! That accounts for the
other six—so far as they can be accounted for.'
'He's been in hospital three times,' put in the Mole; 'and as
for the fines he's had to pay, it's simply awful to think of.'
'Yes, and that's part of the trouble,' continued the Rat.
'Toad's rich, we all know; but he's not a millionaire. And he's a
hopelessly bad driver, and quite regardless of law and order.
Killed or ruined—it's got to be one of the two things, sooner or
later. Badger! we're his friends—oughtn't we to do something?'
The Badger went through a bit of hard thinking. 'Now look
here!' he said at last, rather severely; 'of course you know I
can't do anything NOW?'
His two friends assented, quite understanding his point. No
animal, according to the rules of animal-etiquette, is ever ex-
pected to do anything strenuous, or heroic, or even moderately
active during the off-season of winter. All are sleepy—some ac-
tually asleep. All are weather-bound, more or less; and all are
resting from arduous days and nights, during which every
muscle in them has been severely tested, and every energy
kept at full stretch.
'Very well then!' continued the Badger. 'BUT, when once the
year has really turned, and the nights are shorter, and halfway
through them one rouses and feels fidgety and wanting to be
up and doing by sunrise, if not before—YOU know!——'
Both animals nodded gravely. THEY knew!
'Well, THEN,' went on the Badger, 'we—that is, you and me
and our friend the Mole here—we'll take Toad seriously in
hand. We'll stand no nonsense whatever. We'll bring him back

42
to reason, by force if need be. We'll MAKE him be a sensible
Toad. We'll—you're asleep, Rat!'
'Not me!' said the Rat, waking up with a jerk.
'He's been asleep two or three times since supper,' said the
Mole, laughing. He himself was feeling quite wakeful and even
lively, though he didn't know why. The reason was, of course,
that he being naturally an underground animal by birth and
breeding, the situation of Badger's house exactly suited him
and made him feel at home; while the Rat, who slept every
night in a bedroom the windows of which opened on a breezy
river, naturally felt the atmosphere still and oppressive.
'Well, it's time we were all in bed,' said the Badger, getting
up and fetching flat candlesticks. 'Come along, you two, and I'll
show you your quarters. And take your time tomorrow morn-
ing—breakfast at any hour you please!'
He conducted the two animals to a long room that seemed
half bedchamber and half loft. The Badger's winter stores,
which indeed were visible everywhere, took up half the
room—piles of apples, turnips, and potatoes, baskets full of
nuts, and jars of honey; but the two little white beds on the re-
mainder of the floor looked soft and inviting, and the linen on
them, though coarse, was clean and smelt beautifully of lav-
ender; and the Mole and the Water Rat, shaking off their gar-
ments in some thirty seconds, tumbled in between the sheets
in great joy and contentment.
In accordance with the kindly Badger's injunctions, the two
tired animals came down to breakfast very late next morning,
and found a bright fire burning in the kitchen, and two young
hedgehogs sitting on a bench at the table, eating oatmeal por-
ridge out of wooden bowls. The hedgehogs dropped their
spoons, rose to their feet, and ducked their heads respectfully
as the two entered.
'There, sit down, sit down,' said the Rat pleasantly, 'and go
on with your porridge. Where have you youngsters come from?
Lost your way in the snow, I suppose?'
'Yes, please, sir,' said the elder of the two hedgehogs re-
spectfully. 'Me and little Billy here, we was trying to find our
way to school—mother WOULD have us go, was the weather
ever so—and of course we lost ourselves, sir, and Billy he got
frightened and took and cried, being young and faint-hearted.

43
And at last we happened up against Mr. Badger's back door,
and made so bold as to knock, sir, for Mr. Badger he's a kind-
hearted gentleman, as everyone knows——'
'I understand,' said the Rat, cutting himself some rashers
from a side of bacon, while the Mole dropped some eggs into a
saucepan. 'And what's the weather like outside? You needn't
"sir" me quite so much?' he added.
'O, terrible bad, sir, terrible deep the snow is,' said the
hedgehog. 'No getting out for the likes of you gentlemen to-
day.'
'Where's Mr. Badger?' inquired the Mole, as he warmed the
coffee-pot before the fire.
'The master's gone into his study, sir,' replied the hedgehog,
'and he said as how he was going to be particular busy this
morning, and on no account was he to be disturbed.'
This explanation, of course, was thoroughly understood by
every one present. The fact is, as already set forth, when you
live a life of intense activity for six months in the year, and of
comparative or actual somnolence for the other six, during the
latter period you cannot be continually pleading sleepiness
when there are people about or things to be done. The excuse
gets monotonous. The animals well knew that Badger, having
eaten a hearty breakfast, had retired to his study and settled
himself in an arm-chair with his legs up on another and a red
cotton handkerchief over his face, and was being 'busy' in the
usual way at this time of the year.
The front-door bell clanged loudly, and the Rat, who was very
greasy with buttered toast, sent Billy, the smaller hedgehog, to
see who it might be. There was a sound of much stamping in
the hall, and presently Billy returned in front of the Otter, who
threw himself on the Rat with an embrace and a shout of affec-
tionate greeting.
'Get off!' spluttered the Rat, with his mouth full.
'Thought I should find you here all right,' said the Otter
cheerfully. 'They were all in a great state of alarm along River
Bank when I arrived this morning. Rat never been home all
night—nor Mole either—something dreadful must have
happened, they said; and the snow had covered up all your
tracks, of course. But I knew that when people were in any fix
they mostly went to Badger, or else Badger got to know of it

44
somehow, so I came straight off here, through the Wild Wood
and the snow! My! it was fine, coming through the snow as the
red sun was rising and showing against the black tree-trunks!
As you went along in the stillness, every now and then masses
of snow slid off the branches suddenly with a flop! making you
jump and run for cover. Snow-castles and snow-caverns had
sprung up out of nowhere in the night—and snow bridges, ter-
races, ramparts—I could have stayed and played with them for
hours. Here and there great branches had been torn away by
the sheer weight of the snow, and robins perched and hopped
on them in their perky conceited way, just as if they had done
it themselves. A ragged string of wild geese passed overhead,
high on the grey sky, and a few rooks whirled over the trees,
inspected, and flapped off homewards with a disgusted expres-
sion; but I met no sensible being to ask the news of. About
halfway across I came on a rabbit sitting on a stump, cleaning
his silly face with his paws. He was a pretty scared animal
when I crept up behind him and placed a heavy forepaw on his
shoulder. I had to cuff his head once or twice to get any sense
out of it at all. At last I managed to extract from him that Mole
had been seen in the Wild Wood last night by one of them. It
was the talk of the burrows, he said, how Mole, Mr. Rat's par-
ticular friend, was in a bad fix; how he had lost his way, and
"They" were up and out hunting, and were chivvying him round
and round. "Then why didn't any of you DO something?" I
asked. "You mayn't be blest with brains, but there are hun-
dreds and hundreds of you, big, stout fellows, as fat as butter,
and your burrows running in all directions, and you could have
taken him in and made him safe and comfortable, or tried to, at
all events." "What, US?" he merely said: "DO something? us
rabbits?" So I cuffed him again and left him. There was nothing
else to be done. At any rate, I had learnt something; and if I
had had the luck to meet any of "Them" I'd have learnt
something more—or THEY would.'
'Weren't you at all—er—nervous?' asked the Mole, some of
yesterday's terror coming back to him at the mention of the
Wild Wood.
'Nervous?' The Otter showed a gleaming set of strong white
teeth as he laughed. 'I'd give 'em nerves if any of them tried
anything on with me. Here, Mole, fry me some slices of ham,

45
like the good little chap you are. I'm frightfully hungry, and I've
got any amount to say to Ratty here. Haven't seen him for an
age.'
So the good-natured Mole, having cut some slices of ham, set
the hedgehogs to fry it, and returned to his own breakfast,
while the Otter and the Rat, their heads together, eagerly
talked river-shop, which is long shop and talk that is endless,
running on like the babbling river itself.
A plate of fried ham had just been cleared and sent back for
more, when the Badger entered, yawning and rubbing his eyes,
and greeted them all in his quiet, simple way, with kind enquir-
ies for every one. 'It must be getting on for luncheon time,' he
remarked to the Otter. 'Better stop and have it with us. You
must be hungry, this cold morning.'
'Rather!' replied the Otter, winking at the Mole. 'The sight of
these greedy young hedgehogs stuffing themselves with fried
ham makes me feel positively famished.'
The hedgehogs, who were just beginning to feel hungry
again after their porridge, and after working so hard at their
frying, looked timidly up at Mr. Badger, but were too shy to say
anything.
'Here, you two youngsters be off home to your mother,' said
the Badger kindly. 'I'll send some one with you to show you the
way. You won't want any dinner to-day, I'll be bound.'
He gave them sixpence apiece and a pat on the head, and
they went off with much respectful swinging of caps and touch-
ing of forelocks.
Presently they all sat down to luncheon together. The Mole
found himself placed next to Mr. Badger, and, as the other two
were still deep in river-gossip from which nothing could divert
them, he took the opportunity to tell Badger how comfortable
and home-like it all felt to him. 'Once well underground,' he
said, 'you know exactly where you are. Nothing can happen to
you, and nothing can get at you. You're entirely your own mas-
ter, and you don't have to consult anybody or mind what they
say. Things go on all the same overhead, and you let 'em, and
don't bother about 'em. When you want to, up you go, and
there the things are, waiting for you.'
The Badger simply beamed on him. 'That's exactly what I
say,' he replied. 'There's no security, or peace and tranquillity,

46
except underground. And then, if your ideas get larger and you
want to expand—why, a dig and a scrape, and there you are! If
you feel your house is a bit too big, you stop up a hole or two,
and there you are again! No builders, no tradesmen, no re-
marks passed on you by fellows looking over your wall, and,
above all, no WEATHER. Look at Rat, now. A couple of feet of
flood water, and he's got to move into hired lodgings; uncom-
fortable, inconveniently situated, and horribly expensive. Take
Toad. I say nothing against Toad Hall; quite the best house in
these parts, AS a house. But supposing a fire breaks
out—where's Toad? Supposing tiles are blown off, or walls sink
or crack, or windows get broken—where's Toad? Supposing
the rooms are draughty—I HATE a draught myself—where's
Toad? No, up and out of doors is good enough to roam about
and get one's living in; but underground to come back to at
last—that's my idea of HOME.'
The Mole assented heartily; and the Badger in consequence
got very friendly with him. 'When lunch is over,' he said, 'I'll
take you all round this little place of mine. I can see you'll ap-
preciate it. You understand what domestic architecture ought
to be, you do.'
After luncheon, accordingly, when the other two had settled
themselves into the chimney-corner and had started a heated
argument on the subject of EELS, the Badger lighted a lantern
and bade the Mole follow him. Crossing the hall, they passed
down one of the principal tunnels, and the wavering light of
the lantern gave glimpses on either side of rooms both large
and small, some mere cupboards, others nearly as broad and
imposing as Toad's dining-hall. A narrow passage at right
angles led them into another corridor, and here the same thing
was repeated. The Mole was staggered at the size, the extent,
the ramifications of it all; at the length of the dim passages, the
solid vaultings of the crammed store-chambers, the masonry
everywhere, the pillars, the arches, the pavements. 'How on
earth, Badger,' he said at last, 'did you ever find time and
strength to do all this? It's astonishing!'
'It WOULD be astonishing indeed,' said the Badger simply, 'if
I HAD done it. But as a matter of fact I did none of it—only
cleaned out the passages and chambers, as far as I had need of
them. There's lots more of it, all round about. I see you don't

47
understand, and I must explain it to you. Well, very long ago,
on the spot where the Wild Wood waves now, before ever it
had planted itself and grown up to what it now is, there was a
city—a city of people, you know. Here, where we are standing,
they lived, and walked, and talked, and slept, and carried on
their business. Here they stabled their horses and feasted,
from here they rode out to fight or drove out to trade. They
were a powerful people, and rich, and great builders. They
built to last, for they thought their city would last for ever.'
'But what has become of them all?' asked the Mole.
'Who can tell?' said the Badger. 'People come—they stay for
a while, they flourish, they build—and they go. It is their way.
But we remain. There were badgers here, I've been told, long
before that same city ever came to be. And now there are
badgers here again. We are an enduring lot, and we may move
out for a time, but we wait, and are patient, and back we come.
And so it will ever be.'
'Well, and when they went at last, those people?' said the
Mole.
'When they went,' continued the Badger, 'the strong winds
and persistent rains took the matter in hand, patiently, cease-
lessly, year after year. Perhaps we badgers too, in our small
way, helped a little—who knows? It was all down, down, down,
gradually—ruin and levelling and disappearance. Then it was
all up, up, up, gradually, as seeds grew to saplings, and sap-
lings to forest trees, and bramble and fern came creeping in to
help. Leaf-mould rose and obliterated, streams in their winter
freshets brought sand and soil to clog and to cover, and in
course of time our home was ready for us again, and we moved
in. Up above us, on the surface, the same thing happened. An-
imals arrived, liked the look of the place, took up their quar-
ters, settled down, spread, and flourished. They didn't bother
themselves about the past—they never do; they're too busy.
The place was a bit humpy and hillocky, naturally, and full of
holes; but that was rather an advantage. And they don't bother
about the future, either—the future when perhaps the people
will move in again—for a time—as may very well be. The Wild
Wood is pretty well populated by now; with all the usual lot,
good, bad, and indifferent—I name no names. It takes all sorts

48
to make a world. But I fancy you know something about them
yourself by this time.'
'I do indeed,' said the Mole, with a slight shiver.
'Well, well,' said the Badger, patting him on the shoulder, 'it
was your first experience of them, you see. They're not so bad
really; and we must all live and let live. But I'll pass the word
around to-morrow, and I think you'll have no further trouble.
Any friend of MINE walks where he likes in this country, or I'll
know the reason why!'
When they got back to the kitchen again, they found the Rat
walking up and down, very restless. The underground atmo-
sphere was oppressing him and getting on his nerves, and he
seemed really to be afraid that the river would run away if he
wasn't there to look after it. So he had his overcoat on, and his
pistols thrust into his belt again. 'Come along, Mole,' he said
anxiously, as soon as he caught sight of them. 'We must get off
while it's daylight. Don't want to spend another night in the
Wild Wood again.'
'It'll be all right, my fine fellow,' said the Otter. 'I'm coming
along with you, and I know every path blindfold; and if there's
a head that needs to be punched, you can confidently rely upon
me to punch it.'
'You really needn't fret, Ratty,' added the Badger placidly.
'My passages run further than you think, and I've bolt-holes to
the edge of the wood in several directions, though I don't care
for everybody to know about them. When you really have to go,
you shall leave by one of my short cuts. Meantime, make your-
self easy, and sit down again.'
The Rat was nevertheless still anxious to be off and attend to
his river, so the Badger, taking up his lantern again, led the
way along a damp and airless tunnel that wound and dipped,
part vaulted, part hewn through solid rock, for a weary dis-
tance that seemed to be miles. At last daylight began to show
itself confusedly through tangled growth overhanging the
mouth of the passage; and the Badger, bidding them a hasty
good-bye, pushed them hurriedly through the opening, made
everything look as natural as possible again, with creepers,
brushwood, and dead leaves, and retreated.
They found themselves standing on the very edge of the Wild
Wood. Rocks and brambles and tree-roots behind them,

49
confusedly heaped and tangled; in front, a great space of quiet
fields, hemmed by lines of hedges black on the snow, and, far
ahead, a glint of the familiar old river, while the wintry sun
hung red and low on the horizon. The Otter, as knowing all the
paths, took charge of the party, and they trailed out on a bee-
line for a distant stile. Pausing there a moment and looking
back, they saw the whole mass of the Wild Wood, dense, men-
acing, compact, grimly set in vast white surroundings; simul-
taneously they turned and made swiftly for home, for firelight
and the familiar things it played on, for the voice, sounding
cheerily outside their window, of the river that they knew and
trusted in all its moods, that never made them afraid with any
amazement.
As he hurried along, eagerly anticipating the moment when
he would be at home again among the things he knew and
liked, the Mole saw clearly that he was an animal of tilled field
and hedge-row, linked to the ploughed furrow, the frequented
pasture, the lane of evening lingerings, the cultivated garden-
plot. For others the asperities, the stubborn endurance, or the
clash of actual conflict, that went with Nature in the rough; he
must be wise, must keep to the pleasant places in which his
lines were laid and which held adventure enough, in their way,
to last for a lifetime.

50
Chapter 5
DULCE DOMUM
The sheep ran huddling together against the hurdles, blowing
out thin nostrils and stamping with delicate fore-feet, their
heads thrown back and a light steam rising from the crowded
sheep-pen into the frosty air, as the two animals hastened by in
high spirits, with much chatter and laughter. They were return-
ing across country after a long day's outing with Otter, hunting
and exploring on the wide uplands where certain streams trib-
utary to their own River had their first small beginnings; and
the shades of the short winter day were closing in on them,
and they had still some distance to go. Plodding at random
across the plough, they had heard the sheep and had made for
them; and now, leading from the sheep-pen, they found a
beaten track that made walking a lighter business, and respon-
ded, moreover, to that small inquiring something which all an-
imals carry inside them, saying unmistakably, 'Yes, quite right;
THIS leads home!'
'It looks as if we were coming to a village,' said the Mole
somewhat dubiously, slackening his pace, as the track, that
had in time become a path and then had developed into a lane,
now handed them over to the charge of a well-metalled road.
The animals did not hold with villages, and their own highways,
thickly frequented as they were, took an independent course,
regardless of church, post office, or public-house.
'Oh, never mind!' said the Rat. 'At this season of the year
they're all safe indoors by this time, sitting round the fire; men,
women, and children, dogs and cats and all. We shall slip
through all right, without any bother or unpleasantness, and
we can have a look at them through their windows if you like,
and see what they're doing.'

51
 The rapid nightfall of mid-December had quite beset the little
village as they approached it on soft feet over a first thin fall of
powdery snow. Little was visible but squares of a dusky
orange-red on either side of the street, where the firelight or
lamplight of each cottage overflowed through the casements
into the dark world without. Most of the low latticed windows
were innocent of blinds, and to the lookers-in from outside, the
inmates, gathered round the tea-table, absorbed in handiwork,
or talking with laughter and gesture, had each that happy
grace which is the last thing the skilled actor shall cap-
ture—the natural grace which goes with perfect unconscious-
ness of observation. Moving at will from one theatre to anoth-
er, the two spectators, so far from home themselves, had
something of wistfulness in their eyes as they watched a cat
being stroked, a sleepy child picked up and huddled off to bed,
or a tired man stretch and knock out his pipe on the end of a
smouldering log.
But it was from one little window, with its blind drawn down,
a mere blank transparency on the night, that the sense of home
and the little curtained world within walls—the larger stressful
world of outside Nature shut out and forgotten—most pulsated.
Close against the white blind hung a bird-cage, clearly silhou-
etted, every wire, perch, and appurtenance distinct and recog-
nisable, even to yesterday's dull-edged lump of sugar. On the
middle perch the fluffy occupant, head tucked well into feath-
ers, seemed so near to them as to be easily stroked, had they
tried; even the delicate tips of his plumped-out plumage pen-
cilled plainly on the illuminated screen. As they looked, the
sleepy little fellow stirred uneasily, woke, shook himself, and
raised his head. They could see the gape of his tiny beak as he
yawned in a bored sort of way, looked round, and then settled
his head into his back again, while the ruffled feathers gradu-
ally subsided into perfect stillness. Then a gust of bitter wind
took them in the back of the neck, a small sting of frozen sleet
on the skin woke them as from a dream, and they knew their
toes to be cold and their legs tired, and their own home distant
a weary way.
Once beyond the village, where the cottages ceased abruptly,
on either side of the road they could smell through the dark-
ness the friendly fields again; and they braced themselves for

52
the last long stretch, the home stretch, the stretch that we
know is bound to end, some time, in the rattle of the door-
latch, the sudden firelight, and the sight of familiar things
greeting us as long-absent travellers from far over-sea. They
plodded along steadily and silently, each of them thinking his
own thoughts. The Mole's ran a good deal on supper, as it was
pitch-dark, and it was all a strange country for him as far as he
knew, and he was following obediently in the wake of the Rat,
leaving the guidance entirely to him. As for the Rat, he was
walking a little way ahead, as his habit was, his shoulders
humped, his eyes fixed on the straight grey road in front of
him; so he did not notice poor Mole when suddenly the sum-
mons reached him, and took him like an electric shock.
We others, who have long lost the more subtle of the physical
senses, have not even proper terms to express an animal's
inter-communications with his surroundings, living or other-
wise, and have only the word 'smell,' for instance, to include
the whole range of delicate thrills which murmur in the nose of
the animal night and day, summoning, warning? inciting, re-
pelling. It was one of these mysterious fairy calls from out the
void that suddenly reached Mole in the darkness, making him
tingle through and through with its very familiar appeal, even
while yet he could not clearly remember what it was. He
stopped dead in his tracks, his nose searching hither and thith-
er in its efforts to recapture the fine filament, the telegraphic
current, that had so strongly moved him. A moment, and he
had caught it again; and with it this time came recollection in
fullest flood.
Home! That was what they meant, those caressing appeals,
those soft touches wafted through the air, those invisible little
hands pulling and tugging, all one way! Why, it must be quite
close by him at that moment, his old home that he had hur-
riedly forsaken and never sought again, that day when he first
found the river! And now it was sending out its scouts and its
messengers to capture him and bring him in. Since his escape
on that bright morning he had hardly given it a thought, so ab-
sorbed had he been in his new life, in all its pleasures, its sur-
prises, its fresh and captivating experiences. Now, with a rush
of old memories, how clearly it stood up before him, in the
darkness! Shabby indeed, and small and poorly furnished, and

53
yet his, the home he had made for himself, the home he had
been so happy to get back to after his day's work. And the
home had been happy with him, too, evidently, and was miss-
ing him, and wanted him back, and was telling him so, through
his nose, sorrowfully, reproachfully, but with no bitterness or
anger; only with plaintive reminder that it was there, and
wanted him.
The call was clear, the summons was plain. He must obey it
instantly, and go. 'Ratty!' he called, full of joyful excitement,
'hold on! Come back! I want you, quick!'
'Oh, COME along, Mole, do!' replied the Rat cheerfully, still
plodding along.
'PLEASE stop, Ratty!' pleaded the poor Mole, in anguish of
heart. 'You don't understand! It's my home, my old home! I've
just come across the smell of it, and it's close by here, really
quite close. And I MUST go to it, I must, I must! Oh, come
back, Ratty! Please, please come back!'
The Rat was by this time very far ahead, too far to hear
clearly what the Mole was calling, too far to catch the sharp
note of painful appeal in his voice. And he was much taken up
with the weather, for he too could smell something—something
suspiciously like approaching snow.
'Mole, we mustn't stop now, really!' he called back. 'We'll
come for it to-morrow, whatever it is you've found. But I
daren't stop now—it's late, and the snow's coming on again,
and I'm not sure of the way! And I want your nose, Mole, so
come on quick, there's a good fellow!' And the Rat pressed for-
ward on his way without waiting for an answer.
Poor Mole stood alone in the road, his heart torn asunder,
and a big sob gathering, gathering, somewhere low down in-
side him, to leap up to the surface presently, he knew, in pas-
sionate escape. But even under such a test as this his loyalty to
his friend stood firm. Never for a moment did he dream of
abandoning him. Meanwhile, the wafts from his old home
pleaded, whispered, conjured, and finally claimed him imperi-
ously. He dared not tarry longer within their magic circle. With
a wrench that tore his very heartstrings he set his face down
the road and followed submissively in the track of the Rat,
while faint, thin little smells, still dogging his retreating nose,

54
reproached him for his new friendship and his callous
forgetfulness.
With an effort he caught up to the unsuspecting Rat, who
began chattering cheerfully about what they would do when
they got back, and how jolly a fire of logs in the parlour would
be, and what a supper he meant to eat; never noticing his
companion's silence and distressful state of mind. At last,
however, when they had gone some considerable way further,
and were passing some tree-stumps at the edge of a copse that
bordered the road, he stopped and said kindly, 'Look here,
Mole old chap, you seem dead tired. No talk left in you, and
your feet dragging like lead. We'll sit down here for a minute
and rest. The snow has held off so far, and the best part of our
journey is over.'
The Mole subsided forlornly on a tree-stump and tried to con-
trol himself, for he felt it surely coming. The sob he had fought
with so long refused to be beaten. Up and up, it forced its way
to the air, and then another, and another, and others thick and
fast; till poor Mole at last gave up the struggle, and cried freely
and helplessly and openly, now that he knew it was all over and
he had lost what he could hardly be said to have found.
The Rat, astonished and dismayed at the violence of Mole's
paroxysm of grief, did not dare to speak for a while. At last he
said, very quietly and sympathetically, 'What is it, old fellow?
Whatever can be the matter? Tell us your trouble, and let me
see what I can do.'
Poor Mole found it difficult to get any words out between the
upheavals of his chest that followed one upon another so
quickly and held back speech and choked it as it came. 'I know
it's a—shabby, dingy little place,' he sobbed forth at last,
brokenly: 'not like—your cosy quarters—or Toad's beautiful
hall—or Badger's great house—but it was my own little
home—and I was fond of it—and I went away and forgot all
about it—and then I smelt it suddenly—on the road, when I
called and you wouldn't listen, Rat—and everything came back
to me with a rush—and I WANTED it!—O dear, O dear!—and
when you WOULDN'T turn back, Ratty—and I had to leave it,
though I was smelling it all the time—I thought my heart would
break.—We might have just gone and had one look at it,

55
Ratty—only one look—it was close by—but you wouldn't turn
back, Ratty, you wouldn't turn back! O dear, O dear!'
Recollection brought fresh waves of sorrow, and sobs again
took full charge of him, preventing further speech.
The Rat stared straight in front of him, saying nothing, only
patting Mole gently on the shoulder. After a time he muttered
gloomily, 'I see it all now! What a PIG I have been! A
pig—that's me! Just a pig—a plain pig!'
He waited till Mole's sobs became gradually less stormy and
more rhythmical; he waited till at last sniffs were frequent and
sobs only intermittent. Then he rose from his seat, and, re-
marking carelessly, 'Well, now we'd really better be getting on,
old chap!' set off up the road again, over the toilsome way they
had come.
'Wherever are you (hic) going to (hic), Ratty?' cried the tear-
ful Mole, looking up in alarm.
'We're going to find that home of yours, old fellow,' replied
the Rat pleasantly; 'so you had better come along, for it will
take some finding, and we shall want your nose.'
'Oh, come back, Ratty, do!' cried the Mole, getting up and
hurrying after him. 'It's no good, I tell you! It's too late, and too
dark, and the place is too far off, and the snow's coming!
And—and I never meant to let you know I was feeling that way
about it—it was all an accident and a mistake! And think of
River Bank, and your supper!'
'Hang River Bank, and supper too!' said the Rat heartily. 'I
tell you, I'm going to find this place now, if I stay out all night.
So cheer up, old chap, and take my arm, and we'll very soon be
back there again.'
Still snuffling, pleading, and reluctant, Mole suffered himself
to be dragged back along the road by his imperious compan-
ion, who by a flow of cheerful talk and anecdote endeavoured
to beguile his spirits back and make the weary way seem short-
er. When at last it seemed to the Rat that they must be nearing
that part of the road where the Mole had been 'held up,' he
said, 'Now, no more talking. Business! Use your nose, and give
your mind to it.'
They moved on in silence for some little way, when suddenly
the Rat was conscious, through his arm that was linked in
Mole's, of a faint sort of electric thrill that was passing down

56
that animal's body. Instantly he disengaged himself, fell back a
pace, and waited, all attention.
The signals were coming through!
Mole stood a moment rigid, while his uplifted nose, quivering
slightly, felt the air.
Then a short, quick run forward—a fault—a check—a try
back; and then a slow, steady, confident advance.
The Rat, much excited, kept close to his heels as the Mole,
with something of the air of a sleep-walker, crossed a dry
ditch, scrambled through a hedge, and nosed his way over a
field open and trackless and bare in the faint starlight.
Suddenly, without giving warning, he dived; but the Rat was
on the alert, and promptly followed him down the tunnel to
which his unerring nose had faithfully led him.
It was close and airless, and the earthy smell was strong, and
it seemed a long time to Rat ere the passage ended and he
could stand erect and stretch and shake himself. The Mole
struck a match, and by its light the Rat saw that they were
standing in an open space, neatly swept and sanded underfoot,
and directly facing them was Mole's little front door, with
'Mole End' painted, in Gothic lettering, over the bell-pull at the
side.
Mole reached down a lantern from a nail on the wail and lit
it, and the Rat, looking round him, saw that they were in a sort
of fore-court. A garden-seat stood on one side of the door, and
on the other a roller; for the Mole, who was a tidy animal when
at home, could not stand having his ground kicked up by other
animals into little runs that ended in earth-heaps. On the walls
hung wire baskets with ferns in them, alternating with brack-
ets carrying plaster statuary—Garibaldi, and the infant Samuel,
and Queen Victoria, and other heroes of modern Italy. Down on
one side of the forecourt ran a skittle-alley, with benches along
it and little wooden tables marked with rings that hinted at
beer-mugs. In the middle was a small round pond containing
gold-fish and surrounded by a cockle-shell border. Out of the
centre of the pond rose a fanciful erection clothed in more
cockle-shells and topped by a large silvered glass ball that re-
flected everything all wrong and had a very pleasing effect.
Mole's face-beamed at the sight of all these objects so dear
to him, and he hurried Rat through the door, lit a lamp in the

57
hall, and took one glance round his old home. He saw the dust
lying thick on everything, saw the cheerless, deserted look of
the long-neglected house, and its narrow, meagre dimensions,
its worn and shabby contents—and collapsed again on a hall-
chair, his nose to his paws. 'O Ratty!' he cried dismally, 'why
ever did I do it? Why did I bring you to this poor, cold little
place, on a night like this, when you might have been at River
Bank by this time, toasting your toes before a blazing fire, with
all your own nice things about you!'
The Rat paid no heed to his doleful self-reproaches. He was
running here and there, opening doors, inspecting rooms and
cupboards, and lighting lamps and candles and sticking them,
up everywhere. 'What a capital little house this is!' he called
out cheerily. 'So compact! So well planned! Everything here
and everything in its place! We'll make a jolly night of it. The
first thing we want is a good fire; I'll see to that—I always
know where to find things. So this is the parlour? Splendid!
Your own idea, those little sleeping-bunks in the wall? Capital!
Now, I'll fetch the wood and the coals, and you get a duster,
Mole—you'll find one in the drawer of the kitchen table—and
try and smarten things up a bit. Bustle about, old chap!'
Encouraged by his inspiriting companion, the Mole roused
himself and dusted and polished with energy and heartiness,
while the Rat, running to and fro with armfuls of fuel, soon had
a cheerful blaze roaring up the chimney. He hailed the Mole to
come and warm himself; but Mole promptly had another fit of
the blues, dropping down on a couch in dark despair and bury-
ing his face in his duster. 'Rat,' he moaned, 'how about your
supper, you poor, cold, hungry, weary animal? I've nothing to
give you—nothing—not a crumb!'
'What a fellow you are for giving in!' said the Rat reproach-
fully. 'Why, only just now I saw a sardine-opener on the kitchen
dresser, quite distinctly; and everybody knows that means
there are sardines about somewhere in the neighbourhood.
Rouse yourself! pull yourself together, and come with me and
forage.'
They went and foraged accordingly, hunting through every
cupboard and turning out every drawer. The result was not so
very depressing after all, though of course it might have been

58
better; a tin of sardines—a box of captain's biscuits, nearly
full—and a German sausage encased in silver paper.
'There's a banquet for you!' observed the Rat, as he arranged
the table. 'I know some animals who would give their ears to
be sitting down to supper with us to-night!'
'No bread!' groaned the Mole dolorously; 'no butter, no——'
'No pate de foie gras, no champagne!' continued the Rat,
grinning. 'And that reminds me—what's that little door at the
end of the passage? Your cellar, of course! Every luxury in this
house! Just you wait a minute.'
He made for the cellar-door, and presently reappeared,
somewhat dusty, with a bottle of beer in each paw and another
under each arm, 'Self-indulgent beggar you seem to be, Mole,'
he observed. 'Deny yourself nothing. This is really the jolliest
little place I ever was in. Now, wherever did you pick up those
prints? Make the place look so home-like, they do. No wonder
you're so fond of it, Mole. Tell us all about it, and how you
came to make it what it is.'
Then, while the Rat busied himself fetching plates, and
knives and forks, and mustard which he mixed in an egg-cup,
the Mole, his bosom still heaving with the stress of his recent
emotion, related—somewhat shyly at first, but with more free-
dom as he warmed to his subject—how this was planned, and
how that was thought out, and how this was got through a
windfall from an aunt, and that was a wonderful find and a bar-
gain, and this other thing was bought out of laborious savings
and a certain amount of 'going without.' His spirits finally quite
restored, he must needs go and caress his possessions, and
take a lamp and show off their points to his visitor and expati-
ate on them, quite forgetful of the supper they both so much
needed; Rat, who was desperately hungry but strove to conceal
it, nodding seriously, examining with a puckered brow, and
saying, 'wonderful,' and 'most remarkable,' at intervals, when
the chance for an observation was given him.
At last the Rat succeeded in decoying him to the table, and
had just got seriously to work with the sardine-opener when
sounds were heard from the fore-court without—sounds like
the scuffling of small feet in the gravel and a confused murmur
of tiny voices, while broken sentences reached them—'Now, all
in a line—hold the lantern up a bit, Tommy—clear your throats

59
first—no coughing after I say one, two, three.—Where's young
Bill?—Here, come on, do, we're all a-waiting——'
'What's up?' inquired the Rat, pausing in his labours.
'I think it must be the field-mice,' replied the Mole, with a
touch of pride in his manner. 'They go round carol-singing reg-
ularly at this time of the year. They're quite an institution in
these parts. And they never pass me over—they come to Mole
End last of all; and I used to give them hot drinks, and supper
too sometimes, when I could afford it. It will be like old times
to hear them again.'
'Let's have a look at them!' cried the Rat, jumping up and
running to the door.
It was a pretty sight, and a seasonable one, that met their
eyes when they flung the door open. In the fore-court, lit by the
dim rays of a horn lantern, some eight or ten little fieldmice
stood in a semicircle, red worsted comforters round their
throats, their fore-paws thrust deep into their pockets, their
feet jigging for warmth. With bright beady eyes they glanced
shyly at each other, sniggering a little, sniffing and applying
coat-sleeves a good deal. As the door opened, one of the elder
ones that carried the lantern was just saying, 'Now then, one,
two, three!' and forthwith their shrill little voices uprose on the
air, singing one of the old-time carols that their forefathers
composed in fields that were fallow and held by frost, or when
snow-bound in chimney corners, and handed down to be sung
in the miry street to lamp-lit windows at Yule-time.

CAROL

Villagers all, this frosty tide,

Let your doors swing open wide,
Though wind may follow, and snow beside,
Yet draw us in by your fire to bide;
Joy shall be yours in the morning!

Here we stand in the cold and the sleet,

Blowing fingers and stamping feet,
Come from far away you to greet—
You by the fire and we in the street—
Bidding you joy in the morning!

60
 For ere one half of the night was gone,
Sudden a star has led us on,
Raining bliss and benison—
Bliss to-morrow and more anon,
Joy for every morning!

Goodman Joseph toiled through the snow—

Saw the star o'er a stable low;
Mary she might not further go—
Welcome thatch, and litter below!
Joy was hers in the morning!

And then they heard the angels tell

'Who were the first to cry NOWELL?
Animals all, as it befell,
In the stable where they did dwell!
Joy shall be theirs in the morning!'

The voices ceased, the singers, bashful but smiling, ex-

changed sidelong glances, and silence succeeded—but for a
moment only. Then, from up above and far away, down the tun-
nel they had so lately travelled was borne to their ears in a
faint musical hum the sound of distant bells ringing a joyful
and clangorous peal.
'Very well sung, boys!' cried the Rat heartily. 'And now come
along in, all of you, and warm yourselves by the fire, and have
something hot!'
'Yes, come along, field-mice,' cried the Mole eagerly. 'This is
quite like old times! Shut the door after you. Pull up that settle
to the fire. Now, you just wait a minute, while we—O, Ratty!'
he cried in despair, plumping down on a seat, with tears im-
pending. 'Whatever are we doing? We've nothing to give them!'
'You leave all that to me,' said the masterful Rat. 'Here, you
with the lantern! Come over this way. I want to talk to you.
Now, tell me, are there any shops open at this hour of the
night?'
'Why, certainly, sir,' replied the field-mouse respectfully. 'At
this time of the year our shops keep open to all sorts of hours.'

61
 'Then look here!' said the Rat. 'You go off at once, you and
your lantern, and you get me——'
Here much muttered conversation ensued, and the Mole only
heard bits of it, such as—'Fresh, mind!—no, a pound of that
will do—see you get Buggins's, for I won't have any other—no,
only the best—if you can't get it there, try somewhere
else—yes, of course, home-made, no tinned stuff—well then, do
the best you can!' Finally, there was a chink of coin passing
from paw to paw, the field-mouse was provided with an ample
basket for his purchases, and off he hurried, he and his
lantern.
The rest of the field-mice, perched in a row on the settle,
their small legs swinging, gave themselves up to enjoyment of
the fire, and toasted their chilblains till they tingled; while the
Mole, failing to draw them into easy conversation, plunged into
family history and made each of them recite the names of his
numerous brothers, who were too young, it appeared, to be al-
lowed to go out a-carolling this year, but looked forward very
shortly to winning the parental consent.
The Rat, meanwhile, was busy examining the label on one of
the beer-bottles. 'I perceive this to be Old Burton,' he re-
marked approvingly. 'SENSIBLE Mole! The very thing! Now we
shall be able to mull some ale! Get the things ready, Mole,
while I draw the corks.'
It did not take long to prepare the brew and thrust the tin
heater well into the red heart of the fire; and soon every field-
mouse was sipping and coughing and choking (for a little
mulled ale goes a long way) and wiping his eyes and laughing
and forgetting he had ever been cold in all his life.
'They act plays too, these fellows,' the Mole explained to the
Rat. 'Make them up all by themselves, and act them after-
wards. And very well they do it, too! They gave us a capital one
last year, about a field-mouse who was captured at sea by a
Barbary corsair, and made to row in a galley; and when he es-
caped and got home again, his lady-love had gone into a con-
vent. Here, YOU! You were in it, I remember. Get up and recite
a bit.'
The field-mouse addressed got up on his legs, giggled shyly,
looked round the room, and remained absolutely tongue-tied.
His comrades cheered him on, Mole coaxed and encouraged

62
him, and the Rat went so far as to take him by the shoulders
and shake him; but nothing could overcome his stage-fright.
They were all busily engaged on him like watermen applying
the Royal Humane Society's regulations to a case of long sub-
mersion, when the latch clicked, the door opened, and the
field-mouse with the lantern reappeared, staggering under the
weight of his basket.
There was no more talk of play-acting once the very real and
solid contents of the basket had been tumbled out on the table.
Under the generalship of Rat, everybody was set to do
something or to fetch something. In a very few minutes supper
was ready, and Mole, as he took the head of the table in a sort
of a dream, saw a lately barren board set thick with savoury
comforts; saw his little friends' faces brighten and beam as
they fell to without delay; and then let himself loose—for he
was famished indeed—on the provender so magically provided,
thinking what a happy home-coming this had turned out, after
all. As they ate, they talked of old times, and the field-mice
gave him the local gossip up to date, and answered as well as
they could the hundred questions he had to ask them. The Rat
said little or nothing, only taking care that each guest had what
he wanted, and plenty of it, and that Mole had no trouble or
anxiety about anything.
They clattered off at last, very grateful and showering wishes
of the season, with their jacket pockets stuffed with remem-
brances for the small brothers and sisters at home. When the
door had closed on the last of them and the chink of the lan-
terns had died away, Mole and Rat kicked the fire up, drew
their chairs in, brewed themselves a last nightcap of mulled
ale, and discussed the events of the long day. At last the Rat,
with a tremendous yawn, said, 'Mole, old chap, I'm ready to
drop. Sleepy is simply not the word. That your own bunk over
on that side? Very well, then, I'll take this. What a ripping little
house this is! Everything so handy!'
He clambered into his bunk and rolled himself well up in the
blankets, and slumber gathered him forthwith, as a swathe of
barley is folded into the arms of the reaping machine.
The weary Mole also was glad to turn in without delay, and
soon had his head on his pillow, in great joy and contentment.
But ere he closed his eyes he let them wander round his old

63
room, mellow in the glow of the firelight that played or rested
on familiar and friendly things which had long been uncon-
sciously a part of him, and now smilingly received him back,
without rancour. He was now in just the frame of mind that the
tactful Rat had quietly worked to bring about in him. He saw
clearly how plain and simple—how narrow, even—it all was;
but clearly, too, how much it all meant to him, and the special
value of some such anchorage in one's existence. He did not at
all want to abandon the new life and its splendid spaces, to
turn his back on sun and air and all they offered him and creep
home and stay there; the upper world was all too strong, it
called to him still, even down there, and he knew he must re-
turn to the larger stage. But it was good to think he had this to
come back to; this place which was all his own, these things
which were so glad to see him again and could always be coun-
ted upon for the same simple welcome.

64
Chapter 6
MR. TOAD
It was a bright morning in the early part of summer; the river
had resumed its wonted banks and its accustomed pace, and a
hot sun seemed to be pulling everything green and bushy and
spiky up out of the earth towards him, as if by strings. The
Mole and the Water Rat had been up since dawn, very busy on
matters connected with boats and the opening of the boating
season; painting and varnishing, mending paddles, repairing
cushions, hunting for missing boat-hooks, and so on; and were
finishing breakfast in their little parlour and eagerly discussing
their plans for the day, when a heavy knock sounded at the
door.
'Bother!' said the Rat, all over egg. 'See who it is, Mole, like a
good chap, since you've finished.'
The Mole went to attend the summons, and the Rat heard
him utter a cry of surprise. Then he flung the parlour door
open, and announced with much importance, 'Mr. Badger!'
This was a wonderful thing, indeed, that the Badger should
pay a formal call on them, or indeed on anybody. He generally
had to be caught, if you wanted him badly, as he slipped
quietly along a hedgerow of an early morning or a late evening,
or else hunted up in his own house in the middle of the Wood,
which was a serious undertaking.
The Badger strode heavily into the room, and stood looking
at the two animals with an expression full of seriousness. The
Rat let his egg-spoon fall on the table-cloth, and sat open-
mouthed.
'The hour has come!' said the Badger at last with great
solemnity.
'What hour?' asked the Rat uneasily, glancing at the clock on
the mantelpiece.

65
 'WHOSE hour, you should rather say,' replied the Badger.
'Why, Toad's hour! The hour of Toad! I said I would take him in
hand as soon as the winter was well over, and I'm going to take
him in hand to-day!'
'Toad's hour, of course!' cried the Mole delightedly. 'Hooray!
I remember now! WE'LL teach him to be a sensible Toad!'
'This very morning,' continued the Badger, taking an arm-
chair, 'as I learnt last night from a trustworthy source, another
new and exceptionally powerful motor-car will arrive at Toad
Hall on approval or return. At this very moment, perhaps, Toad
is busy arraying himself in those singularly hideous habili-
ments so dear to him, which transform him from a
(comparatively) good-looking Toad into an Object which throws
any decent-minded animal that comes across it into a violent
fit. We must be up and doing, ere it is too late. You two animals
will accompany me instantly to Toad Hall, and the work of res-
cue shall be accomplished.'
'Right you are!' cried the Rat, starting up. 'We'll rescue the
poor unhappy animal! We'll convert him! He'll be the most con-
verted Toad that ever was before we've done with him!'
They set off up the road on their mission of mercy, Badger
leading the way. Animals when in company walk in a proper
and sensible manner, in single file, instead of sprawling all
across the road and being of no use or support to each other in
case of sudden trouble or danger.
They reached the carriage-drive of Toad Hall to find, as the
Badger had anticipated, a shiny new motor-car, of great size,
painted a bright red (Toad's favourite colour), standing in front
of the house. As they neared the door it was flung open, and
Mr. Toad, arrayed in goggles, cap, gaiters, and enormous over-
coat, came swaggering down the steps, drawing on his gaunt-
leted gloves.
'Hullo! come on, you fellows!' he cried cheerfully on catching
sight of them. 'You're just in time to come with me for a
jolly—to come for a jolly—for a—er—jolly——'
His hearty accents faltered and fell away as he noticed the
stern unbending look on the countenances of his silent friends,
and his invitation remained unfinished.
The Badger strode up the steps. 'Take him inside,' he said
sternly to his companions. Then, as Toad was hustled through

66
the door, struggling and protesting, he turned to the chauffeur
in charge of the new motor-car.
'I'm afraid you won't be wanted to-day,' he said. 'Mr. Toad
has changed his mind. He will not require the car. Please un-
derstand that this is final. You needn't wait.' Then he followed
the others inside and shut the door.
'Now then!' he said to the Toad, when the four of them stood
together in the Hall, 'first of all, take those ridiculous things
off!'
'Shan't!' replied Toad, with great spirit. 'What is the meaning
of this gross outrage? I demand an instant explanation.'
'Take them off him, then, you two,' ordered the Badger
briefly.
They had to lay Toad out on the floor, kicking and calling all
sorts of names, before they could get to work properly. Then
the Rat sat on him, and the Mole got his motor-clothes off him
bit by bit, and they stood him up on his legs again. A good deal
of his blustering spirit seemed to have evaporated with the re-
moval of his fine panoply. Now that he was merely Toad, and
no longer the Terror of the Highway, he giggled feebly and
looked from one to the other appealingly, seeming quite to un-
derstand the situation.
'You knew it must come to this, sooner or later, Toad,' the
Badger explained severely.
You've disregarded all the warnings we've given you, you've
gone on squandering the money your father left you, and
you're getting us animals a bad name in the district by your
furious driving and your smashes and your rows with the po-
lice. Independence is all very well, but we animals never allow
our friends to make fools of themselves beyond a certain limit;
and that limit you've reached. Now, you're a good fellow in
many respects, and I don't want to be too hard on you. I'll
make one more effort to bring you to reason. You will come
with me into the smoking-room, and there you will hear some
facts about yourself; and we'll see whether you come out of
that room the same Toad that you went in.'
He took Toad firmly by the arm, led him into the smoking-
room, and closed the door behind them.
'THAT'S no good!' said the Rat contemptuously. 'TALKING to
Toad'll never cure him. He'll SAY anything.'

67
 They made themselves comfortable in armchairs and waited
patiently. Through the closed door they could just hear the
long continuous drone of the Badger's voice, rising and falling
in waves of oratory; and presently they noticed that the sermon
began to be punctuated at intervals by long-drawn sobs, evid-
ently proceeding from the bosom of Toad, who was a soft-
hearted and affectionate fellow, very easily converted—for the
time being—to any point of view.
After some three-quarters of an hour the door opened, and
the Badger reappeared, solemnly leading by the paw a very
limp and dejected Toad. His skin hung baggily about him, his
legs wobbled, and his cheeks were furrowed by the tears so
plentifully called forth by the Badger's moving discourse.
'Sit down there, Toad,' said the Badger kindly, pointing to a
chair. 'My friends,' he went on, 'I am pleased to inform you that
Toad has at last seen the error of his ways. He is truly sorry for
his misguided conduct in the past, and he has undertaken to
give up motor-cars entirely and for ever. I have his solemn
promise to that effect.'
'That is very good news,' said the Mole gravely.
'Very good news indeed,' observed the Rat dubiously, 'if
only—IF only——'
He was looking very hard at Toad as he said this, and could
not help thinking he perceived something vaguely resembling a
twinkle in that animal's still sorrowful eye.
'There's only one thing more to be done,' continued the grati-
fied Badger. 'Toad, I want you solemnly to repeat, before your
friends here, what you fully admitted to me in the smoking-
room just now. First, you are sorry for what you've done, and
you see the folly of it all?'
There was a long, long pause. Toad looked desperately this
way and that, while the other animals waited in grave silence.
At last he spoke.
'No!' he said, a little sullenly, but stoutly; 'I'm NOT sorry.
And it wasn't folly at all! It was simply glorious!'
'What?' cried the Badger, greatly scandalised. 'You backslid-
ing animal, didn't you tell me just now, in there——'
'Oh, yes, yes, in THERE,' said Toad impatiently. 'I'd have said
anything in THERE. You're so eloquent, dear Badger, and so
moving, and so convincing, and put all your points so

68
frightfully well—you can do what you like with me in THERE,
and you know it. But I've been searching my mind since, and
going over things in it, and I find that I'm not a bit sorry or re-
pentant really, so it's no earthly good saying I am; now, is it?'
'Then you don't promise,' said the Badger, 'never to touch a
motor-car again?'
'Certainly not!' replied Toad emphatically. 'On the contrary, I
faithfully promise that the very first motor-car I see, poop-
poop! off I go in it!'
'Told you so, didn't I?' observed the Rat to the Mole.
'Very well, then,' said the Badger firmly, rising to his feet.
'Since you won't yield to persuasion, we'll try what force can
do. I feared it would come to this all along. You've often asked
us three to come and stay with you, Toad, in this handsome
house of yours; well, now we're going to. When we've conver-
ted you to a proper point of view we may quit, but not before.
Take him upstairs, you two, and lock him up in his bedroom,
while we arrange matters between ourselves.'
'It's for your own good, Toady, you know,' said the Rat kindly,
as Toad, kicking and struggling, was hauled up the stairs by his
two faithful friends. 'Think what fun we shall all have together,
just as we used to, when you've quite got over this—this painful
attack of yours!'
'We'll take great care of everything for you till you're well,
Toad,' said the Mole; 'and we'll see your money isn't wasted, as
it has been.'
'No more of those regrettable incidents with the police,
Toad,' said the Rat, as they thrust him into his bedroom.
'And no more weeks in hospital, being ordered about by fe-
male nurses, Toad,' added the Mole, turning the key on him.
They descended the stair, Toad shouting abuse at them
through the keyhole; and the three friends then met in confer-
ence on the situation.
'It's going to be a tedious business,' said the Badger, sighing.
'I've never seen Toad so determined. However, we will see it
out. He must never be left an instant unguarded. We shall have
to take it in turns to be with him, till the poison has worked it-
self out of his system.'
They arranged watches accordingly. Each animal took it in
turns to sleep in Toad's room at night, and they divided the day

69
up between them. At first Toad was undoubtedly very trying to
his careful guardians. When his violent paroxysms possessed
him he would arrange bedroom chairs in rude resemblance of a
motor-car and would crouch on the foremost of them, bent for-
ward and staring fixedly ahead, making uncouth and ghastly
noises, till the climax was reached, when, turning a complete
somersault, he would lie prostrate amidst the ruins of the
chairs, apparently completely satisfied for the moment. As time
passed, however, these painful seizures grew gradually less
frequent, and his friends strove to divert his mind into fresh
channels. But his interest in other matters did not seem to re-
vive, and he grew apparently languid and depressed.
One fine morning the Rat, whose turn it was to go on duty,
went upstairs to relieve Badger, whom he found fidgeting to be
off and stretch his legs in a long ramble round his wood and
down his earths and burrows. 'Toad's still in bed,' he told the
Rat, outside the door. 'Can't get much out of him, except, "O
leave him alone, he wants nothing, perhaps he'll be better
presently, it may pass off in time, don't be unduly anxious," and
so on. Now, you look out, Rat! When Toad's quiet and sub-
missive and playing at being the hero of a Sunday-school prize,
then he's at his artfullest. There's sure to be something up. I
know him. Well, now, I must be off.'
'How are you to-day, old chap?' inquired the Rat cheerfully,
as he approached Toad's bedside.
He had to wait some minutes for an answer. At last a feeble
voice replied, 'Thank you so much, dear Ratty! So good of you
to inquire! But first tell me how you are yourself, and the excel-
lent Mole?'
'O, WE'RE all right,' replied the Rat. 'Mole,' he added incau-
tiously, 'is going out for a run round with Badger. They'll be
out till luncheon time, so you and I will spend a pleasant morn-
ing together, and I'll do my best to amuse you. Now jump up,
there's a good fellow, and don't lie moping there on a fine
morning like this!'
'Dear, kind Rat,' murmured Toad, 'how little you realise my
condition, and how very far I am from "jumping up" now—if
ever! But do not trouble about me. I hate being a burden to my
friends, and I do not expect to be one much longer. Indeed, I
almost hope not.'

70
 'Well, I hope not, too,' said the Rat heartily. 'You've been a
fine bother to us all this time, and I'm glad to hear it's going to
stop. And in weather like this, and the boating season just be-
ginning! It's too bad of you, Toad! It isn't the trouble we mind,
but you're making us miss such an awful lot.'
'I'm afraid it IS the trouble you mind, though,' replied the
Toad languidly. 'I can quite understand it. It's natural enough.
You're tired of bothering about me. I mustn't ask you to do any-
thing further. I'm a nuisance, I know.'
'You are, indeed,' said the Rat. 'But I tell you, I'd take any
trouble on earth for you, if only you'd be a sensible animal.'
'If I thought that, Ratty,' murmured Toad, more feebly than
ever, 'then I would beg you—for the last time, probably—to
step round to the village as quickly as possible—even now it
may be too late—and fetch the doctor. But don't you bother.
It's only a trouble, and perhaps we may as well let things take
their course.'
'Why, what do you want a doctor for?' inquired the Rat, com-
ing closer and examining him. He certainly lay very still and
flat, and his voice was weaker and his manner much changed.
'Surely you have noticed of late——' murmured Toad. 'But,
no—why should you? Noticing things is only a trouble. To-mor-
row, indeed, you may be saying to yourself, "O, if only I had no-
ticed sooner! If only I had done something!" But no; it's a
trouble. Never mind—forget that I asked.'
'Look here, old man,' said the Rat, beginning to get rather
alarmed, 'of course I'll fetch a doctor to you, if you really think
you want him. But you can hardly be bad enough for that yet.
Let's talk about something else.'
'I fear, dear friend,' said Toad, with a sad smile, 'that "talk"
can do little in a case like this—or doctors either, for that mat-
ter; still, one must grasp at the slightest straw. And, by the
way—while you are about it—I HATE to give you additional
trouble, but I happen to remember that you will pass the
door—would you mind at the same time asking the lawyer to
step up? It would be a convenience to me, and there are mo-
ments—perhaps I should say there is A moment—when one
must face disagreeable tasks, at whatever cost to exhausted
nature!'

71
 'A lawyer! O, he must be really bad!' the affrighted Rat said
to himself, as he hurried from the room, not forgetting,
however, to lock the door carefully behind him.
Outside, he stopped to consider. The other two were far
away, and he had no one to consult.
'It's best to be on the safe side,' he said, on reflection. 'I've
known Toad fancy himself frightfully bad before, without the
slightest reason; but I've never heard him ask for a lawyer! If
there's nothing really the matter, the doctor will tell him he's
an old ass, and cheer him up; and that will be something
gained. I'd better humour him and go; it won't take very long.'
So he ran off to the village on his errand of mercy.
The Toad, who had hopped lightly out of bed as soon as he
heard the key turned in the lock, watched him eagerly from the
window till he disappeared down the carriage-drive. Then,
laughing heartily, he dressed as quickly as possible in the
smartest suit he could lay hands on at the moment, filled his
pockets with cash which he took from a small drawer in the
dressing-table, and next, knotting the sheets from his bed to-
gether and tying one end of the improvised rope round the
central mullion of the handsome Tudor window which formed
such a feature of his bedroom, he scrambled out, slid lightly to
the ground, and, taking the opposite direction to the Rat,
marched off lightheartedly, whistling a merry tune.
It was a gloomy luncheon for Rat when the Badger and the
Mole at length returned, and he had to face them at table with
his pitiful and unconvincing story. The Badger's caustic, not to
say brutal, remarks may be imagined, and therefore passed
over; but it was painful to the Rat that even the Mole, though
he took his friend's side as far as possible, could not help say-
ing, 'You've been a bit of a duffer this time, Ratty! Toad, too, of
all animals!'
'He did it awfully well,' said the crestfallen Rat.
'He did YOU awfully well!' rejoined the Badger hotly.
'However, talking won't mend matters. He's got clear away for
the time, that's certain; and the worst of it is, he'll be so con-
ceited with what he'll think is his cleverness that he may com-
mit any folly. One comfort is, we're free now, and needn't
waste any more of our precious time doing sentry-go. But we'd
better continue to sleep at Toad Hall for a while longer. Toad

72
may be brought back at any moment—on a stretcher, or
between two policemen.'
So spoke the Badger, not knowing what the future held in
store, or how much water, and of how turbid a character, was
to run under bridges before Toad should sit at ease again in his
ancestral Hall.
Meanwhile, Toad, gay and irresponsible, was walking briskly
along the high road, some miles from home. At first he had
taken by-paths, and crossed many fields, and changed his
course several times, in case of pursuit; but now, feeling by
this time safe from recapture, and the sun smiling brightly on
him, and all Nature joining in a chorus of approval to the song
of self-praise that his own heart was singing to him, he almost
danced along the road in his satisfaction and conceit.
'Smart piece of work that!' he remarked to himself chuckling.
'Brain against brute force—and brain came out on the top—as
it's bound to do. Poor old Ratty! My! won't he catch it when the
Badger gets back! A worthy fellow, Ratty, with many good
qualities, but very little intelligence and absolutely no educa-
tion. I must take him in hand some day, and see if I can make
something of him.'
Filled full of conceited thoughts such as these he strode
along, his head in the air, till he reached a little town, where
the sign of 'The Red Lion,' swinging across the road halfway
down the main street, reminded him that he had not breakfas-
ted that day, and that he was exceedingly hungry after his long
walk. He marched into the Inn, ordered the best luncheon that
could be provided at so short a notice, and sat down to eat it in
the coffee-room.
He was about half-way through his meal when an only too fa-
miliar sound, approaching down the street, made him start and
fall a-trembling all over. The poop-poop! drew nearer and near-
er, the car could be heard to turn into the inn-yard and come to
a stop, and Toad had to hold on to the leg of the table to con-
ceal his over-mastering emotion. Presently the party entered
the coffee-room, hungry, talkative, and gay, voluble on their ex-
periences of the morning and the merits of the chariot that had
brought them along so well. Toad listened eagerly, all ears, for
a time; at last he could stand it no longer. He slipped out of the
room quietly, paid his bill at the bar, and as soon as he got

73
outside sauntered round quietly to the inn-yard. 'There cannot
be any harm,' he said to himself, 'in my only just LOOKING at
it!'
The car stood in the middle of the yard, quite unattended,
the stable-helps and other hangers-on being all at their dinner.
Toad walked slowly round it, inspecting, criticising, musing
deeply.
'I wonder,' he said to himself presently, 'I wonder if this sort
of car STARTS easily?'
Next moment, hardly knowing how it came about, he found
he had hold of the handle and was turning it. As the familiar
sound broke forth, the old passion seized on Toad and com-
pletely mastered him, body and soul. As if in a dream he found
himself, somehow, seated in the driver's seat; as if in a dream,
he pulled the lever and swung the car round the yard and out
through the archway; and, as if in a dream, all sense of right
and wrong, all fear of obvious consequences, seemed tempor-
arily suspended. He increased his pace, and as the car de-
voured the street and leapt forth on the high road through the
open country, he was only conscious that he was Toad once
more, Toad at his best and highest, Toad the terror, the traffic-
queller, the Lord of the lone trail, before whom all must give
way or be smitten into nothingness and everlasting night. He
chanted as he flew, and the car responded with sonorous
drone; the miles were eaten up under him as he sped he knew
not whither, fulfilling his instincts, living his hour, reckless of
what might come to him.
******
'To my mind,' observed the Chairman of the Bench of Magis-
trates cheerfully, 'the ONLY difficulty that presents itself in
this otherwise very clear case is, how we can possibly make it
sufficiently hot for the incorrigible rogue and hardened ruffian
whom we see cowering in the dock before us. Let me see: he
has been found guilty, on the clearest evidence, first, of steal-
ing a valuable motor-car; secondly, of driving to the public
danger; and, thirdly, of gross impertinence to the rural police.
Mr. Clerk, will you tell us, please, what is the very stiffest pen-
alty we can impose for each of these offences? Without, of
course, giving the prisoner the benefit of any doubt, because
there isn't any.'

74
 The Clerk scratched his nose with his pen. 'Some people
would consider,' he observed, 'that stealing the motor-car was
the worst offence; and so it is. But cheeking the police un-
doubtedly carries the severest penalty; and so it ought. Sup-
posing you were to say twelve months for the theft, which is
mild; and three years for the furious driving, which is lenient;
and fifteen years for the cheek, which was pretty bad sort of
cheek, judging by what we've heard from the witness-box, even
if you only believe one-tenth part of what you heard, and I nev-
er believe more myself—those figures, if added together cor-
rectly, tot up to nineteen years——'
'First-rate!' said the Chairman.
'—So you had better make it a round twenty years and be on
the safe side,' concluded the Clerk.
'An excellent suggestion!' said the Chairman approvingly.
'Prisoner! Pull yourself together and try and stand up straight.
It's going to be twenty years for you this time. And mind, if you
appear before us again, upon any charge whatever, we shall
have to deal with you very seriously!'
Then the brutal minions of the law fell upon the hapless
Toad; loaded him with chains, and dragged him from the Court
House, shrieking, praying, protesting; across the marketplace,
where the playful populace, always as severe upon detected
crime as they are sympathetic and helpful when one is merely
'wanted,' assailed him with jeers, carrots, and popular catch-
words; past hooting school children, their innocent faces lit up
with the pleasure they ever derive from the sight of a gentle-
man in difficulties; across the hollow-sounding drawbridge, be-
low the spiky portcullis, under the frowning archway of the
grim old castle, whose ancient towers soared high overhead;
past guardrooms full of grinning soldiery off duty, past sentries
who coughed in a horrid, sarcastic way, because that is as
much as a sentry on his post dare do to show his contempt and
abhorrence of crime; up time-worn winding stairs, past men-at-
arms in casquet and corselet of steel, darting threatening looks
through their vizards; across courtyards, where mastiffs
strained at their leash and pawed the air to get at him; past an-
cient warders, their halberds leant against the wall, dozing
over a pasty and a flagon of brown ale; on and on, past the
rack-chamber and the thumbscrew-room, past the turning that

75
led to the private scaffold, till they reached the door of the
grimmest dungeon that lay in the heart of the innermost keep.
There at last they paused, where an ancient gaoler sat finger-
ing a bunch of mighty keys.
'Oddsbodikins!' said the sergeant of police, taking off his hel-
met and wiping his forehead. 'Rouse thee, old loon, and take
over from us this vile Toad, a criminal of deepest guilt and
matchless artfulness and resource. Watch and ward him with
all thy skill; and mark thee well, greybeard, should aught unto-
ward befall, thy old head shall answer for his—and a murrain
on both of them!'
The gaoler nodded grimly, laying his withered hand on the
shoulder of the miserable Toad. The rusty key creaked in the
lock, the great door clanged behind them; and Toad was a
helpless prisoner in the remotest dungeon of the best-guarded
keep of the stoutest castle in all the length and breadth of
Merry England.

76
Chapter 7
THE PIPER AT THE GATES OF DAWN
The Willow-Wren was twittering his thin little song, hidden
himself in the dark selvedge of the river bank. Though it was
past ten o'clock at night, the sky still clung to and retained
some lingering skirts of light from the departed day; and the
sullen heats of the torrid afternoon broke up and rolled away at
the dispersing touch of the cool fingers of the short midsum-
mer night. Mole lay stretched on the bank, still panting from
the stress of the fierce day that had been cloudless from dawn
to late sunset, and waited for his friend to return. He had been
on the river with some companions, leaving the Water Rat free
to keep a engagement of long standing with Otter; and he had
come back to find the house dark and deserted, and no sign of
Rat, who was doubtless keeping it up late with his old com-
rade. It was still too hot to think of staying indoors, so he lay
on some cool dock-leaves, and thought over the past day and
its doings, and how very good they all had been.
The Rat's light footfall was presently heard approaching over
the parched grass. 'O, the blessed coolness!' he said, and sat
down, gazing thoughtfully into the river, silent and pre-
occupied.
'You stayed to supper, of course?' said the Mole presently.
'Simply had to,' said the Rat. 'They wouldn't hear of my going
before. You know how kind they always are. And they made
things as jolly for me as ever they could, right up to the mo-
ment I left. But I felt a brute all the time, as it was clear to me
they were very unhappy, though they tried to hide it. Mole, I'm
afraid they're in trouble. Little Portly is missing again; and you
know what a lot his father thinks of him, though he never says
much about it.'

77
 'What, that child?' said the Mole lightly. 'Well, suppose he is;
why worry about it? He's always straying off and getting lost,
and turning up again; he's so adventurous. But no harm ever
happens to him. Everybody hereabouts knows him and likes
him, just as they do old Otter, and you may be sure some anim-
al or other will come across him and bring him back again all
right. Why, we've found him ourselves, miles from home, and
quite self-possessed and cheerful!'
'Yes; but this time it's more serious,' said the Rat gravely.
'He's been missing for some days now, and the Otters have
hunted everywhere, high and low, without finding the slightest
trace. And they've asked every animal, too, for miles around,
and no one knows anything about him. Otter's evidently more
anxious than he'll admit. I got out of him that young Portly
hasn't learnt to swim very well yet, and I can see he's thinking
of the weir. There's a lot of water coming down still, consider-
ing the time of the year, and the place always had a fascination
for the child. And then there are—well, traps and things—YOU
know. Otter's not the fellow to be nervous about any son of his
before it's time. And now he IS nervous. When I left, he came
out with me—said he wanted some air, and talked about
stretching his legs. But I could see it wasn't that, so I drew him
out and pumped him, and got it all from him at last. He was go-
ing to spend the night watching by the ford. You know the
place where the old ford used to be, in by-gone days before
they built the bridge?'
'I know it well,' said the Mole. 'But why should Otter choose
to watch there?'
'Well, it seems that it was there he gave Portly his first
swimming-lesson,' continued the Rat. 'From that shallow, grav-
elly spit near the bank. And it was there he used to teach him
fishing, and there young Portly caught his first fish, of which
he was so very proud. The child loved the spot, and Otter
thinks that if he came wandering back from wherever he is—if
he IS anywhere by this time, poor little chap—he might make
for the ford he was so fond of; or if he came across it he'd re-
member it well, and stop there and play, perhaps. So Otter
goes there every night and watches—on the chance, you know,
just on the chance!'

78
 They were silent for a time, both thinking of the same
thing—the lonely, heart-sore animal, crouched by the ford,
watching and waiting, the long night through—on the chance.
'Well, well,' said the Rat presently, 'I suppose we ought to be
thinking about turning in.' But he never offered to move.
'Rat,' said the Mole, 'I simply can't go and turn in, and go to
sleep, and DO nothing, even though there doesn't seem to be
anything to be done. We'll get the boat out, and paddle up
stream. The moon will be up in an hour or so, and then we will
search as well as we can—anyhow, it will be better than going
to bed and doing NOTHING.'
'Just what I was thinking myself,' said the Rat. 'It's not the
sort of night for bed anyhow; and daybreak is not so very far
off, and then we may pick up some news of him from early
risers as we go along.'
They got the boat out, and the Rat took the sculls, paddling
with caution. Out in midstream, there was a clear, narrow
track that faintly reflected the sky; but wherever shadows fell
on the water from bank, bush, or tree, they were as solid to all
appearance as the banks themselves, and the Mole had to steer
with judgment accordingly. Dark and deserted as it was, the
night was full of small noises, song and chatter and rustling,
telling of the busy little population who were up and about, ply-
ing their trades and vocations through the night till sunshine
should fall on them at last and send them off to their well-
earned repose. The water's own noises, too, were more appar-
ent than by day, its gurglings and 'cloops' more unexpected
and near at hand; and constantly they started at what seemed
a sudden clear call from an actual articulate voice.
The line of the horizon was clear and hard against the sky,
and in one particular quarter it showed black against a silvery
climbing phosphorescence that grew and grew. At last, over
the rim of the waiting earth the moon lifted with slow majesty
till it swung clear of the horizon and rode off, free of moorings;
and once more they began to see surfaces—meadows wide-
spread, and quiet gardens, and the river itself from bank to
bank, all softly disclosed, all washed clean of mystery and ter-
ror, all radiant again as by day, but with a difference that was
tremendous. Their old haunts greeted them again in other
raiment, as if they had slipped away and put on this pure new

79
apparel and come quietly back, smiling as they shyly waited to
see if they would be recognised again under it.
Fastening their boat to a willow, the friends landed in this si-
lent, silver kingdom, and patiently explored the hedges, the
hollow trees, the runnels and their little culverts, the ditches
and dry water-ways. Embarking again and crossing over, they
worked their way up the stream in this manner, while the
moon, serene and detached in a cloudless sky, did what she
could, though so far off, to help them in their quest; till her
hour came and she sank earthwards reluctantly, and left them,
and mystery once more held field and river.
Then a change began slowly to declare itself. The horizon be-
came clearer, field and tree came more into sight, and some-
how with a different look; the mystery began to drop away
from them. A bird piped suddenly, and was still; and a light
breeze sprang up and set the reeds and bulrushes rustling.
Rat, who was in the stern of the boat, while Mole sculled, sat
up suddenly and listened with a passionate intentness. Mole,
who with gentle strokes was just keeping the boat moving
while he scanned the banks with care, looked at him with
curiosity.
'It's gone!' sighed the Rat, sinking back in his seat again. 'So
beautiful and strange and new. Since it was to end so soon, I
almost wish I had never heard it. For it has roused a longing in
me that is pain, and nothing seems worth while but just to hear
that sound once more and go on listening to it for ever. No!
There it is again!' he cried, alert once more. Entranced, he was
silent for a long space, spellbound.
'Now it passes on and I begin to lose it,' he said presently. 'O
Mole! the beauty of it! The merry bubble and joy, the thin,
clear, happy call of the distant piping! Such music I never
dreamed of, and the call in it is stronger even than the music is
sweet! Row on, Mole, row! For the music and the call must be
for us.'
The Mole, greatly wondering, obeyed. 'I hear nothing myself,'
he said, 'but the wind playing in the reeds and rushes and
osiers.'
The Rat never answered, if indeed he heard. Rapt, transpor-
ted, trembling, he was possessed in all his senses by this new
divine thing that caught up his helpless soul and swung and

80
dandled it, a powerless but happy infant in a strong sustaining
grasp.
In silence Mole rowed steadily, and soon they came to a point
where the river divided, a long backwater branching off to one
side. With a slight movement of his head Rat, who had long
dropped the rudder-lines, directed the rower to take the back-
water. The creeping tide of light gained and gained, and now
they could see the colour of the flowers that gemmed the
water's edge.
'Clearer and nearer still,' cried the Rat joyously. 'Now you
must surely hear it! Ah—at last—I see you do!'
Breathless and transfixed the Mole stopped rowing as the li-
quid run of that glad piping broke on him like a wave, caught
him up, and possessed him utterly. He saw the tears on his
comrade's cheeks, and bowed his head and understood. For a
space they hung there, brushed by the purple loose-strife that
fringed the bank; then the clear imperious summons that
marched hand-in-hand with the intoxicating melody imposed
its will on Mole, and mechanically he bent to his oars again.
And the light grew steadily stronger, but no birds sang as they
were wont to do at the approach of dawn; and but for the heav-
enly music all was marvellously still.
On either side of them, as they glided onwards, the rich
meadow-grass seemed that morning of a freshness and a
greenness unsurpassable. Never had they noticed the roses so
vivid, the willow-herb so riotous, the meadow-sweet so odorous
and pervading. Then the murmur of the approaching weir
began to hold the air, and they felt a consciousness that they
were nearing the end, whatever it might be, that surely
awaited their expedition.
A wide half-circle of foam and glinting lights and shining
shoulders of green water, the great weir closed the backwater
from bank to bank, troubled all the quiet surface with twirling
eddies and floating foam-streaks, and deadened all other
sounds with its solemn and soothing rumble. In midmost of the
stream, embraced in the weir's shimmering arm-spread, a
small island lay anchored, fringed close with willow and silver
birch and alder. Reserved, shy, but full of significance, it hid
whatever it might hold behind a veil, keeping it till the hour

81
should come, and, with the hour, those who were called and
chosen.
Slowly, but with no doubt or hesitation whatever, and in
something of a solemn expectancy, the two animals passed
through the broken tumultuous water and moored their boat at
the flowery margin of the island. In silence they landed, and
pushed through the blossom and scented herbage and under-
growth that led up to the level ground, till they stood on a little
lawn of a marvellous green, set round with Nature's own
orchard-trees—crab-apple, wild cherry, and sloe.
'This is the place of my song-dream, the place the music
played to me,' whispered the Rat, as if in a trance. 'Here, in
this holy place, here if anywhere, surely we shall find Him!'
Then suddenly the Mole felt a great Awe fall upon him, an
awe that turned his muscles to water, bowed his head, and
rooted his feet to the ground. It was no panic terror—indeed he
felt wonderfully at peace and happy—but it was an awe that
smote and held him and, without seeing, he knew it could only
mean that some august Presence was very, very near. With dif-
ficulty he turned to look for his friend and saw him at his side
cowed, stricken, and trembling violently. And still there was ut-
ter silence in the populous bird-haunted branches around
them; and still the light grew and grew.
Perhaps he would never have dared to raise his eyes, but
that, though the piping was now hushed, the call and the sum-
mons seemed still dominant and imperious. He might not re-
fuse, were Death himself waiting to strike him instantly, once
he had looked with mortal eye on things rightly kept hidden.
Trembling he obeyed, and raised his humble head; and then, in
that utter clearness of the imminent dawn, while Nature,
flushed with fullness of incredible colour, seemed to hold her
breath for the event, he looked in the very eyes of the Friend
and Helper; saw the backward sweep of the curved horns,
gleaming in the growing daylight; saw the stern, hooked nose
between the kindly eyes that were looking down on them hu-
mourously, while the bearded mouth broke into a half-smile at
the corners; saw the rippling muscles on the arm that lay
across the broad chest, the long supple hand still holding the
pan-pipes only just fallen away from the parted lips; saw the
splendid curves of the shaggy limbs disposed in majestic ease

82
on the sward; saw, last of all, nestling between his very hooves,
sleeping soundly in entire peace and contentment, the little,
round, podgy, childish form of the baby otter. All this he saw,
for one moment breathless and intense, vivid on the morning
sky; and still, as he looked, he lived; and still, as he lived, he
wondered.
'Rat!' he found breath to whisper, shaking. 'Are you afraid?'
'Afraid?' murmured the Rat, his eyes shining with unutter-
able love. 'Afraid! Of HIM? O, never, never! And yet—and
yet—O, Mole, I am afraid!'
Then the two animals, crouching to the earth, bowed their
heads and did worship.
Sudden and magnificent, the sun's broad golden disc showed
itself over the horizon facing them; and the first rays, shooting
across the level water-meadows, took the animals full in the
eyes and dazzled them. When they were able to look once
more, the Vision had vanished, and the air was full of the carol
of birds that hailed the dawn.
As they stared blankly in dumb misery deepening as they
slowly realised all they had seen and all they had lost, a capri-
cious little breeze, dancing up from the surface of the water,
tossed the aspens, shook the dewy roses and blew lightly and
caressingly in their faces; and with its soft touch came instant
oblivion. For this is the last best gift that the kindly demi-god is
careful to bestow on those to whom he has revealed himself in
their helping: the gift of forgetfulness. Lest the awful remem-
brance should remain and grow, and overshadow mirth and
pleasure, and the great haunting memory should spoil all the
after-lives of little animals helped out of difficulties, in order
that they should be happy and lighthearted as before.
Mole rubbed his eyes and stared at Rat, who was looking
about him in a puzzled sort of way. 'I beg your pardon; what
did you say, Rat?' he asked.
'I think I was only remarking,' said Rat slowly, 'that this was
the right sort of place, and that here, if anywhere, we should
find him. And look! Why, there he is, the little fellow!' And with
a cry of delight he ran towards the slumbering Portly.
But Mole stood still a moment, held in thought. As one
wakened suddenly from a beautiful dream, who struggles to re-
call it, and can re-capture nothing but a dim sense of the

83
beauty of it, the beauty! Till that, too, fades away in its turn,
and the dreamer bitterly accepts the hard, cold waking and all
its penalties; so Mole, after struggling with his memory for a
brief space, shook his head sadly and followed the Rat.
Portly woke up with a joyous squeak, and wriggled with
pleasure at the sight of his father's friends, who had played
with him so often in past days. In a moment, however, his face
grew blank, and he fell to hunting round in a circle with plead-
ing whine. As a child that has fallen happily asleep in its
nurse's arms, and wakes to find itself alone and laid in a
strange place, and searches corners and cupboards, and runs
from room to room, despair growing silently in its heart, even
so Portly searched the island and searched, dogged and un-
wearying, till at last the black moment came for giving it up,
and sitting down and crying bitterly.
The Mole ran quickly to comfort the little animal; but Rat,
lingering, looked long and doubtfully at certain hoof-marks
deep in the sward.
'Some—great—animal—has been here,' he murmured slowly
and thoughtfully; and stood musing, musing; his mind
strangely stirred.
'Come along, Rat!' called the Mole. 'Think of poor Otter,
waiting up there by the ford!'
Portly had soon been comforted by the promise of a treat—a
jaunt on the river in Mr. Rat's real boat; and the two animals
conducted him to the water's side, placed him securely
between them in the bottom of the boat, and paddled off down
the backwater. The sun was fully up by now, and hot on them,
birds sang lustily and without restraint, and flowers smiled and
nodded from either bank, but somehow—so thought the anim-
als—with less of richness and blaze of colour than they seemed
to remember seeing quite recently somewhere—they wondered
where.
The main river reached again, they turned the boat's head
upstream, towards the point where they knew their friend was
keeping his lonely vigil. As they drew near the familiar ford,
the Mole took the boat in to the bank, and they lifted Portly out
and set him on his legs on the tow-path, gave him his marching
orders and a friendly farewell pat on the back, and shoved out
into mid-stream. They watched the little animal as he waddled

84
along the path contentedly and with importance; watched him
till they saw his muzzle suddenly lift and his waddle break into
a clumsy amble as he quickened his pace with shrill whines
and wriggles of recognition. Looking up the river, they could
see Otter start up, tense and rigid, from out of the shallows
where he crouched in dumb patience, and could hear his
amazed and joyous bark as he bounded up through the osiers
on to the path. Then the Mole, with a strong pull on one oar,
swung the boat round and let the full stream bear them down
again whither it would, their quest now happily ended.
'I feel strangely tired, Rat,' said the Mole, leaning wearily
over his oars as the boat drifted. 'It's being up all night, you'll
say, perhaps; but that's nothing. We do as much half the nights
of the week, at this time of the year. No; I feel as if I had been
through something very exciting and rather terrible, and it was
just over; and yet nothing particular has happened.'
'Or something very surprising and splendid and beautiful,'
murmured the Rat, leaning back and closing his eyes. 'I feel
just as you do, Mole; simply dead tired, though not body tired.
It's lucky we've got the stream with us, to take us home. Isn't it
jolly to feel the sun again, soaking into one's bones! And hark
to the wind playing in the reeds!'
'It's like music—far away music,' said the Mole nodding
drowsily.
'So I was thinking,' murmured the Rat, dreamful and languid.
'Dance-music—the lilting sort that runs on without a stop—but
with words in it, too—it passes into words and out of them
again—I catch them at intervals—then it is dance-music once
more, and then nothing but the reeds' soft thin whispering.'
'You hear better than I,' said the Mole sadly. 'I cannot catch
the words.'
'Let me try and give you them,' said the Rat softly, his eyes
still closed. 'Now it is turning into words again—faint but
clear—Lest the awe should dwell—And turn your frolic to
fret—You shall look on my power at the helping hour—But then
you shall forget! Now the reeds take it up—forget, forget, they
sigh, and it dies away in a rustle and a whisper. Then the voice
returns—
'Lest limbs be reddened and rent—I spring the trap that is
set—As I loose the snare you may glimpse me there—For

85
surely you shall forget! Row nearer, Mole, nearer to the reeds!
It is hard to catch, and grows each minute fainter.
'Helper and healer, I cheer—Small waifs in the woodland
wet—Strays I find in it, wounds I bind in it—Bidding them all
forget! Nearer, Mole, nearer! No, it is no good; the song has
died away into reed-talk.'
'But what do the words mean?' asked the wondering Mole.
'That I do not know,' said the Rat simply. 'I passed them on to
you as they reached me. Ah! now they return again, and this
time full and clear! This time, at last, it is the real, the unmis-
takable thing, simple—passionate—perfect——'
'Well, let's have it, then,' said the Mole, after he had waited
patiently for a few minutes, half-dozing in the hot sun.
But no answer came. He looked, and understood the silence.
With a smile of much happiness on his face, and something of a
listening look still lingering there, the weary Rat was fast
asleep.

86
Chapter 8
TOAD'S ADVENTURES
When Toad found himself immured in a dank and noisome dun-
geon, and knew that all the grim darkness of a medieval fort-
ress lay between him and the outer world of sunshine and well-
metalled high roads where he had lately been so happy, dis-
porting himself as if he had bought up every road in England,
he flung himself at full length on the floor, and shed bitter
tears, and abandoned himself to dark despair. 'This is the end
of everything' (he said), 'at least it is the end of the career of
Toad, which is the same thing; the popular and handsome
Toad, the rich and hospitable Toad, the Toad so free and care-
less and debonair! How can I hope to be ever set at large
again' (he said), 'who have been imprisoned so justly for steal-
ing so handsome a motor-car in such an audacious manner,
and for such lurid and imaginative cheek, bestowed upon such
a number of fat, red-faced policemen!' (Here his sobs choked
him.) 'Stupid animal that I was' (he said), 'now I must languish
in this dungeon, till people who were proud to say they knew
me, have forgotten the very name of Toad! O wise old Badger!'
(he said), 'O clever, intelligent Rat and sensible Mole! What
sound judgments, what a knowledge of men and matters you
possess! O unhappy and forsaken Toad!' With lamentations
such as these he passed his days and nights for several weeks,
refusing his meals or intermediate light refreshments, though
the grim and ancient gaoler, knowing that Toad's pockets were
well lined, frequently pointed out that many comforts, and in-
deed luxuries, could by arrangement be sent in—at a
price—from outside.
Now the gaoler had a daughter, a pleasant wench and good-
hearted, who assisted her father in the lighter duties of his
post. She was particularly fond of animals, and, besides her

87
canary, whose cage hung on a nail in the massive wall of the
keep by day, to the great annoyance of prisoners who relished
an after-dinner nap, and was shrouded in an antimacassar on
the parlour table at night, she kept several piebald mice and a
restless revolving squirrel. This kind-hearted girl, pitying the
misery of Toad, said to her father one day, 'Father! I can't bear
to see that poor beast so unhappy, and getting so thin! You let
me have the managing of him. You know how fond of animals I
am. I'll make him eat from my hand, and sit up, and do all sorts
of things.'
Her father replied that she could do what she liked with him.
He was tired of Toad, and his sulks and his airs and his mean-
ness. So that day she went on her errand of mercy, and
knocked at the door of Toad's cell.
'Now, cheer up, Toad,' she said, coaxingly, on entering, 'and
sit up and dry your eyes and be a sensible animal. And do try
and eat a bit of dinner. See, I've brought you some of mine, hot
from the oven!'
It was bubble-and-squeak, between two plates, and its fra-
grance filled the narrow cell. The penetrating smell of cabbage
reached the nose of Toad as he lay prostrate in his misery on
the floor, and gave him the idea for a moment that perhaps life
was not such a blank and desperate thing as he had imagined.
But still he wailed, and kicked with his legs, and refused to be
comforted. So the wise girl retired for the time, but, of course,
a good deal of the smell of hot cabbage remained behind, as it
will do, and Toad, between his sobs, sniffed and reflected, and
gradually began to think new and inspiring thoughts: of chiv-
alry, and poetry, and deeds still to be done; of broad meadows,
and cattle browsing in them, raked by sun and wind; of
kitchen-gardens, and straight herb-borders, and warm snap-
dragon beset by bees; and of the comforting clink of dishes set
down on the table at Toad Hall, and the scrape of chair-legs on
the floor as every one pulled himself close up to his work. The
air of the narrow cell took a rosy tinge; he began to think of his
friends, and how they would surely be able to do something; of
lawyers, and how they would have enjoyed his case, and what
an ass he had been not to get in a few; and lastly, he thought of
his own great cleverness and resource, and all that he was

88
capable of if he only gave his great mind to it; and the cure was
almost complete.
When the girl returned, some hours later, she carried a tray,
with a cup of fragrant tea steaming on it; and a plate piled up
with very hot buttered toast, cut thick, very brown on both
sides, with the butter running through the holes in it in great
golden drops, like honey from the honeycomb. The smell of
that buttered toast simply talked to Toad, and with no uncer-
tain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright
frosty mornings, of cosy parlour firesides on winter evenings,
when one's ramble was over and slippered feet were propped
on the fender; of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter
of sleepy canaries. Toad sat up on end once more, dried his
eyes, sipped his tea and munched his toast, and soon began
talking freely about himself, and the house he lived in, and his
doings there, and how important he was, and what a lot his
friends thought of him.
The gaoler's daughter saw that the topic was doing him as
much good as the tea, as indeed it was, and encouraged him to
go on.
'Tell me about Toad Hall,' said she. 'It sounds beautiful.'
'Toad Hall,' said the Toad proudly, 'is an eligible self-con-
tained gentleman's residence very unique; dating in part from
the fourteenth century, but replete with every modern
convenience. Up-to-date sanitation. Five minutes from church,
post-office, and golf-links, Suitable for——'
'Bless the animal,' said the girl, laughing, 'I don't want to
TAKE it. Tell me something REAL about it. But first wait till I
fetch you some more tea and toast.'
She tripped away, and presently returned with a fresh tray-
ful; and Toad, pitching into the toast with avidity, his spirits
quite restored to their usual level, told her about the boat-
house, and the fish-pond, and the old walled kitchen-garden;
and about the pig-styes, and the stables, and the pigeon-house,
and the hen-house; and about the dairy, and the wash-house,
and the china-cupboards, and the linen-presses (she liked that
bit especially); and about the banqueting-hall, and the fun they
had there when the other animals were gathered round the
table and Toad was at his best, singing songs, telling stories,
carrying on generally. Then she wanted to know about his

89
animal-friends, and was very interested in all he had to tell her
about them and how they lived, and what they did to pass their
time. Of course, she did not say she was fond of animals as
PETS, because she had the sense to see that Toad would be ex-
tremely offended. When she said good night, having filled his
water-jug and shaken up his straw for him, Toad was very
much the same sanguine, self-satisfied animal that he had been
of old. He sang a little song or two, of the sort he used to sing
at his dinner-parties, curled himself up in the straw, and had
an excellent night's rest and the pleasantest of dreams.
They had many interesting talks together, after that, as the
dreary days went on; and the gaoler's daughter grew very
sorry for Toad, and thought it a great shame that a poor little
animal should be locked up in prison for what seemed to her a
very trivial offence. Toad, of course, in his vanity, thought that
her interest in him proceeded from a growing tenderness; and
he could not help half-regretting that the social gulf between
them was so very wide, for she was a comely lass, and evid-
ently admired him very much.
One morning the girl was very thoughtful, and answered at
random, and did not seem to Toad to be paying proper atten-
tion to his witty sayings and sparkling comments.
'Toad,' she said presently, 'just listen, please. I have an aunt
who is a washerwoman.'
'There, there,' said Toad, graciously and affably, 'never mind;
think no more about it. I have several aunts who OUGHT to be
washerwomen.'
'Do be quiet a minute, Toad,' said the girl. 'You talk too
much, that's your chief fault, and I'm trying to think, and you
hurt my head. As I said, I have an aunt who is a washerwoman;
she does the washing for all the prisoners in this castle—we try
to keep any paying business of that sort in the family, you un-
derstand. She takes out the washing on Monday morning, and
brings it in on Friday evening. This is a Thursday. Now, this is
what occurs to me: you're very rich—at least you're always
telling me so—and she's very poor. A few pounds wouldn't
make any difference to you, and it would mean a lot to her.
Now, I think if she were properly approached—squared, I be-
lieve is the word you animals use—you could come to some ar-
rangement by which she would let you have her dress and

90
bonnet and so on, and you could escape from the castle as the
official washerwoman. You're very alike in many respects—par-
ticularly about the figure.'
'We're NOT,' said the Toad in a huff. 'I have a very elegant
figure—for what I am.'
'So has my aunt,' replied the girl, 'for what SHE is. But have
it your own way. You horrid, proud, ungrateful animal, when
I'm sorry for you, and trying to help you!'
'Yes, yes, that's all right; thank you very much indeed,' said
the Toad hurriedly. 'But look here! you wouldn't surely have
Mr. Toad of Toad Hall, going about the country disguised as a
washerwoman!'
'Then you can stop here as a Toad,' replied the girl with
much spirit. 'I suppose you want to go off in a coach-and-four!'
Honest Toad was always ready to admit himself in the wrong.
'You are a good, kind, clever girl,' he said, 'and I am indeed a
proud and a stupid toad. Introduce me to your worthy aunt, if
you will be so kind, and I have no doubt that the excellent lady
and I will be able to arrange terms satisfactory to both parties.'
Next evening the girl ushered her aunt into Toad's cell, bear-
ing his week's washing pinned up in a towel. The old lady had
been prepared beforehand for the interview, and the sight of
certain gold sovereigns that Toad had thoughtfully placed on
the table in full view practically completed the matter and left
little further to discuss. In return for his cash, Toad received a
cotton print gown, an apron, a shawl, and a rusty black bonnet;
the only stipulation the old lady made being that she should be
gagged and bound and dumped down in a corner. By this not
very convincing artifice, she explained, aided by picturesque
fiction which she could supply herself, she hoped to retain her
situation, in spite of the suspicious appearance of things.
Toad was delighted with the suggestion. It would enable him
to leave the prison in some style, and with his reputation for
being a desperate and dangerous fellow untarnished; and he
readily helped the gaoler's daughter to make her aunt appear
as much as possible the victim of circumstances over which
she had no control.
'Now it's your turn, Toad,' said the girl. 'Take off that coat
and waistcoat of yours; you're fat enough as it is.'

91
 Shaking with laughter, she proceeded to 'hook-and-eye' him
into the cotton print gown, arranged the shawl with a profes-
sional fold, and tied the strings of the rusty bonnet under his
chin.
'You're the very image of her,' she giggled, 'only I'm sure you
never looked half so respectable in all your life before. Now,
good-bye, Toad, and good luck. Go straight down the way you
came up; and if any one says anything to you, as they probably
will, being but men, you can chaff back a bit, of course, but re-
member you're a widow woman, quite alone in the world, with
a character to lose.'
With a quaking heart, but as firm a footstep as he could com-
mand, Toad set forth cautiously on what seemed to be a most
hare-brained and hazardous undertaking; but he was soon
agreeably surprised to find how easy everything was made for
him, and a little humbled at the thought that both his popular-
ity, and the sex that seemed to inspire it, were really another's.
The washerwoman's squat figure in its familiar cotton print
seemed a passport for every barred door and grim gateway;
even when he hesitated, uncertain as to the right turning to
take, he found himself helped out of his difficulty by the warder
at the next gate, anxious to be off to his tea, summoning him to
come along sharp and not keep him waiting there all night. The
chaff and the humourous sallies to which he was subjected,
and to which, of course, he had to provide prompt and effective
reply, formed, indeed, his chief danger; for Toad was an animal
with a strong sense of his own dignity, and the chaff was
mostly (he thought) poor and clumsy, and the humour of the
sallies entirely lacking. However, he kept his temper, though
with great difficulty, suited his retorts to his company and his
supposed character, and did his best not to overstep the limits
of good taste.
It seemed hours before he crossed the last courtyard, rejec-
ted the pressing invitations from the last guardroom, and
dodged the outspread arms of the last warder, pleading with
simulated passion for just one farewell embrace. But at last he
heard the wicket-gate in the great outer door click behind him,
felt the fresh air of the outer world upon his anxious brow, and
knew that he was free!

92
 Dizzy with the easy success of his daring exploit, he walked
quickly towards the lights of the town, not knowing in the least
what he should do next, only quite certain of one thing, that he
must remove himself as quickly as possible from the neigh-
bourhood where the lady he was forced to represent was so
well-known and so popular a character.
As he walked along, considering, his attention was caught by
some red and green lights a little way off, to one side of the
town, and the sound of the puffing and snorting of engines and
the banging of shunted trucks fell on his ear. 'Aha!' he thought,
'this is a piece of luck! A railway station is the thing I want
most in the whole world at this moment; and what's more, I
needn't go through the town to get it, and shan't have to sup-
port this humiliating character by repartees which, though
thoroughly effective, do not assist one's sense of self-respect.'
He made his way to the station accordingly, consulted a time-
table, and found that a train, bound more or less in the direc-
tion of his home, was due to start in half-an-hour. 'More luck!'
said Toad, his spirits rising rapidly, and went off to the
booking-office to buy his ticket.
He gave the name of the station that he knew to be nearest
to the village of which Toad Hall was the principal feature, and
mechanically put his fingers, in search of the necessary money,
where his waistcoat pocket should have been. But here the cot-
ton gown, which had nobly stood by him so far, and which he
had basely forgotten, intervened, and frustrated his efforts. In
a sort of nightmare he struggled with the strange uncanny
thing that seemed to hold his hands, turn all muscular strivings
to water, and laugh at him all the time; while other travellers,
forming up in a line behind, waited with impatience, making
suggestions of more or less value and comments of more or
less stringency and point. At last—somehow—he never rightly
understood how—he burst the barriers, attained the goal, ar-
rived at where all waistcoat pockets are eternally situated, and
found—not only no money, but no pocket to hold it, and no
waistcoat to hold the pocket!
To his horror he recollected that he had left both coat and
waistcoat behind him in his cell, and with them his pocket-
book, money, keys, watch, matches, pencil-case—all that
makes life worth living, all that distinguishes the many-

93
pocketed animal, the lord of creation, from the inferior one-
pocketed or no-pocketed productions that hop or trip about
permissively, unequipped for the real contest.
In his misery he made one desperate effort to carry the thing
off, and, with a return to his fine old manner—a blend of the
Squire and the College Don—he said, 'Look here! I find I've left
my purse behind. Just give me that ticket, will you, and I'll send
the money on to-morrow? I'm well-known in these parts.'
The clerk stared at him and the rusty black bonnet a mo-
ment, and then laughed. 'I should think you were pretty well
known in these parts,' he said, 'if you've tried this game on of-
ten. Here, stand away from the window, please, madam; you're
obstructing the other passengers!'
An old gentleman who had been prodding him in the back for
some moments here thrust him away, and, what was worse, ad-
dressed him as his good woman, which angered Toad more
than anything that had occurred that evening.
Baffled and full of despair, he wandered blindly down the
platform where the train was standing, and tears trickled down
each side of his nose. It was hard, he thought, to be within
sight of safety and almost of home, and to be baulked by the
want of a few wretched shillings and by the pettifogging mis-
trustfulness of paid officials. Very soon his escape would be
discovered, the hunt would be up, he would be caught, reviled,
loaded with chains, dragged back again to prison and bread-
and-water and straw; his guards and penalties would be
doubled; and O, what sarcastic remarks the girl would make!
What was to be done? He was not swift of foot; his figure was
unfortunately recognisable. Could he not squeeze under the
seat of a carriage? He had seen this method adopted by school-
boys, when the journey-money provided by thoughtful parents
had been diverted to other and better ends. As he pondered, he
found himself opposite the engine, which was being oiled,
wiped, and generally caressed by its affectionate driver, a
burly man with an oil-can in one hand and a lump of cotton-
waste in the other.
'Hullo, mother!' said the engine-driver, 'what's the trouble?
You don't look particularly cheerful.'
'O, sir!' said Toad, crying afresh, 'I am a poor unhappy wash-
erwoman, and I've lost all my money, and can't pay for a ticket,

94
and I must get home to-night somehow, and whatever I am to
do I don't know. O dear, O dear!'
'That's a bad business, indeed,' said the engine-driver reflect-
ively. 'Lost your money—and can't get home—and got some
kids, too, waiting for you, I dare say?'
'Any amount of 'em,' sobbed Toad. 'And they'll be
hungry—and playing with matches—and upsetting lamps, the
little innocents!—and quarrelling, and going on generally. O
dear, O dear!'
'Well, I'll tell you what I'll do,' said the good engine-driver.
'You're a washerwoman to your trade, says you. Very well,
that's that. And I'm an engine-driver, as you well may see, and
there's no denying it's terribly dirty work. Uses up a power of
shirts, it does, till my missus is fair tired of washing of 'em. If
you'll wash a few shirts for me when you get home, and send
'em along, I'll give you a ride on my engine. It's against the
Company's regulations, but we're not so very particular in
these out-of-the-way parts.'
The Toad's misery turned into rapture as he eagerly
scrambled up into the cab of the engine. Of course, he had nev-
er washed a shirt in his life, and couldn't if he tried and, any-
how, he wasn't going to begin; but he thought: 'When I get
safely home to Toad Hall, and have money again, and pockets
to put it in, I will send the engine-driver enough to pay for
quite a quantity of washing, and that will be the same thing, or
better.'
The guard waved his welcome flag, the engine-driver
whistled in cheerful response, and the train moved out of the
station. As the speed increased, and the Toad could see on
either side of him real fields, and trees, and hedges, and cows,
and horses, all flying past him, and as he thought how every
minute was bringing him nearer to Toad Hall, and sympathetic
friends, and money to chink in his pocket, and a soft bed to
sleep in, and good things to eat, and praise and admiration at
the recital of his adventures and his surpassing cleverness, he
began to skip up and down and shout and sing snatches of
song, to the great astonishment of the engine-driver, who had
come across washerwomen before, at long intervals, but never
one at all like this.

95
 They had covered many and many a mile, and Toad was
already considering what he would have for supper as soon as
he got home, when he noticed that the engine-driver, with a
puzzled expression on his face, was leaning over the side of the
engine and listening hard. Then he saw him climb on to the
coals and gaze out over the top of the train; then he returned
and said to Toad: 'It's very strange; we're the last train running
in this direction to-night, yet I could be sworn that I heard an-
other following us!'
Toad ceased his frivolous antics at once. He became grave
and depressed, and a dull pain in the lower part of his spine,
communicating itself to his legs, made him want to sit down
and try desperately not to think of all the possibilities.
By this time the moon was shining brightly, and the engine-
driver, steadying himself on the coal, could command a view of
the line behind them for a long distance.
Presently he called out, 'I can see it clearly now! It is an en-
gine, on our rails, coming along at a great pace! It looks as if
we were being pursued!'
The miserable Toad, crouching in the coal-dust, tried hard to
think of something to do, with dismal want of success.
'They are gaining on us fast!' cried the engine-driver. And the
engine is crowded with the queerest lot of people! Men like an-
cient warders, waving halberds; policemen in their helmets,
waving truncheons; and shabbily dressed men in pot-hats, obvi-
ous and unmistakable plain-clothes detectives even at this dis-
tance, waving revolvers and walking-sticks; all waving, and all
shouting the same thing—"Stop, stop, stop!"'
Then Toad fell on his knees among the coals and, raising his
clasped paws in supplication, cried, 'Save me, only save me,
dear kind Mr. Engine-driver, and I will confess everything! I
am not the simple washerwoman I seem to be! I have no chil-
dren waiting for me, innocent or otherwise! I am a toad—the
well-known and popular Mr. Toad, a landed proprietor; I have
just escaped, by my great daring and cleverness, from a loath-
some dungeon into which my enemies had flung me; and if
those fellows on that engine recapture me, it will be chains and
bread-and-water and straw and misery once more for poor, un-
happy, innocent Toad!'

96
 The engine-driver looked down upon him very sternly, and
said, 'Now tell the truth; what were you put in prison for?'
'It was nothing very much,' said poor Toad, colouring deeply.
'I only borrowed a motorcar while the owners were at lunch;
they had no need of it at the time. I didn't mean to steal it,
really; but people—especially magistrates—take such harsh
views of thoughtless and high-spirited actions.'
The engine-driver looked very grave and said, 'I fear that you
have been indeed a wicked toad, and by rights I ought to give
you up to offended justice. But you are evidently in sore
trouble and distress, so I will not desert you. I don't hold with
motor-cars, for one thing; and I don't hold with being ordered
about by policemen when I'm on my own engine, for another.
And the sight of an animal in tears always makes me feel queer
and softhearted. So cheer up, Toad! I'll do my best, and we
may beat them yet!'
They piled on more coals, shovelling furiously; the furnace
roared, the sparks flew, the engine leapt and swung but still
their pursuers slowly gained. The engine-driver, with a sigh,
wiped his brow with a handful of cotton-waste, and said, 'I'm
afraid it's no good, Toad. You see, they are running light, and
they have the better engine. There's just one thing left for us to
do, and it's your only chance, so attend very carefully to what I
tell you. A short way ahead of us is a long tunnel, and on the
other side of that the line passes through a thick wood. Now, I
will put on all the speed I can while we are running through
the tunnel, but the other fellows will slow down a bit, naturally,
for fear of an accident. When we are through, I will shut off
steam and put on brakes as hard as I can, and the moment it's
safe to do so you must jump and hide in the wood, before they
get through the tunnel and see you. Then I will go full speed
ahead again, and they can chase me if they like, for as long as
they like, and as far as they like. Now mind and be ready to
jump when I tell you!'
They piled on more coals, and the train shot into the tunnel,
and the engine rushed and roared and rattled, till at last they
shot out at the other end into fresh air and the peaceful moon-
light, and saw the wood lying dark and helpful upon either side
of the line. The driver shut off steam and put on brakes, the
Toad got down on the step, and as the train slowed down to

97
almost a walking pace he heard the driver call out, 'Now,
jump!'
Toad jumped, rolled down a short embankment, picked him-
self up unhurt, scrambled into the wood and hid.
Peeping out, he saw his train get up speed again and disap-
pear at a great pace. Then out of the tunnel burst the pursuing
engine, roaring and whistling, her motley crew waving their
various weapons and shouting, 'Stop! stop! stop!' When they
were past, the Toad had a hearty laugh—for the first time since
he was thrown into prison.
But he soon stopped laughing when he came to consider that
it was now very late and dark and cold, and he was in an un-
known wood, with no money and no chance of supper, and still
far from friends and home; and the dead silence of everything,
after the roar and rattle of the train, was something of a shock.
He dared not leave the shelter of the trees, so he struck into
the wood, with the idea of leaving the railway as far as possible
behind him.
After so many weeks within walls, he found the wood strange
and unfriendly and inclined, he thought, to make fun of him.
Night-jars, sounding their mechanical rattle, made him think
that the wood was full of searching warders, closing in on him.
An owl, swooping noiselessly towards him, brushed his
shoulder with its wing, making him jump with the horrid cer-
tainty that it was a hand; then flitted off, moth-like, laughing its
low ho! ho! ho; which Toad thought in very poor taste. Once he
met a fox, who stopped, looked him up and down in a sarcastic
sort of way, and said, 'Hullo, washerwoman! Half a pair of
socks and a pillow-case short this week! Mind it doesn't occur
again!' and swaggered off, sniggering. Toad looked about for a
stone to throw at him, but could not succeed in finding one,
which vexed him more than anything. At last, cold, hungry, and
tired out, he sought the shelter of a hollow tree, where with
branches and dead leaves he made himself as comfortable a
bed as he could, and slept soundly till the morning.

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Chapter 9
WAYFARERS ALL
The Water Rat was restless, and he did not exactly know why.
To all appearance the summer's pomp was still at fullest
height, and although in the tilled acres green had given way to
gold, though rowans were reddening, and the woods were
dashed here and there with a tawny fierceness, yet light and
warmth and colour were still present in undiminished measure,
clean of any chilly premonitions of the passing year. But the
constant chorus of the orchards and hedges had shrunk to a
casual evensong from a few yet unwearied performers; the
robin was beginning to assert himself once more; and there
was a feeling in the air of change and departure. The cuckoo,
of course, had long been silent; but many another feathered
friend, for months a part of the familiar landscape and its small
society, was missing too and it seemed that the ranks thinned
steadily day by day. Rat, ever observant of all winged move-
ment, saw that it was taking daily a southing tendency; and
even as he lay in bed at night he thought he could make out,
passing in the darkness overhead, the beat and quiver of impa-
tient pinions, obedient to the peremptory call.
Nature's Grand Hotel has its Season, like the others. As the
guests one by one pack, pay, and depart, and the seats at the
table-d'hote shrink pitifully at each succeeding meal; as suites
of rooms are closed, carpets taken up, and waiters sent away;
those boarders who are staying on, en pension, until the next
year's full re-opening, cannot help being somewhat affected by
all these flittings and farewells, this eager discussion of plans,
routes, and fresh quarters, this daily shrinkage in the stream of
comradeship. One gets unsettled, depressed, and inclined to be
querulous. Why this craving for change? Why not stay on
quietly here, like us, and be jolly? You don't know this hotel out

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of the season, and what fun we have among ourselves, we fel-
lows who remain and see the whole interesting year out. All
very true, no doubt the others always reply; we quite envy
you—and some other year perhaps—but just now we have en-
gagements—and there's the bus at the door—our time is up! So
they depart, with a smile and a nod, and we miss them, and
feel resentful. The Rat was a self-sufficing sort of animal,
rooted to the land, and, whoever went, he stayed; still, he could
not help noticing what was in the air, and feeling some of its
influence in his bones.
It was difficult to settle down to anything seriously, with all
this flitting going on. Leaving the water-side, where rushes
stood thick and tall in a stream that was becoming sluggish
and low, he wandered country-wards, crossed a field or two of
pasturage already looking dusty and parched, and thrust into
the great sea of wheat, yellow, wavy, and murmurous, full of
quiet motion and small whisperings. Here he often loved to
wander, through the forest of stiff strong stalks that carried
their own golden sky away over his head—a sky that was al-
ways dancing, shimmering, softly talking; or swaying strongly
to the passing wind and recovering itself with a toss and a
merry laugh. Here, too, he had many small friends, a society
complete in itself, leading full and busy lives, but always with a
spare moment to gossip, and exchange news with a visitor.
Today, however, though they were civil enough, the field-mice
and harvest-mice seemed preoccupied. Many were digging and
tunnelling busily; others, gathered together in small groups,
examined plans and drawings of small flats, stated to be desir-
able and compact, and situated conveniently near the Stores.
Some were hauling out dusty trunks and dress-baskets, others
were already elbow-deep packing their belongings; while
everywhere piles and bundles of wheat, oats, barley, beech-
mast and nuts, lay about ready for transport.
'Here's old Ratty!' they cried as soon as they saw him. 'Come
and bear a hand, Rat, and don't stand about idle!'
'What sort of games are you up to?' said the Water Rat
severely. 'You know it isn't time to be thinking of winter quar-
ters yet, by a long way!'
'O yes, we know that,' explained a field-mouse rather shame-
facedly; 'but it's always as well to be in good time, isn't it? We

100
really MUST get all the furniture and baggage and stores
moved out of this before those horrid machines begin clicking
round the fields; and then, you know, the best flats get picked
up so quickly nowadays, and if you're late you have to put up
with ANYTHING; and they want such a lot of doing up, too, be-
fore they're fit to move into. Of course, we're early, we know
that; but we're only just making a start.'
'O, bother STARTS,' said the Rat. 'It's a splendid day. Come
for a row, or a stroll along the hedges, or a picnic in the woods,
or something.'
'Well, I THINK not TO-DAY, thank you,' replied the field-
mouse hurriedly. 'Perhaps some OTHER day—when we've
more TIME——'
The Rat, with a snort of contempt, swung round to go,
tripped over a hat-box, and fell, with undignified remarks.
'If people would be more careful,' said a field-mouse rather
stiffly, 'and look where they're going, people wouldn't hurt
themselves—and forget themselves. Mind that hold-all, Rat!
You'd better sit down somewhere. In an hour or two we may be
more free to attend to you.'
'You won't be "free" as you call it much this side of Christ-
mas, I can see that,' retorted the Rat grumpily, as he picked his
way out of the field.
He returned somewhat despondently to his river again—his
faithful, steady-going old river, which never packed up, flitted,
or went into winter quarters.
In the osiers which fringed the bank he spied a swallow sit-
ting. Presently it was joined by another, and then by a third;
and the birds, fidgeting restlessly on their bough, talked to-
gether earnestly and low.
'What, ALREADY,' said the Rat, strolling up to them. 'What's
the hurry? I call it simply ridiculous.'
'O, we're not off yet, if that's what you mean,' replied the first
swallow. 'We're only making plans and arranging things. Talk-
ing it over, you know—what route we're taking this year, and
where we'll stop, and so on. That's half the fun!'
'Fun?' said the Rat; 'now that's just what I don't understand.
If you've GOT to leave this pleasant place, and your friends
who will miss you, and your snug homes that you've just settled
into, why, when the hour strikes I've no doubt you'll go bravely,

101
and face all the trouble and discomfort and change and new-
ness, and make believe that you're not very unhappy. But to
want to talk about it, or even think about it, till you really
need——'
'No, you don't understand, naturally,' said the second swal-
low. 'First, we feel it stirring within us, a sweet unrest; then
back come the recollections one by one, like homing pigeons.
They flutter through our dreams at night, they fly with us in
our wheelings and circlings by day. We hunger to inquire of
each other, to compare notes and assure ourselves that it was
all really true, as one by one the scents and sounds and names
of long-forgotten places come gradually back and beckon to
us.'
'Couldn't you stop on for just this year?' suggested the Water
Rat, wistfully. 'We'll all do our best to make you feel at home.
You've no idea what good times we have here, while you are
far away.'
'I tried "stopping on" one year,' said the third swallow. 'I had
grown so fond of the place that when the time came I hung
back and let the others go on without me. For a few weeks it
was all well enough, but afterwards, O the weary length of the
nights! The shivering, sunless days! The air so clammy and
chill, and not an insect in an acre of it! No, it was no good; my
courage broke down, and one cold, stormy night I took wing,
flying well inland on account of the strong easterly gales. It
was snowing hard as I beat through the passes of the great
mountains, and I had a stiff fight to win through; but never
shall I forget the blissful feeling of the hot sun again on my
back as I sped down to the lakes that lay so blue and placid be-
low me, and the taste of my first fat insect! The past was like a
bad dream; the future was all happy holiday as I moved south-
wards week by week, easily, lazily, lingering as long as I dared,
but always heeding the call! No, I had had my warning; never
again did I think of disobedience.'
'Ah, yes, the call of the South, of the South!' twittered the
other two dreamily. 'Its songs its hues, its radiant air! O, do
you remember——' and, forgetting the Rat, they slid into pas-
sionate reminiscence, while he listened fascinated, and his
heart burned within him. In himself, too, he knew that it was
vibrating at last, that chord hitherto dormant and unsuspected.

102
The mere chatter of these southern-bound birds, their pale and
second-hand reports, had yet power to awaken this wild new
sensation and thrill him through and through with it; what
would one moment of the real thing work in him—one passion-
ate touch of the real southern sun, one waft of the authentic
odor? With closed eyes he dared to dream a moment in full
abandonment, and when he looked again the river seemed
steely and chill, the green fields grey and lightless. Then his
loyal heart seemed to cry out on his weaker self for its
treachery.
'Why do you ever come back, then, at all?' he demanded of
the swallows jealously. 'What do you find to attract you in this
poor drab little country?'
'And do you think,' said the first swallow, 'that the other call
is not for us too, in its due season? The call of lush meadow-
grass, wet orchards, warm, insect-haunted ponds, of browsing
cattle, of haymaking, and all the farm-buildings clustering
round the House of the perfect Eaves?'
'Do you suppose,' asked the second one, that you are the only
living thing that craves with a hungry longing to hear the
cuckoo's note again?'
'In due time,' said the third, 'we shall be home-sick once
more for quiet water-lilies swaying on the surface of an English
stream. But to-day all that seems pale and thin and very far
away. Just now our blood dances to other music.'
They fell a-twittering among themselves once more, and this
time their intoxicating babble was of violet seas, tawny sands,
and lizard-haunted walls.
Restlessly the Rat wandered off once more, climbed the slope
that rose gently from the north bank of the river, and lay look-
ing out towards the great ring of Downs that barred his vision
further southwards—his simple horizon hitherto, his Mountains
of the Moon, his limit behind which lay nothing he had cared to
see or to know. To-day, to him gazing South with a new-born
need stirring in his heart, the clear sky over their long low out-
line seemed to pulsate with promise; to-day, the unseen was
everything, the unknown the only real fact of life. On this side
of the hills was now the real blank, on the other lay the
crowded and coloured panorama that his inner eye was seeing
so clearly. What seas lay beyond, green, leaping, and crested!

103
What sun-bathed coasts, along which the white villas glittered
against the olive woods! What quiet harbours, thronged with
gallant shipping bound for purple islands of wine and spice, is-
lands set low in languorous waters!
He rose and descended river-wards once more; then changed
his mind and sought the side of the dusty lane. There, lying
half-buried in the thick, cool under-hedge tangle that bordered
it, he could muse on the metalled road and all the wondrous
world that it led to; on all the wayfarers, too, that might have
trodden it, and the fortunes and adventures they had gone to
seek or found unseeking—out there, beyond—beyond!
Footsteps fell on his ear, and the figure of one that walked
somewhat wearily came into view; and he saw that it was a
Rat, and a very dusty one. The wayfarer, as he reached him, sa-
luted with a gesture of courtesy that had something foreign
about it—hesitated a moment—then with a pleasant smile
turned from the track and sat down by his side in the cool
herbage. He seemed tired, and the Rat let him rest unques-
tioned, understanding something of what was in his thoughts;
knowing, too, the value all animals attach at times to mere si-
lent companionship, when the weary muscles slacken and the
mind marks time.
The wayfarer was lean and keen-featured, and somewhat
bowed at the shoulders; his paws were thin and long, his eyes
much wrinkled at the corners, and he wore small gold ear rings
in his neatly-set well-shaped ears. His knitted jersey was of a
faded blue, his breeches, patched and stained, were based on a
blue foundation, and his small belongings that he carried were
tied up in a blue cotton handkerchief.
When he had rested awhile the stranger sighed, snuffed the
air, and looked about him.
'That was clover, that warm whiff on the breeze,' he re-
marked; 'and those are cows we hear cropping the grass be-
hind us and blowing softly between mouthfuls. There is a
sound of distant reapers, and yonder rises a blue line of cot-
tage smoke against the woodland. The river runs somewhere
close by, for I hear the call of a moorhen, and I see by your
build that you're a freshwater mariner. Everything seems
asleep, and yet going on all the time. It is a goodly life that you

104
lead, friend; no doubt the best in the world, if only you are
strong enough to lead it!'
'Yes, it's THE life, the only life, to live,' responded the Water
Rat dreamily, and without his usual whole-hearted conviction.
'I did not say exactly that,' replied the stranger cautiously;
'but no doubt it's the best. I've tried it, and I know. And be-
cause I've just tried it—six months of it—and know it's the best,
here am I, footsore and hungry, tramping away from it, tramp-
ing southward, following the old call, back to the old life, THE
life which is mine and which will not let me go.'
'Is this, then, yet another of them?' mused the Rat. 'And
where have you just come from?' he asked. He hardly dared to
ask where he was bound for; he seemed to know the answer
only too well.
'Nice little farm,' replied the wayfarer, briefly. 'Upalong in
that direction'—he nodded northwards. 'Never mind about it. I
had everything I could want—everything I had any right to ex-
pect of life, and more; and here I am! Glad to be here all the
same, though, glad to be here! So many miles further on the
road, so many hours nearer to my heart's desire!'
His shining eyes held fast to the horizon, and he seemed to
be listening for some sound that was wanting from that inland
acreage, vocal as it was with the cheerful music of pasturage
and farmyard.
'You are not one of US,' said the Water Rat, 'nor yet a farmer;
nor even, I should judge, of this country.'
'Right,' replied the stranger. 'I'm a seafaring rat, I am, and
the port I originally hail from is Constantinople, though I'm a
sort of a foreigner there too, in a manner of speaking. You will
have heard of Constantinople, friend? A fair city, and an an-
cient and glorious one. And you may have heard, too, of Sigurd,
King of Norway, and how he sailed thither with sixty ships, and
how he and his men rode up through streets all canopied in
their honour with purple and gold; and how the Emperor and
Empress came down and banqueted with him on board his
ship. When Sigurd returned home, many of his Northmen re-
mained behind and entered the Emperor's body-guard, and my
ancestor, a Norwegian born, stayed behind too, with the ships
that Sigurd gave the Emperor. Seafarers we have ever been,
and no wonder; as for me, the city of my birth is no more my

105
home than any pleasant port between there and the London
River. I know them all, and they know me. Set me down on any
of their quays or foreshores, and I am home again.'
'I suppose you go great voyages,' said the Water Rat with
growing interest. 'Months and months out of sight of land, and
provisions running short, and allowanced as to water, and your
mind communing with the mighty ocean, and all that sort of
thing?'
'By no means,' said the Sea Rat frankly. 'Such a life as you
describe would not suit me at all. I'm in the coasting trade, and
rarely out of sight of land. It's the jolly times on shore that ap-
peal to me, as much as any seafaring. O, those southern sea-
ports! The smell of them, the riding-lights at night, the
glamour!'
'Well, perhaps you have chosen the better way,' said the
Water Rat, but rather doubtfully. 'Tell me something of your
coasting, then, if you have a mind to, and what sort of harvest
an animal of spirit might hope to bring home from it to warm
his latter days with gallant memories by the fireside; for my
life, I confess to you, feels to me to-day somewhat narrow and
circumscribed.'
'My last voyage,' began the Sea Rat, 'that landed me eventu-
ally in this country, bound with high hopes for my inland farm,
will serve as a good example of any of them, and, indeed, as an
epitome of my highly-coloured life. Family troubles, as usual,
began it. The domestic storm-cone was hoisted, and I shipped
myself on board a small trading vessel bound from Con-
stantinople, by classic seas whose every wave throbs with a
deathless memory, to the Grecian Islands and the Levant.
Those were golden days and balmy nights! In and out of har-
bour all the time—old friends everywhere—sleeping in some
cool temple or ruined cistern during the heat of the day—feast-
ing and song after sundown, under great stars set in a velvet
sky! Thence we turned and coasted up the Adriatic, its shores
swimming in an atmosphere of amber, rose, and aquamarine;
we lay in wide land-locked harbours, we roamed through an-
cient and noble cities, until at last one morning, as the sun rose
royally behind us, we rode into Venice down a path of gold. O,
Venice is a fine city, wherein a rat can wander at his ease and
take his pleasure! Or, when weary of wandering, can sit at the

106
edge of the Grand Canal at night, feasting with his friends,
when the air is full of music and the sky full of stars, and the
lights flash and shimmer on the polished steel prows of the
swaying gondolas, packed so that you could walk across the
canal on them from side to side! And then the food—do you like
shellfish? Well, well, we won't linger over that now.'
He was silent for a time; and the Water Rat, silent too and
enthralled, floated on dream-canals and heard a phantom song
pealing high between vaporous grey wave-lapped walls.
'Southwards we sailed again at last,' continued the Sea Rat,
'coasting down the Italian shore, till finally we made Palermo,
and there I quitted for a long, happy spell on shore. I never
stick too long to one ship; one gets narrow-minded and preju-
diced. Besides, Sicily is one of my happy hunting-grounds. I
know everybody there, and their ways just suit me. I spent
many jolly weeks in the island, staying with friends up country.
When I grew restless again I took advantage of a ship that was
trading to Sardinia and Corsica; and very glad I was to feel the
fresh breeze and the sea-spray in my face once more.'
'But isn't it very hot and stuffy, down in the—hold, I think you
call it?' asked the Water Rat.
The seafarer looked at him with the suspicion go a wink. 'I'm
an old hand,' he remarked with much simplicity. 'The captain's
cabin's good enough for me.'
'It's a hard life, by all accounts,' murmured the Rat, sunk in
deep thought.
'For the crew it is,' replied the seafarer gravely, again with
the ghost of a wink.
'From Corsica,' he went on, 'I made use of a ship that was
taking wine to the mainland. We made Alassio in the evening,
lay to, hauled up our wine-casks, and hove them overboard,
tied one to the other by a long line. Then the crew took to the
boats and rowed shorewards, singing as they went, and draw-
ing after them the long bobbing procession of casks, like a mile
of porpoises. On the sands they had horses waiting, which
dragged the casks up the steep street of the little town with a
fine rush and clatter and scramble. When the last cask was in,
we went and refreshed and rested, and sat late into the night,
drinking with our friends, and next morning I took to the great
olive-woods for a spell and a rest. For now I had done with

107
islands for the time, and ports and shipping were plentiful; so I
led a lazy life among the peasants, lying and watching them
work, or stretched high on the hillside with the blue Mediter-
ranean far below me. And so at length, by easy stages, and
partly on foot, partly by sea, to Marseilles, and the meeting of
old shipmates, and the visiting of great ocean-bound vessels,
and feasting once more. Talk of shell-fish! Why, sometimes I
dream of the shell-fish of Marseilles, and wake up crying!'
'That reminds me,' said the polite Water Rat; 'you happened
to mention that you were hungry, and I ought to have spoken
earlier. Of course, you will stop and take your midday meal
with me? My hole is close by; it is some time past noon, and
you are very welcome to whatever there is.'
'Now I call that kind and brotherly of you,' said the Sea Rat.
'I was indeed hungry when I sat down, and ever since I inad-
vertently happened to mention shell-fish, my pangs have been
extreme. But couldn't you fetch it along out here? I am none
too fond of going under hatches, unless I'm obliged to; and
then, while we eat, I could tell you more concerning my voy-
ages and the pleasant life I lead—at least, it is very pleasant to
me, and by your attention I judge it commends itself to you;
whereas if we go indoors it is a hundred to one that I shall
presently fall asleep.'
'That is indeed an excellent suggestion,' said the Water Rat,
and hurried off home. There he got out the luncheon-basket
and packed a simple meal, in which, remembering the
stranger's origin and preferences, he took care to include a
yard of long French bread, a sausage out of which the garlic
sang, some cheese which lay down and cried, and a long-
necked straw-covered flask wherein lay bottled sunshine shed
and garnered on far Southern slopes. Thus laden, he returned
with all speed, and blushed for pleasure at the old seaman's
commendations of his taste and judgment, as together they un-
packed the basket and laid out the contents on the grass by the
roadside.
The Sea Rat, as soon as his hunger was somewhat assuaged,
continued the history of his latest voyage, conducting his
simple hearer from port to port of Spain, landing him at Lis-
bon, Oporto, and Bordeaux, introducing him to the pleasant
harbours of Cornwall and Devon, and so up the Channel to that

108
final quayside, where, landing after winds long contrary,
storm-driven and weather-beaten, he had caught the first ma-
gical hints and heraldings of another Spring, and, fired by
these, had sped on a long tramp inland, hungry for the experi-
ment of life on some quiet farmstead, very far from the weary
beating of any sea.
Spell-bound and quivering with excitement, the Water Rat
followed the Adventurer league by league, over stormy bays,
through crowded roadsteads, across harbour bars on a racing
tide, up winding rivers that hid their busy little towns round a
sudden turn; and left him with a regretful sigh planted at his
dull inland farm, about which he desired to hear nothing.
By this time their meal was over, and the Seafarer, refreshed
and strengthened, his voice more vibrant, his eye lit with a
brightness that seemed caught from some far-away sea-
beacon, filled his glass with the red and glowing vintage of the
South, and, leaning towards the Water Rat, compelled his gaze
and held him, body and soul, while he talked. Those eyes were
of the changing foam-streaked grey-green of leaping Northern
seas; in the glass shone a hot ruby that seemed the very heart
of the South, beating for him who had courage to respond to its
pulsation. The twin lights, the shifting grey and the steadfast
red, mastered the Water Rat and held him bound, fascinated,
powerless. The quiet world outside their rays receded far away
and ceased to be. And the talk, the wonderful talk flowed
on—or was it speech entirely, or did it pass at times into
song—chanty of the sailors weighing the dripping anchor, son-
orous hum of the shrouds in a tearing North-Easter, ballad of
the fisherman hauling his nets at sundown against an apricot
sky, chords of guitar and mandoline from gondola or caique?
Did it change into the cry of the wind, plaintive at first, angrily
shrill as it freshened, rising to a tearing whistle, sinking to a
musical trickle of air from the leech of the bellying sail? All
these sounds the spell-bound listener seemed to hear, and with
them the hungry complaint of the gulls and the sea-mews, the
soft thunder of the breaking wave, the cry of the protesting
shingle. Back into speech again it passed, and with beating
heart he was following the adventures of a dozen seaports, the
fights, the escapes, the rallies, the comradeships, the gallant
undertakings; or he searched islands for treasure, fished in still

109
lagoons and dozed day-long on warm white sand. Of deep-sea
fishings he heard tell, and mighty silver gatherings of the mile-
long net; of sudden perils, noise of breakers on a moonless
night, or the tall bows of the great liner taking shape overhead
through the fog; of the merry home-coming, the headland roun-
ded, the harbour lights opened out; the groups seen dimly on
the quay, the cheery hail, the splash of the hawser; the trudge
up the steep little street towards the comforting glow of red-
curtained windows.
Lastly, in his waking dream it seemed to him that the Adven-
turer had risen to his feet, but was still speaking, still holding
him fast with his sea-grey eyes.
'And now,' he was softly saying, 'I take to the road again,
holding on southwestwards for many a long and dusty day; till
at last I reach the little grey sea town I know so well, that
clings along one steep side of the harbour. There through dark
doorways you look down flights of stone steps, overhung by
great pink tufts of valerian and ending in a patch of sparkling
blue water. The little boats that lie tethered to the rings and
stanchions of the old sea-wall are gaily painted as those I
clambered in and out of in my own childhood; the salmon leap
on the flood tide, schools of mackerel flash and play past quay-
sides and foreshores, and by the windows the great vessels
glide, night and day, up to their moorings or forth to the open
sea. There, sooner or later, the ships of all seafaring nations ar-
rive; and there, at its destined hour, the ship of my choice will
let go its anchor. I shall take my time, I shall tarry and bide, till
at last the right one lies waiting for me, warped out into mid-
stream, loaded low, her bowsprit pointing down harbour. I
shall slip on board, by boat or along hawser; and then one
morning I shall wake to the song and tramp of the sailors, the
clink of the capstan, and the rattle of the anchor-chain coming
merrily in. We shall break out the jib and the foresail, the white
houses on the harbour side will glide slowly past us as she
gathers steering-way, and the voyage will have begun! As she
forges towards the headland she will clothe herself with can-
vas; and then, once outside, the sounding slap of great green
seas as she heels to the wind, pointing South!
'And you, you will come too, young brother; for the days
pass, and never return, and the South still waits for you. Take

110
the Adventure, heed the call, now ere the irrevocable moment
passes!' 'Tis but a banging of the door behind you, a blithe-
some step forward, and you are out of the old life and into the
new! Then some day, some day long hence, jog home here if
you will, when the cup has been drained and the play has been
played, and sit down by your quiet river with a store of goodly
memories for company. You can easily overtake me on the
road, for you are young, and I am ageing and go softly. I will
linger, and look back; and at last I will surely see you coming,
eager and light-hearted, with all the South in your face!'
The voice died away and ceased as an insect's tiny trumpet
dwindles swiftly into silence; and the Water Rat, paralysed and
staring, saw at last but a distant speck on the white surface of
the road.
Mechanically he rose and proceeded to repack the luncheon-
basket, carefully and without haste. Mechanically he returned
home, gathered together a few small necessaries and special
treasures he was fond of, and put them in a satchel; acting
with slow deliberation, moving about the room like a sleep-
walker; listening ever with parted lips. He swung the satchel
over his shoulder, carefully selected a stout stick for his way-
faring, and with no haste, but with no hesitation at all, he
stepped across the threshold just as the Mole appeared at the
door.
'Why, where are you off to, Ratty?' asked the Mole in great
surprise, grasping him by the arm.
'Going South, with the rest of them,' murmured the Rat in a
dreamy monotone, never looking at him. 'Seawards first and
then on shipboard, and so to the shores that are calling me!'
He pressed resolutely forward, still without haste, but with
dogged fixity of purpose; but the Mole, now thoroughly
alarmed, placed himself in front of him, and looking into his
eyes saw that they were glazed and set and turned a streaked
and shifting grey—not his friend's eyes, but the eyes of some
other animal! Grappling with him strongly he dragged him in-
side, threw him down, and held him.
The Rat struggled desperately for a few moments, and then
his strength seemed suddenly to leave him, and he lay still and
exhausted, with closed eyes, trembling. Presently the Mole as-
sisted him to rise and placed him in a chair, where he sat

111
collapsed and shrunken into himself, his body shaken by a viol-
ent shivering, passing in time into an hysterical fit of dry sob-
bing. Mole made the door fast, threw the satchel into a drawer
and locked it, and sat down quietly on the table by his friend,
waiting for the strange seizure to pass. Gradually the Rat sank
into a troubled doze, broken by starts and confused murmur-
ings of things strange and wild and foreign to the unen-
lightened Mole; and from that he passed into a deep slumber.
Very anxious in mind, the Mole left him for a time and busied
himself with household matters; and it was getting dark when
he returned to the parlour and found the Rat where he had left
him, wide awake indeed, but listless, silent, and dejected. He
took one hasty glance at his eyes; found them, to his great
gratification, clear and dark and brown again as before; and
then sat down and tried to cheer him up and help him to relate
what had happened to him.
Poor Ratty did his best, by degrees, to explain things; but
how could he put into cold words what had mostly been sug-
gestion? How recall, for another's benefit, the haunting sea
voices that had sung to him, how reproduce at second-hand the
magic of the Seafarer's hundred reminiscences? Even to him-
self, now the spell was broken and the glamour gone, he found
it difficult to account for what had seemed, some hours ago,
the inevitable and only thing. It is not surprising, then, that he
failed to convey to the Mole any clear idea of what he had been
through that day.
To the Mole this much was plain: the fit, or attack, had
passed away, and had left him sane again, though shaken and
cast down by the reaction. But he seemed to have lost all in-
terest for the time in the things that went to make up his daily
life, as well as in all pleasant forecastings of the altered days
and doings that the changing season was surely bringing.
Casually, then, and with seeming indifference, the Mole
turned his talk to the harvest that was being gathered in, the
towering wagons and their straining teams, the growing ricks,
and the large moon rising over bare acres dotted with sheaves.
He talked of the reddening apples around, of the browning
nuts, of jams and preserves and the distilling of cordials; till by
easy stages such as these he reached midwinter, its hearty joys
and its snug home life, and then he became simply lyrical.

112
 By degrees the Rat began to sit up and to join in. His dull eye
brightened, and he lost some of his listening air.
Presently the tactful Mole slipped away and returned with a
pencil and a few half-sheets of paper, which he placed on the
table at his friend's elbow.
'It's quite a long time since you did any poetry,' he remarked.
'You might have a try at it this evening, instead of—well, brood-
ing over things so much. I've an idea that you'll feel a lot better
when you've got something jotted down—if it's only just the
rhymes.'
The Rat pushed the paper away from him wearily, but the
discreet Mole took occasion to leave the room, and when he
peeped in again some time later, the Rat was absorbed and
deaf to the world; alternately scribbling and sucking the top of
his pencil. It is true that he sucked a good deal more than he
scribbled; but it was joy to the Mole to know that the cure had
at least begun.

113
Chapter 10
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF TOAD
The front door of the hollow tree faced eastwards, so Toad was
called at an early hour; partly by the bright sunlight streaming
in on him, partly by the exceeding coldness of his toes, which
made him dream that he was at home in bed in his own hand-
some room with the Tudor window, on a cold winter's night,
and his bedclothes had got up, grumbling and protesting they
couldn't stand the cold any longer, and had run downstairs to
the kitchen fire to warm themselves; and he had followed, on
bare feet, along miles and miles of icy stone-paved passages,
arguing and beseeching them to be reasonable. He would prob-
ably have been aroused much earlier, had he not slept for some
weeks on straw over stone flags, and almost forgotten the
friendly feeling of thick blankets pulled well up round the chin.
Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes first and his complaining toes
next, wondered for a moment where he was, looking round for
familiar stone wall and little barred window; then, with a leap
of the heart, remembered everything—his escape, his flight, his
pursuit; remembered, first and best thing of all, that he was
free!
Free! The word and the thought alone were worth fifty
blankets. He was warm from end to end as he thought of the
jolly world outside, waiting eagerly for him to make his tri-
umphal entrance, ready to serve him and play up to him,
anxious to help him and to keep him company, as it always had
been in days of old before misfortune fell upon him. He shook
himself and combed the dry leaves out of his hair with his fin-
gers; and, his toilet complete, marched forth into the comfort-
able morning sun, cold but confident, hungry but hopeful, all
nervous terrors of yesterday dispelled by rest and sleep and
frank and heartening sunshine.

114
 He had the world all to himself, that early summer morning.
The dewy woodland, as he threaded it, was solitary and still:
the green fields that succeeded the trees were his own to do as
he liked with; the road itself, when he reached it, in that loneli-
ness that was everywhere, seemed, like a stray dog, to be look-
ing anxiously for company. Toad, however, was looking for
something that could talk, and tell him clearly which way he
ought to go. It is all very well, when you have a light heart, and
a clear conscience, and money in your pocket, and nobody
scouring the country for you to drag you off to prison again, to
follow where the road beckons and points, not caring whither.
The practical Toad cared very much indeed, and he could have
kicked the road for its helpless silence when every minute was
of importance to him.
The reserved rustic road was presently joined by a shy little
brother in the shape of a canal, which took its hand and
ambled along by its side in perfect confidence, but with the
same tongue-tied, uncommunicative attitude towards
strangers. 'Bother them!' said Toad to himself. 'But, anyhow,
one thing's clear. They must both be coming FROM some-
where, and going TO somewhere. You can't get over that.
Toad, my boy!' So he marched on patiently by the water's edge.
Round a bend in the canal came plodding a solitary horse,
stooping forward as if in anxious thought. From rope traces at-
tached to his collar stretched a long line, taut, but dipping with
his stride, the further part of it dripping pearly drops. Toad let
the horse pass, and stood waiting for what the fates were send-
ing him.
With a pleasant swirl of quiet water at its blunt bow the
barge slid up alongside of him, its gaily painted gunwale level
with the towing-path, its sole occupant a big stout woman
wearing a linen sun-bonnet, one brawny arm laid along the
tiller.
'A nice morning, ma'am!' she remarked to Toad, as she drew
up level with him.
'I dare say it is, ma'am!' responded Toad politely, as he
walked along the tow-path abreast of her. 'I dare it IS a nice
morning to them that's not in sore trouble, like what I am.
Here's my married daughter, she sends off to me post-haste to
come to her at once; so off I comes, not knowing what may be

115
happening or going to happen, but fearing the worst, as you
will understand, ma'am, if you're a mother, too. And I've left
my business to look after itself—I'm in the washing and laun-
dering line, you must know, ma'am—and I've left my young
children to look after themselves, and a more mischievous and
troublesome set of young imps doesn't exist, ma'am; and I've
lost all my money, and lost my way, and as for what may be
happening to my married daughter, why, I don't like to think of
it, ma'am!'
'Where might your married daughter be living, ma'am?'
asked the barge-woman.
'She lives near to the river, ma'am,' replied Toad. 'Close to a
fine house called Toad Hall, that's somewheres hereabouts in
these parts. Perhaps you may have heard of it.'
'Toad Hall? Why, I'm going that way myself,' replied the
barge-woman. 'This canal joins the river some miles further on,
a little above Toad Hall; and then it's an easy walk. You come
along in the barge with me, and I'll give you a lift.'
She steered the barge close to the bank, and Toad, with
many humble and grateful acknowledgments, stepped lightly
on board and sat down with great satisfaction. 'Toad's luck
again!' thought he. 'I always come out on top!'
'So you're in the washing business, ma'am?' said the barge-
woman politely, as they glided along. 'And a very good busi-
ness you've got too, I dare say, if I'm not making too free in
saying so.'
'Finest business in the whole country,' said Toad airily. 'All
the gentry come to me—wouldn't go to any one else if they
were paid, they know me so well. You see, I understand my
work thoroughly, and attend to it all myself. Washing, ironing,
clear-starching, making up gents' fine shirts for evening
wear—everything's done under my own eye!'
'But surely you don't DO all that work yourself, ma'am?'
asked the barge-woman respectfully.
'O, I have girls,' said Toad lightly: 'twenty girls or there-
abouts, always at work. But you know what GIRLS are, ma'am!
Nasty little hussies, that's what I call 'em!'
'So do I, too,' said the barge-woman with great heartiness.
'But I dare say you set yours to rights, the idle trollops! And
are you very fond of washing?'

116
 'I love it,' said Toad. 'I simply dote on it. Never so happy as
when I've got both arms in the wash-tub. But, then, it comes so
easy to me! No trouble at all! A real pleasure, I assure you,
ma'am!'
'What a bit of luck, meeting you!' observed the barge-woman,
thoughtfully. 'A regular piece of good fortune for both of us!'
'Why, what do you mean?' asked Toad, nervously.
'Well, look at me, now,' replied the barge-woman. 'I like
washing, too, just the same as you do; and for that matter,
whether I like it or not I have got to do all my own, naturally,
moving about as I do. Now my husband, he's such a fellow for
shirking his work and leaving the barge to me, that never a
moment do I get for seeing to my own affairs. By rights he
ought to be here now, either steering or attending to the horse,
though luckily the horse has sense enough to attend to himself.
Instead of which, he's gone off with the dog, to see if they can't
pick up a rabbit for dinner somewhere. Says he'll catch me up
at the next lock. Well, that's as may be—I don't trust him, once
he gets off with that dog, who's worse than he is. But mean-
time, how am I to get on with my washing?'
'O, never mind about the washing,' said Toad, not liking the
subject. 'Try and fix your mind on that rabbit. A nice fat young
rabbit, I'll be bound. Got any onions?'
'I can't fix my mind on anything but my washing,' said the
barge-woman, 'and I wonder you can be talking of rabbits, with
such a joyful prospect before you. There's a heap of things of
mine that you'll find in a corner of the cabin. If you'll just take
one or two of the most necessary sort—I won't venture to de-
scribe them to a lady like you, but you'll recognise them at a
glance—and put them through the wash-tub as we go along,
why, it'll be a pleasure to you, as you rightly say, and a real
help to me. You'll find a tub handy, and soap, and a kettle on
the stove, and a bucket to haul up water from the canal with.
Then I shall know you're enjoying yourself, instead of sitting
here idle, looking at the scenery and yawning your head off.'
'Here, you let me steer!' said Toad, now thoroughly
frightened, 'and then you can get on with your washing your
own way. I might spoil your things, or not do 'em as you like.
I'm more used to gentlemen's things myself. It's my special
line.'

117
 'Let you steer?' replied the barge-woman, laughing. 'It takes
some practice to steer a barge properly. Besides, it's dull work,
and I want you to be happy. No, you shall do the washing you
are so fond of, and I'll stick to the steering that I understand.
Don't try and deprive me of the pleasure of giving you a treat!'
Toad was fairly cornered. He looked for escape this way and
that, saw that he was too far from the bank for a flying leap,
and sullenly resigned himself to his fate. 'If it comes to that,' he
thought in desperation, 'I suppose any fool can WASH!'
He fetched tub, soap, and other necessaries from the cabin,
selected a few garments at random, tried to recollect what he
had seen in casual glances through laundry windows, and set
to.
A long half-hour passed, and every minute of it saw Toad get-
ting crosser and crosser. Nothing that he could do to the things
seemed to please them or do them good. He tried coaxing, he
tried slapping, he tried punching; they smiled back at him out
of the tub unconverted, happy in their original sin. Once or
twice he looked nervously over his shoulder at the barge-wo-
man, but she appeared to be gazing out in front of her, ab-
sorbed in her steering. His back ached badly, and he noticed
with dismay that his paws were beginning to get all crinkly.
Now Toad was very proud of his paws. He muttered under his
breath words that should never pass the lips of either washer-
women or Toads; and lost the soap, for the fiftieth time.
A burst of laughter made him straighten himself and look
round. The barge-woman was leaning back and laughing unres-
trainedly, till the tears ran down her cheeks.
'I've been watching you all the time,' she gasped. 'I thought
you must be a humbug all along, from the conceited way you
talked. Pretty washerwoman you are! Never washed so much
as a dish-clout in your life, I'll lay!'
Toad's temper which had been simmering viciously for some
time, now fairly boiled over, and he lost all control of himself.
'You common, low, FAT barge-woman!' he shouted; 'don't you
dare to talk to your betters like that! Washerwoman indeed! I
would have you to know that I am a Toad, a very well-known,
respected, distinguished Toad! I may be under a bit of a cloud
at present, but I will NOT be laughed at by a bargewoman!'

118
 The woman moved nearer to him and peered under his bon-
net keenly and closely. 'Why, so you are!' she cried. 'Well, I
never! A horrid, nasty, crawly Toad! And in my nice clean
barge, too! Now that is a thing that I will NOT have.'
She relinquished the tiller for a moment. One big mottled
arm shot out and caught Toad by a fore-leg, while the other-
gripped him fast by a hind-leg. Then the world turned suddenly
upside down, the barge seemed to flit lightly across the sky,
the wind whistled in his ears, and Toad found himself flying
through the air, revolving rapidly as he went.
The water, when he eventually reached it with a loud splash,
proved quite cold enough for his taste, though its chill was not
sufficient to quell his proud spirit, or slake the heat of his furi-
ous temper. He rose to the surface spluttering, and when he
had wiped the duck-weed out of his eyes the first thing he saw
was the fat barge-woman looking back at him over the stern of
the retreating barge and laughing; and he vowed, as he
coughed and choked, to be even with her.
He struck out for the shore, but the cotton gown greatly im-
peded his efforts, and when at length he touched land he found
it hard to climb up the steep bank unassisted. He had to take a
minute or two's rest to recover his breath; then, gathering his
wet skirts well over his arms, he started to run after the barge
as fast as his legs would carry him, wild with indignation,
thirsting for revenge.
The barge-woman was still laughing when he drew up level
with her. 'Put yourself through your mangle, washerwoman,'
she called out, 'and iron your face and crimp it, and you'll pass
for quite a decent-looking Toad!'
Toad never paused to reply. Solid revenge was what he
wanted, not cheap, windy, verbal triumphs, though he had a
thing or two in his mind that he would have liked to say. He
saw what he wanted ahead of him. Running swiftly on he over-
took the horse, unfastened the towrope and cast off, jumped
lightly on the horse's back, and urged it to a gallop by kicking
it vigorously in the sides. He steered for the open country,
abandoning the tow-path, and swinging his steed down a rutty
lane. Once he looked back, and saw that the barge had run
aground on the other side of the canal, and the barge-woman
was gesticulating wildly and shouting, 'Stop, stop, stop!' 'I've

119
heard that song before,' said Toad, laughing, as he continued
to spur his steed onward in its wild career.
The barge-horse was not capable of any very sustained ef-
fort, and its gallop soon subsided into a trot, and its trot into an
easy walk; but Toad was quite contented with this, knowing
that he, at any rate, was moving, and the barge was not. He
had quite recovered his temper, now that he had done
something he thought really clever; and he was satisfied to jog
along quietly in the sun, steering his horse along by-ways and
bridle-paths, and trying to forget how very long it was since he
had had a square meal, till the canal had been left very far be-
hind him.
He had travelled some miles, his horse and he, and he was
feeling drowsy in the hot sunshine, when the horse stopped,
lowered his head, and began to nibble the grass; and Toad,
waking up, just saved himself from falling off by an effort. He
looked about him and found he was on a wide common, dotted
with patches of gorse and bramble as far as he could see. Near
him stood a dingy gipsy caravan, and beside it a man was sit-
ting on a bucket turned upside down, very busy smoking and
staring into the wide world. A fire of sticks was burning near
by, and over the fire hung an iron pot, and out of that pot came
forth bubblings and gurglings, and a vague suggestive steami-
ness. Also smells—warm, rich, and varied smells—that twined
and twisted and wreathed themselves at last into one com-
plete, voluptuous, perfect smell that seemed like the very soul
of Nature taking form and appearing to her children, a true
Goddess, a mother of solace and comfort. Toad now knew well
that he had not been really hungry before. What he had felt
earlier in the day had been a mere trifling qualm. This was the
real thing at last, and no mistake; and it would have to be dealt
with speedily, too, or there would be trouble for somebody or
something. He looked the gipsy over carefully, wondering
vaguely whether it would be easier to fight him or cajole him.
So there he sat, and sniffed and sniffed, and looked at the
gipsy; and the gipsy sat and smoked, and looked at him.
Presently the gipsy took his pipe out of his mouth and re-
marked in a careless way, 'Want to sell that there horse of
yours?'

120
 Toad was completely taken aback. He did not know that gip-
sies were very fond of horse-dealing, and never missed an op-
portunity, and he had not reflected that caravans were always
on the move and took a deal of drawing. It had not occurred to
him to turn the horse into cash, but the gipsy's suggestion
seemed to smooth the way towards the two things he wanted
so badly—ready money, and a solid breakfast.
'What?' he said, 'me sell this beautiful young horse of mine?
O, no; it's out of the question. Who's going to take the washing
home to my customers every week? Besides, I'm too fond of
him, and he simply dotes on me.'
'Try and love a donkey,' suggested the gipsy. 'Some people
do.'
'You don't seem to see,' continued Toad, 'that this fine horse
of mine is a cut above you altogether. He's a blood horse, he is,
partly; not the part you see, of course—another part. And he's
been a Prize Hackney, too, in his time—that was the time be-
fore you knew him, but you can still tell it on him at a glance, if
you understand anything about horses. No, it's not to be
thought of for a moment. All the same, how much might you be
disposed to offer me for this beautiful young horse of mine?'
The gipsy looked the horse over, and then he looked Toad
over with equal care, and looked at the horse again. 'Shillin' a
leg,' he said briefly, and turned away, continuing to smoke and
try to stare the wide world out of countenance.
'A shilling a leg?' cried Toad. 'If you please, I must take a
little time to work that out, and see just what it comes to.'
He climbed down off his horse, and left it to graze, and sat
down by the gipsy, and did sums on his fingers, and at last he
said, 'A shilling a leg? Why, that comes to exactly four shillings,
and no more. O, no; I could not think of accepting four shillings
for this beautiful young horse of mine.'
'Well,' said the gipsy, 'I'll tell you what I will do. I'll make it
five shillings, and that's three-and-sixpence more than the
animal's worth. And that's my last word.'
Then Toad sat and pondered long and deeply. For he was
hungry and quite penniless, and still some way—he knew not
how far—from home, and enemies might still be looking for
him. To one in such a situation, five shillings may very well ap-
pear a large sum of money. On the other hand, it did not seem

121
very much to get for a horse. But then, again, the horse hadn't
cost him anything; so whatever he got was all clear profit. At
last he said firmly, 'Look here, gipsy! I tell you what we will do;
and this is MY last word. You shall hand me over six shillings
and sixpence, cash down; and further, in addition thereto, you
shall give me as much breakfast as I can possibly eat, at one
sitting of course, out of that iron pot of yours that keeps send-
ing forth such delicious and exciting smells. In return, I will
make over to you my spirited young horse, with all the beauti-
ful harness and trappings that are on him, freely thrown in. If
that's not good enough for you, say so, and I'll be getting on. I
know a man near here who's wanted this horse of mine for
years.'
The gipsy grumbled frightfully, and declared if he did a few
more deals of that sort he'd be ruined. But in the end he
lugged a dirty canvas bag out of the depths of his trouser pock-
et, and counted out six shillings and sixpence into Toad's paw.
Then he disappeared into the caravan for an instant, and re-
turned with a large iron plate and a knife, fork, and spoon. He
tilted up the pot, and a glorious stream of hot rich stew
gurgled into the plate. It was, indeed, the most beautiful stew
in the world, being made of partridges, and pheasants, and
chickens, and hares, and rabbits, and pea-hens, and guinea-
fowls, and one or two other things. Toad took the plate on his
lap, almost crying, and stuffed, and stuffed, and stuffed, and
kept asking for more, and the gipsy never grudged it him. He
thought that he had never eaten so good a breakfast in all his
life.
When Toad had taken as much stew on board as he thought
he could possibly hold, he got up and said good-bye to the
gipsy, and took an affectionate farewell of the horse; and the
gipsy, who knew the riverside well, gave him directions which
way to go, and he set forth on his travels again in the best pos-
sible spirits. He was, indeed, a very different Toad from the an-
imal of an hour ago. The sun was shining brightly, his wet
clothes were quite dry again, he had money in his pocket once
more, he was nearing home and friends and safety, and, most
and best of all, he had had a substantial meal, hot and nourish-
ing, and felt big, and strong, and careless, and self-confident.

122
 As he tramped along gaily, he thought of his adventures and
escapes, and how when things seemed at their worst he had al-
ways managed to find a way out; and his pride and conceit
began to swell within him. 'Ho, ho!' he said to himself as he
marched along with his chin in the air, 'what a clever Toad I
am! There is surely no animal equal to me for cleverness in the
whole world! My enemies shut me up in prison, encircled by
sentries, watched night and day by warders; I walk out through
them all, by sheer ability coupled with courage. They pursue
me with engines, and policemen, and revolvers; I snap my fin-
gers at them, and vanish, laughing, into space. I am, unfortu-
nately, thrown into a canal by a woman fat of body and very
evil-minded. What of it? I swim ashore, I seize her horse, I ride
off in triumph, and I sell the horse for a whole pocketful of
money and an excellent breakfast! Ho, ho! I am The Toad, the
handsome, the popular, the successful Toad!' He got so puffed
up with conceit that he made up a song as he walked in praise
of himself, and sang it at the top of his voice, though there was
no one to hear it but him. It was perhaps the most conceited
song that any animal ever composed.

'The world has held great Heroes,

As history-books have showed;
But never a name to go down to fame
Compared with that of Toad!

'The clever men at Oxford

Know all that there is to be knowed.
But they none of them know one half as much
As intelligent Mr. Toad!

'The animals sat in the Ark and cried,

Their tears in torrents flowed.
Who was it said, "There's land ahead?"
Encouraging Mr. Toad!

'The army all saluted

As they marched along the road.
Was it the King? Or Kitchener?
No. It was Mr. Toad.

123
 'The Queen and her Ladies-in-waiting
Sat at the window and sewed.
She cried, "Look! who's that handsome man?"
They answered, "Mr. Toad."'

There was a great deal more of the same sort, but too dread-
fully conceited to be written down. These are some of the
milder verses.
He sang as he walked, and he walked as he sang, and got
more inflated every minute. But his pride was shortly to have a
severe fall.
After some miles of country lanes he reached the high road,
and as he turned into it and glanced along its white length, he
saw approaching him a speck that turned into a dot and then
into a blob, and then into something very familiar; and a
double note of warning, only too well known, fell on his de-
lighted ear.
'This is something like!' said the excited Toad. 'This is real
life again, this is once more the great world from which I have
been missed so long! I will hail them, my brothers of the wheel,
and pitch them a yarn, of the sort that has been so successful
hitherto; and they will give me a lift, of course, and then I will
talk to them some more; and, perhaps, with luck, it may even
end in my driving up to Toad Hall in a motor-car! That will be
one in the eye for Badger!'
He stepped confidently out into the road to hail the motor-
car, which came along at an easy pace, slowing down as it
neared the lane; when suddenly he became very pale, his heart
turned to water, his knees shook and yielded under him, and
he doubled up and collapsed with a sickening pain in his interi-
or. And well he might, the unhappy animal; for the approach-
ing car was the very one he had stolen out of the yard of the
Red Lion Hotel on that fatal day when all his troubles began!
And the people in it were the very same people he had sat and
watched at luncheon in the coffee-room!
He sank down in a shabby, miserable heap in the road, mur-
muring to himself in his despair, 'It's all up! It's all over now!
Chains and policemen again! Prison again! Dry bread and wa-
ter again! O, what a fool I have been! What did I want to go

124
strutting about the country for, singing conceited songs, and
hailing people in broad day on the high road, instead of hiding
till nightfall and slipping home quietly by back ways! O hapless
Toad! O ill-fated animal!'
The terrible motor-car drew slowly nearer and nearer, till at
last he heard it stop just short of him. Two gentlemen got out
and walked round the trembling heap of crumpled misery lying
in the road, and one of them said, 'O dear! this is very sad!
Here is a poor old thing—a washerwoman apparently—who has
fainted in the road! Perhaps she is overcome by the heat, poor
creature; or possibly she has not had any food to-day. Let us
lift her into the car and take her to the nearest village, where
doubtless she has friends.'
They tenderly lifted Toad into the motor-car and propped him
up with soft cushions, and proceeded on their way.
When Toad heard them talk in so kind and sympathetic a
way, and knew that he was not recognised, his courage began
to revive, and he cautiously opened first one eye and then the
other.
'Look!' said one of the gentlemen, 'she is better already. The
fresh air is doing her good. How do you feel now, ma'am?'
'Thank you kindly, Sir,' said Toad in a feeble voice, 'I'm feel-
ing a great deal better!' 'That's right,' said the gentleman.
'Now keep quite still, and, above all, don't try to talk.'
'I won't,' said Toad. 'I was only thinking, if I might sit on the
front seat there, beside the driver, where I could get the fresh
air full in my face, I should soon be all right again.'
'What a very sensible woman!' said the gentleman. 'Of course
you shall.' So they carefully helped Toad into the front seat be-
side the driver, and on they went again.
Toad was almost himself again by now. He sat up, looked
about him, and tried to beat down the tremors, the yearnings,
the old cravings that rose up and beset him and took posses-
sion of him entirely.
'It is fate!' he said to himself. 'Why strive? why struggle?' and
he turned to the driver at his side.
'Please, Sir,' he said, 'I wish you would kindly let me try and
drive the car for a little. I've been watching you carefully, and
it looks so easy and so interesting, and I should like to be able
to tell my friends that once I had driven a motor-car!'

125
 The driver laughed at the proposal, so heartily that the gen-
tleman inquired what the matter was. When he heard, he said,
to Toad's delight, 'Bravo, ma'am! I like your spirit. Let her have
a try, and look after her. She won't do any harm.'
Toad eagerly scrambled into the seat vacated by the driver,
took the steering-wheel in his hands, listened with affected hu-
mility to the instructions given him, and set the car in motion,
but very slowly and carefully at first, for he was determined to
be prudent.
The gentlemen behind clapped their hands and applauded,
and Toad heard them saying, 'How well she does it! Fancy a
washerwoman driving a car as well as that, the first time!'
Toad went a little faster; then faster still, and faster.
He heard the gentlemen call out warningly, 'Be careful,
washerwoman!' And this annoyed him, and he began to lose his
head.
The driver tried to interfere, but he pinned him down in his
seat with one elbow, and put on full speed. The rush of air in
his face, the hum of the engines, and the light jump of the car
beneath him intoxicated his weak brain. 'Washerwoman, in-
deed!' he shouted recklessly. 'Ho! ho! I am the Toad, the
motor-car snatcher, the prison-breaker, the Toad who always
escapes! Sit still, and you shall know what driving really is, for
you are in the hands of the famous, the skilful, the entirely
fearless Toad!'
With a cry of horror the whole party rose and flung them-
selves on him. 'Seize him!' they cried, 'seize the Toad, the
wicked animal who stole our motor-car! Bind him, chain him,
drag him to the nearest police-station! Down with the desper-
ate and dangerous Toad!'
Alas! they should have thought, they ought to have been
more prudent, they should have remembered to stop the
motor-car somehow before playing any pranks of that sort.
With a half-turn of the wheel the Toad sent the car crashing
through the low hedge that ran along the roadside. One mighty
bound, a violent shock, and the wheels of the car were churn-
ing up the thick mud of a horse-pond.
Toad found himself flying through the air with the strong up-
ward rush and delicate curve of a swallow. He liked the mo-
tion, and was just beginning to wonder whether it would go on

126
until he developed wings and turned into a Toad-bird, when he
landed on his back with a thump, in the soft rich grass of a
meadow. Sitting up, he could just see the motor-car in the
pond, nearly submerged; the gentlemen and the driver, en-
cumbered by their long coats, were floundering helplessly in
the water.
He picked himself up rapidly, and set off running across
country as hard as he could, scrambling through hedges, jump-
ing ditches, pounding across fields, till he was breathless and
weary, and had to settle down into an easy walk. When he had
recovered his breath somewhat, and was able to think calmly,
he began to giggle, and from giggling he took to laughing, and
he laughed till he had to sit down under a hedge. 'Ho, ho!' he
cried, in ecstasies of self-admiration, 'Toad again! Toad, as usu-
al, comes out on the top! Who was it got them to give him a
lift? Who managed to get on the front seat for the sake of fresh
air? Who persuaded them into letting him see if he could drive?
Who landed them all in a horse-pond? Who escaped, flying
gaily and unscathed through the air, leaving the narrow-
minded, grudging, timid excursionists in the mud where they
should rightly be? Why, Toad, of course; clever Toad, great
Toad, GOOD Toad!'
Then he burst into song again, and chanted with uplifted
voice—

'The motor-car went Poop-poop-poop,

As it raced along the road.
Who was it steered it into a pond?
Ingenious Mr. Toad!

O, how clever I am! How clever, how clever, how very

clev——'
A slight noise at a distance behind him made him turn his
head and look. O horror! O misery! O despair!
About two fields off, a chauffeur in his leather gaiters and
two large rural policemen were visible, running towards him as
hard as they could go!
Poor Toad sprang to his feet and pelted away again, his heart
in his mouth. O, my!' he gasped, as he panted along, 'what an
ASS I am! What a CONCEITED and heedless ass! Swaggering

127
again! Shouting and singing songs again! Sitting still and gass-
ing again! O my! O my! O my!'
He glanced back, and saw to his dismay that they were gain-
ing on him. On he ran desperately, but kept looking back, and
saw that they still gained steadily. He did his best, but he was
a fat animal, and his legs were short, and still they gained. He
could hear them close behind him now. Ceasing to heed where
he was going, he struggled on blindly and wildly, looking back
over his shoulder at the now triumphant enemy, when sud-
denly the earth failed under his feet, he grasped at the air, and,
splash! he found himself head over ears in deep water, rapid
water, water that bore him along with a force he could not con-
tend with; and he knew that in his blind panic he had run
straight into the river!
He rose to the surface and tried to grasp the reeds and the
rushes that grew along the water's edge close under the bank,
but the stream was so strong that it tore them out of his hands.
'O my!' gasped poor Toad, 'if ever I steal a motor-car again! If
ever I sing another conceited song'—then down he went, and
came up breathless and spluttering. Presently he saw that he
was approaching a big dark hole in the bank, just above his
head, and as the stream bore him past he reached up with a
paw and caught hold of the edge and held on. Then slowly and
with difficulty he drew himself up out of the water, till at last
he was able to rest his elbows on the edge of the hole. There
he remained for some minutes, puffing and panting, for he was
quite exhausted.
As he sighed and blew and stared before him into the dark
hole, some bright small thing shone and twinkled in its depths,
moving towards him. As it approached, a face grew up gradu-
ally around it, and it was a familiar face!
Brown and small, with whiskers.
Grave and round, with neat ears and silky hair.
It was the Water Rat!

128
Chapter 11
'LIKE SUMMER TEMPESTS CAME HIS
TEARS'
The Rat put out a neat little brown paw, gripped Toad firmly by
the scruff of the neck, and gave a great hoist and a pull; and
the water-logged Toad came up slowly but surely over the edge
of the hole, till at last he stood safe and sound in the hall,
streaked with mud and weed to be sure, and with the water
streaming off him, but happy and high-spirited as of old, now
that he found himself once more in the house of a friend, and
dodgings and evasions were over, and he could lay aside a dis-
guise that was unworthy of his position and wanted such a lot
of living up to.
'O, Ratty!' he cried. 'I've been through such times since I saw
you last, you can't think! Such trials, such sufferings, and all so
nobly borne! Then such escapes, such disguises such subter-
fuges, and all so cleverly planned and carried out! Been in pris-
on—got out of it, of course! Been thrown into a canal—swam
ashore! Stole a horse—sold him for a large sum of money!
Humbugged everybody—made 'em all do exactly what I
wanted! Oh, I AM a smart Toad, and no mistake! What do you
think my last exploit was? Just hold on till I tell you——'
'Toad,' said the Water Rat, gravely and firmly, 'you go off up-
stairs at once, and take off that old cotton rag that looks as if it
might formerly have belonged to some washerwoman, and
clean yourself thoroughly, and put on some of my clothes, and
try and come down looking like a gentleman if you CAN; for a
more shabby, bedraggled, disreputable-looking object than you
are I never set eyes on in my whole life! Now, stop swaggering
and arguing, and be off! I'll have something to say to you
later!'

129
 Toad was at first inclined to stop and do some talking back at
him. He had had enough of being ordered about when he was
in prison, and here was the thing being begun all over again,
apparently; and by a Rat, too! However, he caught sight of
himself in the looking-glass over the hat-stand, with the rusty
black bonnet perched rakishly over one eye, and he changed
his mind and went very quickly and humbly upstairs to the
Rat's dressing-room. There he had a thorough wash and brush-
up, changed his clothes, and stood for a long time before the
glass, contemplating himself with pride and pleasure, and
thinking what utter idiots all the people must have been to
have ever mistaken him for one moment for a washerwoman.
By the time he came down again luncheon was on the table,
and very glad Toad was to see it, for he had been through some
trying experiences and had taken much hard exercise since the
excellent breakfast provided for him by the gipsy. While they
ate Toad told the Rat all his adventures, dwelling chiefly on his
own cleverness, and presence of mind in emergencies, and
cunning in tight places; and rather making out that he had
been having a gay and highly-coloured experience. But the
more he talked and boasted, the more grave and silent the Rat
became.
When at last Toad had talked himself to a standstill, there
was silence for a while; and then the Rat said, 'Now, Toady, I
don't want to give you pain, after all you've been through
already; but, seriously, don't you see what an awful ass you've
been making of yourself? On your own admission you have
been handcuffed, imprisoned, starved, chased, terrified out of
your life, insulted, jeered at, and ignominiously flung into the
water—by a woman, too! Where's the amusement in that?
Where does the fun come in? And all because you must needs
go and steal a motor-car. You know that you've never had any-
thing but trouble from motor-cars from the moment you first
set eyes on one. But if you WILL be mixed up with them—as
you generally are, five minutes after you've started—why
STEAL them? Be a cripple, if you think it's exciting; be a bank-
rupt, for a change, if you've set your mind on it: but why
choose to be a convict? When are you going to be sensible, and
think of your friends, and try and be a credit to them? Do you
suppose it's any pleasure to me, for instance, to hear animals

130
saying, as I go about, that I'm the chap that keeps company
with gaol-birds?'
Now, it was a very comforting point in Toad's character that
he was a thoroughly good-hearted animal and never minded
being jawed by those who were his real friends. And even when
most set upon a thing, he was always able to see the other side
of the question. So although, while the Rat was talking so seri-
ously, he kept saying to himself mutinously, 'But it WAS fun,
though! Awful fun!' and making strange suppressed noises in-
side him, k-i-ck-ck-ck, and poop-p-p, and other sounds resem-
bling stifled snorts, or the opening of soda-water bottles, yet
when the Rat had quite finished, he heaved a deep sigh and
said, very nicely and humbly, 'Quite right, Ratty! How SOUND
you always are! Yes, I've been a conceited old ass, I can quite
see that; but now I'm going to be a good Toad, and not do it
any more. As for motor-cars, I've not been at all so keen about
them since my last ducking in that river of yours. The fact is,
while I was hanging on to the edge of your hole and getting my
breath, I had a sudden idea—a really brilliant idea—connected
with motor-boats—there, there! don't take on so, old chap, and
stamp, and upset things; it was only an idea, and we won't talk
any more about it now. We'll have our coffee, AND a smoke,
and a quiet chat, and then I'm going to stroll quietly down to
Toad Hall, and get into clothes of my own, and set things going
again on the old lines. I've had enough of adventures. I shall
lead a quiet, steady, respectable life, pottering about my prop-
erty, and improving it, and doing a little landscape gardening
at times. There will always be a bit of dinner for my friends
when they come to see me; and I shall keep a pony-chaise to
jog about the country in, just as I used to in the good old days,
before I got restless, and wanted to DO things.'
'Stroll quietly down to Toad Hall?' cried the Rat, greatly ex-
cited. 'What are you talking about? Do you mean to say you
haven't HEARD?'
'Heard what?' said Toad, turning rather pale. 'Go on, Ratty!
Quick! Don't spare me! What haven't I heard?'
'Do you mean to tell me,' shouted the Rat, thumping with his
little fist upon the table, 'that you've heard nothing about the
Stoats and Weasels?'

131
 What, the Wild Wooders?' cried Toad, trembling in every
limb. 'No, not a word! What have they been doing?'
'—And how they've been and taken Toad Hall?' continued the
Rat.
Toad leaned his elbows on the table, and his chin on his
paws; and a large tear welled up in each of his eyes, over-
flowed and splashed on the table, plop! plop!
'Go on, Ratty,' he murmured presently; 'tell me all. The worst
is over. I am an animal again. I can bear it.'
'When you—got—into that—that—trouble of yours,' said the
Rat, slowly and impressively; 'I mean, when you—disappeared
from society for a time, over that misunderstanding about a—a
machine, you know—'
Toad merely nodded.
'Well, it was a good deal talked about down here, naturally,'
continued the Rat, 'not only along the river-side, but even in
the Wild Wood. Animals took sides, as always happens. The
River-bankers stuck up for you, and said you had been infam-
ously treated, and there was no justice to be had in the land
nowadays. But the Wild Wood animals said hard things, and
served you right, and it was time this sort of thing was
stopped. And they got very cocky, and went about saying you
were done for this time! You would never come back again,
never, never!'
Toad nodded once more, keeping silence.
'That's the sort of little beasts they are,' the Rat went on. 'But
Mole and Badger, they stuck out, through thick and thin, that
you would come back again soon, somehow. They didn't know
exactly how, but somehow!'
Toad began to sit up in his chair again, and to smirk a little.
'They argued from history,' continued the Rat. 'They said that
no criminal laws had ever been known to prevail against cheek
and plausibility such as yours, combined with the power of a
long purse. So they arranged to move their things in to Toad
Hall, and sleep there, and keep it aired, and have it all ready
for you when you turned up. They didn't guess what was going
to happen, of course; still, they had their suspicions of the Wild
Wood animals. Now I come to the most painful and tragic part
of my story. One dark night—it was a VERY dark night, and
blowing hard, too, and raining simply cats and dogs—a band of

132
weasels, armed to the teeth, crept silently up the carriage-
drive to the front entrance. Simultaneously, a body of desper-
ate ferrets, advancing through the kitchen-garden, possessed
themselves of the backyard and offices; while a company of
skirmishing stoats who stuck at nothing occupied the conser-
vatory and the billiard-room, and held the French windows
opening on to the lawn.
'The Mole and the Badger were sitting by the fire in the
smoking-room, telling stories and suspecting nothing, for it
wasn't a night for any animals to be out in, when those
bloodthirsty villains broke down the doors and rushed in upon
them from every side. They made the best fight they could, but
what was the good? They were unarmed, and taken by sur-
prise, and what can two animals do against hundreds? They
took and beat them severely with sticks, those two poor faithful
creatures, and turned them out into the cold and the wet, with
many insulting and uncalled-for remarks!'
Here the unfeeling Toad broke into a snigger, and then
pulled himself together and tried to look particularly solemn.
'And the Wild Wooders have been living in Toad Hall ever
since,' continued the Rat; 'and going on simply anyhow! Lying
in bed half the day, and breakfast at all hours, and the place in
such a mess (I'm told) it's not fit to be seen! Eating your grub,
and drinking your drink, and making bad jokes about you, and
singing vulgar songs, about—well, about prisons and magis-
trates, and policemen; horrid personal songs, with no humour
in them. And they're telling the tradespeople and everybody
that they've come to stay for good.'
'O, have they!' said Toad getting up and seizing a stick. 'I'll
jolly soon see about that!'
'It's no good, Toad!' called the Rat after him. 'You'd better
come back and sit down; you'll only get into trouble.'
But the Toad was off, and there was no holding him. He
marched rapidly down the road, his stick over his shoulder,
fuming and muttering to himself in his anger, till he got near
his front gate, when suddenly there popped up from behind the
palings a long yellow ferret with a gun.
'Who comes there?' said the ferret sharply.

133
 'Stuff and nonsense!' said Toad, very angrily. 'What do you
mean by talking like that to me? Come out of that at once, or
I'll——'
The ferret said never a word, but he brought his gun up to
his shoulder. Toad prudently dropped flat in the road, and
BANG! a bullet whistled over his head.
The startled Toad scrambled to his feet and scampered off
down the road as hard as he could; and as he ran he heard the
ferret laughing and other horrid thin little laughs taking it up
and carrying on the sound.
He went back, very crestfallen, and told the Water Rat.
'What did I tell you?' said the Rat. 'It's no good. They've got
sentries posted, and they are all armed. You must just wait.'
Still, Toad was not inclined to give in all at once. So he got
out the boat, and set off rowing up the river to where the
garden front of Toad Hall came down to the waterside.
Arriving within sight of his old home, he rested on his oars
and surveyed the land cautiously. All seemed very peaceful and
deserted and quiet. He could see the whole front of Toad Hall,
glowing in the evening sunshine, the pigeons settling by twos
and threes along the straight line of the roof; the garden, a
blaze of flowers; the creek that led up to the boat-house, the
little wooden bridge that crossed it; all tranquil, uninhabited,
apparently waiting for his return. He would try the boat-house
first, he thought. Very warily he paddled up to the mouth of the
creek, and was just passing under the bridge, when … CRASH!
A great stone, dropped from above, smashed through the
bottom of the boat. It filled and sank, and Toad found himself
struggling in deep water. Looking up, he saw two stoats lean-
ing over the parapet of the bridge and watching him with great
glee. 'It will be your head next time, Toady!' they called out to
him. The indignant Toad swam to shore, while the stoats
laughed and laughed, supporting each other, and laughed
again, till they nearly had two fits—that is, one fit each, of
course.
The Toad retraced his weary way on foot, and related his dis-
appointing experiences to the Water Rat once more.
'Well, WHAT did I tell you?' said the Rat very crossly. 'And,
now, look here! See what you've been and done! Lost me my
boat that I was so fond of, that's what you've done! And simply

134
ruined that nice suit of clothes that I lent you! Really, Toad, of
all the trying animals—I wonder you manage to keep any
friends at all!'
The Toad saw at once how wrongly and foolishly he had ac-
ted. He admitted his errors and wrong-headedness and made a
full apology to Rat for losing his boat and spoiling his clothes.
And he wound up by saying, with that frank self-surrender
which always disarmed his friend's criticism and won them
back to his side, 'Ratty! I see that I have been a headstrong
and a wilful Toad! Henceforth, believe me, I will be humble and
submissive, and will take no action without your kind advice
and full approval!'
'If that is really so,' said the good-natured Rat, already ap-
peased, 'then my advice to you is, considering the lateness of
the hour, to sit down and have your supper, which will be on
the table in a minute, and be very patient. For I am convinced
that we can do nothing until we have seen the Mole and the
Badger, and heard their latest news, and held conference and
taken their advice in this difficult matter.'
'Oh, ah, yes, of course, the Mole and the Badger,' said Toad,
lightly. 'What's become of them, the dear fellows? I had forgot-
ten all about them.'
'Well may you ask!' said the Rat reproachfully. 'While you
were riding about the country in expensive motor-cars, and
galloping proudly on blood-horses, and breakfasting on the fat
of the land, those two poor devoted animals have been camp-
ing out in the open, in every sort of weather, living very rough
by day and lying very hard by night; watching over your house,
patrolling your boundaries, keeping a constant eye on the
stoats and the weasels, scheming and planning and contriving
how to get your property back for you. You don't deserve to
have such true and loyal friends, Toad, you don't, really. Some
day, when it's too late, you'll be sorry you didn't value them
more while you had them!'
'I'm an ungrateful beast, I know,' sobbed Toad, shedding bit-
ter tears. 'Let me go out and find them, out into the cold, dark
night, and share their hardships, and try and prove by——Hold
on a bit! Surely I heard the chink of dishes on a tray! Supper's
here at last, hooray! Come on, Ratty!'

135
 The Rat remembered that poor Toad had been on prison fare
for a considerable time, and that large allowances had there-
fore to be made. He followed him to the table accordingly, and
hospitably encouraged him in his gallant efforts to make up for
past privations.
They had just finished their meal and resumed their arm-
chairs, when there came a heavy knock at the door.
Toad was nervous, but the Rat, nodding mysteriously at him,
went straight up to the door and opened it, and in walked Mr.
Badger.
He had all the appearance of one who for some nights had
been kept away from home and all its little comforts and con-
veniences. His shoes were covered with mud, and he was look-
ing very rough and touzled; but then he had never been a very
smart man, the Badger, at the best of times. He came solemnly
up to Toad, shook him by the paw, and said, 'Welcome home,
Toad! Alas! what am I saying? Home, indeed! This is a poor
home-coming. Unhappy Toad!' Then he turned his back on him,
sat down to the table, drew his chair up, and helped himself to
a large slice of cold pie.
Toad was quite alarmed at this very serious and portentous
style of greeting; but the Rat whispered to him, 'Never mind;
don't take any notice; and don't say anything to him just yet.
He's always rather low and despondent when he's wanting his
victuals. In half an hour's time he'll be quite a different animal.'
So they waited in silence, and presently there came another
and a lighter knock. The Rat, with a nod to Toad, went to the
door and ushered in the Mole, very shabby and unwashed, with
bits of hay and straw sticking in his fur.
'Hooray! Here's old Toad!' cried the Mole, his face beaming.
'Fancy having you back again!' And he began to dance round
him. 'We never dreamt you would turn up so soon! Why, you
must have managed to escape, you clever, ingenious, intelli-
gent Toad!'
The Rat, alarmed, pulled him by the elbow; but it was too
late. Toad was puffing and swelling already.
'Clever? O, no!' he said. 'I'm not really clever, according to
my friends. I've only broken out of the strongest prison in Eng-
land, that's all! And captured a railway train and escaped on it,
that's all! And disguised myself and gone about the country

136
humbugging everybody, that's all! O, no! I'm a stupid ass, I am!
I'll tell you one or two of my little adventures, Mole, and you
shall judge for yourself!'
'Well, well,' said the Mole, moving towards the supper-table;
'supposing you talk while I eat. Not a bite since breakfast! O
my! O my!' And he sat down and helped himself liberally to
cold beef and pickles.
Toad straddled on the hearth-rug, thrust his paw into his
trouser-pocket and pulled out a handful of silver. 'Look at that!'
he cried, displaying it. 'That's not so bad, is it, for a few
minutes' work? And how do you think I done it, Mole? Horse-
dealing! That's how I done it!'
'Go on, Toad,' said the Mole, immensely interested.
'Toad, do be quiet, please!' said the Rat. 'And don't you egg
him on, Mole, when you know what he is; but please tell us as
soon as possible what the position is, and what's best to be
done, now that Toad is back at last.'
'The position's about as bad as it can be,' replied the Mole
grumpily; 'and as for what's to be done, why, blest if I know!
The Badger and I have been round and round the place, by
night and by day; always the same thing. Sentries posted
everywhere, guns poked out at us, stones thrown at us; always
an animal on the look-out, and when they see us, my! how they
do laugh! That's what annoys me most!'
'It's a very difficult situation,' said the Rat, reflecting deeply.
'But I think I see now, in the depths of my mind, what Toad
really ought to do. I will tell you. He ought to——'
'No, he oughtn't!' shouted the Mole, with his mouth full.
'Nothing of the sort! You don't understand. What he ought to
do is, he ought to——'
'Well, I shan't do it, anyway!' cried Toad, getting excited. 'I'm
not going to be ordered about by you fellows! It's my house
we're talking about, and I know exactly what to do, and I'll tell
you. I'm going to——'
By this time they were all three talking at once, at the top of
their voices, and the noise was simply deafening, when a thin,
dry voice made itself heard, saying, 'Be quiet at once, all of
you!' and instantly every one was silent.
It was the Badger, who, having finished his pie, had turned
round in his chair and was looking at them severely. When he

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saw that he had secured their attention, and that they were
evidently waiting for him to address them, he turned back to
the table again and reached out for the cheese. And so great
was the respect commanded by the solid qualities of that ad-
mirable animal, that not another word was uttered until he had
quite finished his repast and brushed the crumbs from his
knees. The Toad fidgeted a good deal, but the Rat held him
firmly down.
When the Badger had quite done, he got up from his seat and
stood before the fireplace, reflecting deeply. At last he spoke.
'Toad!' he said severely. 'You bad, troublesome little animal!
Aren't you ashamed of yourself? What do you think your father,
my old friend, would have said if he had been here to-night,
and had known of all your goings on?'
Toad, who was on the sofa by this time, with his legs up,
rolled over on his face, shaken by sobs of contrition.
'There, there!' went on the Badger, more kindly. 'Never
mind. Stop crying. We're going to let bygones be bygones, and
try and turn over a new leaf. But what the Mole says is quite
true. The stoats are on guard, at every point, and they make
the best sentinels in the world. It's quite useless to think of at-
tacking the place. They're too strong for us.'
'Then it's all over,' sobbed the Toad, crying into the sofa
cushions. 'I shall go and enlist for a soldier, and never see my
dear Toad Hall any more!'
'Come, cheer up, Toady!' said the Badger. 'There are more
ways of getting back a place than taking it by storm. I haven't
said my last word yet. Now I'm going to tell you a great secret.'
Toad sat up slowly and dried his eyes. Secrets had an im-
mense attraction for him, because he never could keep one,
and he enjoyed the sort of unhallowed thrill he experienced
when he went and told another animal, after having faithfully
promised not to.
'There—is—an—underground—passage,' said the Badger, im-
pressively, 'that leads from the river-bank, quite near here,
right up into the middle of Toad Hall.'
'O, nonsense! Badger,' said Toad, rather airily. 'You've been
listening to some of the yarns they spin in the public-houses
about here. I know every inch of Toad Hall, inside and out.
Nothing of the sort, I do assure you!'

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 'My young friend,' said the Badger, with great severity, 'your
father, who was a worthy animal—a lot worthier than some
others I know—was a particular friend of mine, and told me a
great deal he wouldn't have dreamt of telling you. He dis-
covered that passage—he didn't make it, of course; that was
done hundreds of years before he ever came to live there—and
he repaired it and cleaned it out, because he thought it might
come in useful some day, in case of trouble or danger; and he
showed it to me. "Don't let my son know about it," he said.
"He's a good boy, but very light and volatile in character, and
simply cannot hold his tongue. If he's ever in a real fix, and it
would be of use to him, you may tell him about the secret pas-
sage; but not before."'
The other animals looked hard at Toad to see how he would
take it. Toad was inclined to be sulky at first; but he brightened
up immediately, like the good fellow he was.
'Well, well,' he said; 'perhaps I am a bit of a talker. A popular
fellow such as I am—my friends get round me—we chaff, we
sparkle, we tell witty stories—and somehow my tongue gets
wagging. I have the gift of conversation. I've been told I ought
to have a salon, whatever that may be. Never mind. Go on,
Badger. How's this passage of yours going to help us?'
'I've found out a thing or two lately,' continued the Badger. 'I
got Otter to disguise himself as a sweep and call at the back-
door with brushes over his shoulder, asking for a job. There's
going to be a big banquet to-morrow night. It's somebody's
birthday—the Chief Weasel's, I believe—and all the weasels
will be gathered together in the dining-hall, eating and drink-
ing and laughing and carrying on, suspecting nothing. No
guns, no swords, no sticks, no arms of any sort whatever!'
'But the sentinels will be posted as usual,' remarked the Rat.
'Exactly,' said the Badger; 'that is my point. The weasels will
trust entirely to their excellent sentinels. And that is where the
passage comes in. That very useful tunnel leads right up under
the butler's pantry, next to the dining-hall!'
'Aha! that squeaky board in the butler's pantry!' said Toad.
'Now I understand it!'
'We shall creep out quietly into the butler's pantry—' cried
the Mole.
'—with our pistols and swords and sticks—' shouted the Rat.

139
 '—and rush in upon them,' said the Badger.
'—and whack 'em, and whack 'em, and whack 'em!' cried the
Toad in ecstasy, running round and round the room, and jump-
ing over the chairs.
'Very well, then,' said the Badger, resuming his usual dry
manner, 'our plan is settled, and there's nothing more for you
to argue and squabble about. So, as it's getting very late, all of
you go right off to bed at once. We will make all the necessary
arrangements in the course of the morning to-morrow.'
Toad, of course, went off to bed dutifully with the rest—he
knew better than to refuse—though he was feeling much too
excited to sleep. But he had had a long day, with many events
crowded into it; and sheets and blankets were very friendly
and comforting things, after plain straw, and not too much of
it, spread on the stone floor of a draughty cell; and his head
had not been many seconds on his pillow before he was snor-
ing happily. Naturally, he dreamt a good deal; about roads that
ran away from him just when he wanted them, and canals that
chased him and caught him, and a barge that sailed into the
banqueting-hall with his week's washing, just as he was giving
a dinner-party; and he was alone in the secret passage, push-
ing onwards, but it twisted and turned round and shook itself,
and sat up on its end; yet somehow, at the last, he found him-
self back in Toad Hall, safe and triumphant, with all his friends
gathered round about him, earnestly assuring him that he
really was a clever Toad.
He slept till a late hour next morning, and by the time he got
down he found that the other animals had finished their break-
fast some time before. The Mole had slipped off somewhere by
himself, without telling any one where he was going to. The
Badger sat in the arm-chair, reading the paper, and not con-
cerning himself in the slightest about what was going to hap-
pen that very evening. The Rat, on the other hand, was running
round the room busily, with his arms full of weapons of every
kind, distributing them in four little heaps on the floor, and
saying excitedly under his breath, as he ran, 'Here's-a-sword-
for-the-Rat, here's-a-sword-for-the Mole, here's-a-sword-for-
the-Toad, here's-a-sword-for-the-Badger! Here's-a-pistol-for-
the-Rat, here's-a-pistol-for-the-Mole, here's-a-pistol-for-the-
Toad, here's-a-pistol-for-the-Badger!' And so on, in a regular,

140
rhythmical way, while the four little heaps gradually grew and
grew.
'That's all very well, Rat,' said the Badger presently, looking
at the busy little animal over the edge of his newspaper; 'I'm
not blaming you. But just let us once get past the stoats, with
those detestable guns of theirs, and I assure you we shan't
want any swords or pistols. We four, with our sticks, once
we're inside the dining-hall, why, we shall clear the floor of all
the lot of them in five minutes. I'd have done the whole thing
by myself, only I didn't want to deprive you fellows of the fun!'
'It's as well to be on the safe side,' said the Rat reflectively,
polishing a pistol-barrel on his sleeve and looking along it.
The Toad, having finished his breakfast, picked up a stout
stick and swung it vigorously, belabouring imaginary animals.
'I'll learn 'em to steal my house!' he cried. 'I'll learn 'em, I'll
learn 'em!'
'Don't say "learn 'em," Toad,' said the Rat, greatly shocked.
'It's not good English.'
'What are you always nagging at Toad for?' inquired the
Badger, rather peevishly. 'What's the matter with his English?
It's the same what I use myself, and if it's good enough for me,
it ought to be good enough for you!'
'I'm very sorry,' said the Rat humbly. 'Only I THINK it ought
to be "teach 'em," not "learn 'em."'
'But we don't WANT to teach 'em,' replied the Badger. 'We
want to LEARN 'em—learn 'em, learn 'em! And what's more,
we're going to DO it, too!'
'Oh, very well, have it your own way,' said the Rat. He was
getting rather muddled about it himself, and presently he re-
tired into a corner, where he could be heard muttering, 'Learn
'em, teach 'em, teach 'em, learn 'em!' till the Badger told him
rather sharply to leave off.
Presently the Mole came tumbling into the room, evidently
very pleased with himself. 'I've been having such fun!' he
began at once; 'I've been getting a rise out of the stoats!'
'I hope you've been very careful, Mole?' said the Rat
anxiously.
'I should hope so, too,' said the Mole confidently. 'I got the
idea when I went into the kitchen, to see about Toad's break-
fast being kept hot for him. I found that old washerwoman-

141
dress that he came home in yesterday, hanging on a towel-
horse before the fire. So I put it on, and the bonnet as well, and
the shawl, and off I went to Toad Hall, as bold as you please.
The sentries were on the look-out, of course, with their guns
and their "Who comes there?" and all the rest of their non-
sense. "Good morning, gentlemen!" says I, very respectful.
"Want any washing done to-day?"
'They looked at me very proud and stiff and haughty, and
said, "Go away, washerwoman! We don't do any washing on
duty." "Or any other time?" says I. Ho, ho, ho! Wasn't I
FUNNY, Toad?'
'Poor, frivolous animal!' said Toad, very loftily. The fact is, he
felt exceedingly jealous of Mole for what he had just done. It
was exactly what he would have liked to have done himself, if
only he had thought of it first, and hadn't gone and overslept
himself.
'Some of the stoats turned quite pink,' continued the Mole,
'and the Sergeant in charge, he said to me, very short, he said,
"Now run away, my good woman, run away! Don't keep my
men idling and talking on their posts." "Run away?" says I; "it
won't be me that'll be running away, in a very short time from
now!"'
'O MOLY, how could you?' said the Rat, dismayed.
The Badger laid down his paper.
'I could see them pricking up their ears and looking at each
other,' went on the Mole; 'and the Sergeant said to them,
"Never mind HER; she doesn't know what she's talking about."'
'"O! don't I?"' said I. '"Well, let me tell you this. My daughter,
she washes for Mr. Badger, and that'll show you whether I
know what I'm talking about; and YOU'LL know pretty soon,
too! A hundred bloodthirsty badgers, armed with rifles, are go-
ing to attack Toad Hall this very night, by way of the paddock.
Six boatloads of Rats, with pistols and cutlasses, will come up
the river and effect a landing in the garden; while a picked
body of Toads, known at the Die-hards, or the Death-or-Glory
Toads, will storm the orchard and carry everything before
them, yelling for vengeance. There won't be much left of you to
wash, by the time they've done with you, unless you clear out
while you have the chance!" Then I ran away, and when I was
out of sight I hid; and presently I came creeping back along the

142
ditch and took a peep at them through the hedge. They were
all as nervous and flustered as could be, running all ways at
once, and falling over each other, and every one giving orders
to everybody else and not listening; and the Sergeant kept
sending off parties of stoats to distant parts of the grounds,
and then sending other fellows to fetch 'em back again; and I
heard them saying to each other, "That's just like the weasels;
they're to stop comfortably in the banqueting-hall, and have
feasting and toasts and songs and all sorts of fun, while we
must stay on guard in the cold and the dark, and in the end be
cut to pieces by bloodthirsty Badgers!'"
'Oh, you silly ass, Mole!' cried Toad, 'You've been and spoilt
everything!'
'Mole,' said the Badger, in his dry, quiet way, 'I perceive you
have more sense in your little finger than some other animals
have in the whole of their fat bodies. You have managed excel-
lently, and I begin to have great hopes of you. Good Mole!
Clever Mole!'
The Toad was simply wild with jealousy, more especially as
he couldn't make out for the life of him what the Mole had
done that was so particularly clever; but, fortunately for him,
before he could show temper or expose himself to the Badger's
sarcasm, the bell rang for luncheon.
It was a simple but sustaining meal—bacon and broad beans,
and a macaroni pudding; and when they had quite done, the
Badger settled himself into an arm-chair, and said, 'Well, we've
got our work cut out for us to-night, and it will probably be
pretty late before we're quite through with it; so I'm just going
to take forty winks, while I can.' And he drew a handkerchief
over his face and was soon snoring.
The anxious and laborious Rat at once resumed his prepara-
tions, and started running between his four little heaps,
muttering, 'Here's-a-belt-for-the-Rat, here's-a-belt-for-the Mole,
here's-a-belt-for-the-Toad, here's-a-belt-for-the-Badger!' and so
on, with every fresh accoutrement he produced, to which there
seemed really no end; so the Mole drew his arm through
Toad's, led him out into the open air, shoved him into a wicker
chair, and made him tell him all his adventures from beginning
to end, which Toad was only too willing to do. The Mole was a
good listener, and Toad, with no one to check his statements or

143
to criticise in an unfriendly spirit, rather let himself go. Indeed,
much that he related belonged more properly to the category
of what-might-have-happened-had-I-only-thought-of-it-in-time-
instead-of ten-minutes-afterwards. Those are always the best
and the raciest adventures; and why should they not be truly
ours, as much as the somewhat inadequate things that really
come off?

144
Chapter 12
THE RETURN OF ULYSSES
When it began to grow dark, the Rat, with an air of excitement
and mystery, summoned them back into the parlour, stood
each of them up alongside of his little heap, and proceeded to
dress them up for the coming expedition. He was very earnest
and thoroughgoing about it, and the affair took quite a long
time. First, there was a belt to go round each animal, and then
a sword to be stuck into each belt, and then a cutlass on the
other side to balance it. Then a pair of pistols, a policeman's
truncheon, several sets of handcuffs, some bandages and
sticking-plaster, and a flask and a sandwich-case. The Badger
laughed good-humouredly and said, 'All right, Ratty! It amuses
you and it doesn't hurt me. I'm going to do all I've got to do
with this here stick.' But the Rat only said, 'PLEASE, Badger.
You know I shouldn't like you to blame me afterwards and say I
had forgotten ANYTHING!'
When all was quite ready, the Badger took a dark lantern in
one paw, grasped his great stick with the other, and said, 'Now
then, follow me! Mole first, 'cos I'm very pleased with him; Rat
next; Toad last. And look here, Toady! Don't you chatter so
much as usual, or you'll be sent back, as sure as fate!'
The Toad was so anxious not to be left out that he took up
the inferior position assigned to him without a murmur, and
the animals set off. The Badger led them along by the river for
a little way, and then suddenly swung himself over the edge in-
to a hole in the river-bank, a little above the water. The Mole
and the Rat followed silently, swinging themselves successfully
into the hole as they had seen the Badger do; but when it came
to Toad's turn, of course he managed to slip and fall into the
water with a loud splash and a squeal of alarm. He was hauled
out by his friends, rubbed down and wrung out hastily,

145
comforted, and set on his legs; but the Badger was seriously
angry, and told him that the very next time he made a fool of
himself he would most certainly be left behind.
So at last they were in the secret passage, and the cutting-
out expedition had really begun!
It was cold, and dark, and damp, and low, and narrow, and
poor Toad began to shiver, partly from dread of what might be
before him, partly because he was wet through. The lantern
was far ahead, and he could not help lagging behind a little in
the darkness. Then he heard the Rat call out warningly, 'COME
on, Toad!' and a terror seized him of being left behind, alone in
the darkness, and he 'came on' with such a rush that he upset
the Rat into the Mole and the Mole into the Badger, and for a
moment all was confusion. The Badger thought they were be-
ing attacked from behind, and, as there was no room to use a
stick or a cutlass, drew a pistol, and was on the point of putting
a bullet into Toad. When he found out what had really
happened he was very angry indeed, and said, 'Now this time
that tiresome Toad SHALL be left behind!'
But Toad whimpered, and the other two promised that they
would be answerable for his good conduct, and at last the
Badger was pacified, and the procession moved on; only this
time the Rat brought up the rear, with a firm grip on the
shoulder of Toad.
So they groped and shuffled along, with their ears pricked up
and their paws on their pistols, till at last the Badger said, 'We
ought by now to be pretty nearly under the Hall.'
Then suddenly they heard, far away as it might be, and yet
apparently nearly over their heads, a confused murmur of
sound, as if people were shouting and cheering and stamping
on the floor and hammering on tables. The Toad's nervous ter-
rors all returned, but the Badger only remarked placidly, 'They
ARE going it, the Weasels!'
The passage now began to slope upwards; they groped on-
ward a little further, and then the noise broke out again, quite
distinct this time, and very close above them. 'Ooo-ray-ooray-
oo-ray-ooray!' they heard, and the stamping of little feet on the
floor, and the clinking of glasses as little fists pounded on the
table. 'WHAT a time they're having!' said the Badger. 'Come
on!' They hurried along the passage till it came to a full stop,

146
and they found themselves standing under the trap-door that
led up into the butler's pantry.
Such a tremendous noise was going on in the banqueting-hall
that there was little danger of their being overheard. The
Badger said, 'Now, boys, all together!' and the four of them put
their shoulders to the trap-door and heaved it back. Hoisting
each other up, they found themselves standing in the pantry,
with only a door between them and the banqueting-hall, where
their unconscious enemies were carousing.
The noise, as they emerged from the passage, was simply
deafening. At last, as the cheering and hammering slowly sub-
sided, a voice could be made out saying, 'Well, I do not propose
to detain you much longer'—(great applause)—'but before I re-
sume my seat'—(renewed cheering)—'I should like to say one
word about our kind host, Mr. Toad. We all know
Toad!'—(great laughter)—'GOOD Toad, MODEST Toad,
HONEST Toad!' (shrieks of merriment).
'Only just let me get at him!' muttered Toad, grinding his
teeth.
'Hold hard a minute!' said the Badger, restraining him with
difficulty. 'Get ready, all of you!'
'—Let me sing you a little song,' went on the voice, 'which I
have composed on the subject of Toad'—(prolonged applause).
Then the Chief Weasel—for it was he—began in a high,
squeaky voice—

'Toad he went a-pleasuring

Gaily down the street—'

The Badger drew himself up, took a firm grip of his stick with
both paws, glanced round at his comrades, and cried—

'The hour is come! Follow me!'

And flung the door open wide.

My!
What a squealing and a squeaking and a screeching filled the
air!
Well might the terrified weasels dive under the tables and
spring madly up at the windows! Well might the ferrets rush
wildly for the fireplace and get hopelessly jammed in the

147
chimney! Well might tables and chairs be upset, and glass and
china be sent crashing on the floor, in the panic of that terrible
moment when the four Heroes strode wrathfully into the room!
The mighty Badger, his whiskers bristling, his great cudgel
whistling through the air; Mole, black and grim, brandishing
his stick and shouting his awful war-cry, 'A Mole! A Mole!' Rat;
desperate and determined, his belt bulging with weapons of
every age and every variety; Toad, frenzied with excitement
and injured pride, swollen to twice his ordinary size, leaping in-
to the air and emitting Toad-whoops that chilled them to the
marrow! 'Toad he went a-pleasuring!' he yelled. 'I'LL pleasure
'em!' and he went straight for the Chief Weasel. They were but
four in all, but to the panic-stricken weasels the hall seemed
full of monstrous animals, grey, black, brown and yellow,
whooping and flourishing enormous cudgels; and they broke
and fled with squeals of terror and dismay, this way and that,
through the windows, up the chimney, anywhere to get out of
reach of those terrible sticks.
The affair was soon over. Up and down, the whole length of
the hall, strode the four Friends, whacking with their sticks at
every head that showed itself; and in five minutes the room
was cleared. Through the broken windows the shrieks of terri-
fied weasels escaping across the lawn were borne faintly to
their ears; on the floor lay prostrate some dozen or so of the
enemy, on whom the Mole was busily engaged in fitting hand-
cuffs. The Badger, resting from his labours, leant on his stick
and wiped his honest brow.
'Mole,' he said,' 'you're the best of fellows! Just cut along out-
side and look after those stoat-sentries of yours, and see what
they're doing. I've an idea that, thanks to you, we shan't have
much trouble from them to-night!'
The Mole vanished promptly through a window; and the
Badger bade the other two set a table on its legs again, pick up
knives and forks and plates and glasses from the debris on the
floor, and see if they could find materials for a supper. 'I want
some grub, I do,' he said, in that rather common way he had of
speaking. 'Stir your stumps, Toad, and look lively! We've got
your house back for you, and you don't offer us so much as a
sandwich.' Toad felt rather hurt that the Badger didn't say
pleasant things to him, as he had to the Mole, and tell him

148
what a fine fellow he was, and how splendidly he had fought;
for he was rather particularly pleased with himself and the way
he had gone for the Chief Weasel and sent him flying across
the table with one blow of his stick. But he bustled about, and
so did the Rat, and soon they found some guava jelly in a glass
dish, and a cold chicken, a tongue that had hardly been
touched, some trifle, and quite a lot of lobster salad; and in the
pantry they came upon a basketful of French rolls and any
quantity of cheese, butter, and celery. They were just about to
sit down when the Mole clambered in through the window,
chuckling, with an armful of rifles.
'It's all over,' he reported. 'From what I can make out, as
soon as the stoats, who were very nervous and jumpy already,
heard the shrieks and the yells and the uproar inside the hall,
some of them threw down their rifles and fled. The others
stood fast for a bit, but when the weasels came rushing out
upon them they thought they were betrayed; and the stoats
grappled with the weasels, and the weasels fought to get away,
and they wrestled and wriggled and punched each other, and
rolled over and over, till most of 'em rolled into the river!
They've all disappeared by now, one way or another; and I've
got their rifles. So that's all right!'
'Excellent and deserving animal!' said the Badger, his mouth
full of chicken and trifle. 'Now, there's just one more thing I
want you to do, Mole, before you sit down to your supper along
of us; and I wouldn't trouble you only I know I can trust you to
see a thing done, and I wish I could say the same of every one I
know. I'd send Rat, if he wasn't a poet. I want you to take those
fellows on the floor there upstairs with you, and have some
bedrooms cleaned out and tidied up and made really comfort-
able. See that they sweep UNDER the beds, and put clean
sheets and pillow-cases on, and turn down one corner of the
bed-clothes, just as you know it ought to be done; and have a
can of hot water, and clean towels, and fresh cakes of soap, put
in each room. And then you can give them a licking a-piece, if
it's any satisfaction to you, and put them out by the back-door,
and we shan't see any more of THEM, I fancy. And then come
along and have some of this cold tongue. It's first rate. I'm very
pleased with you, Mole!'

149
 The goodnatured Mole picked up a stick, formed his prison-
ers up in a line on the floor, gave them the order 'Quick
march!' and led his squad off to the upper floor. After a time,
he appeared again, smiling, and said that every room was
ready, and as clean as a new pin. 'And I didn't have to lick
them, either,' he added. 'I thought, on the whole, they had had
licking enough for one night, and the weasels, when I put the
point to them, quite agreed with me, and said they wouldn't
think of troubling me. They were very penitent, and said they
were extremely sorry for what they had done, but it was all the
fault of the Chief Weasel and the stoats, and if ever they could
do anything for us at any time to make up, we had only got to
mention it. So I gave them a roll a-piece, and let them out at
the back, and off they ran, as hard as they could!'
Then the Mole pulled his chair up to the table, and pitched
into the cold tongue; and Toad, like the gentleman he was, put
all his jealousy from him, and said heartily, 'Thank you kindly,
dear Mole, for all your pains and trouble tonight, and espe-
cially for your cleverness this morning!' The Badger was
pleased at that, and said, 'There spoke my brave Toad!' So they
finished their supper in great joy and contentment, and
presently retired to rest between clean sheets, safe in Toad's
ancestral home, won back by matchless valour, consummate
strategy, and a proper handling of sticks.
The following morning, Toad, who had overslept himself as
usual, came down to breakfast disgracefully late, and found on
the table a certain quantity of egg-shells, some fragments of
cold and leathery toast, a coffee-pot three-fourths empty, and
really very little else; which did not tend to improve his tem-
per, considering that, after all, it was his own house. Through
the French windows of the breakfast-room he could see the
Mole and the Water Rat sitting in wicker-chairs out on the
lawn, evidently telling each other stories; roaring with laughter
and kicking their short legs up in the air. The Badger, who was
in an arm-chair and deep in the morning paper, merely looked
up and nodded when Toad entered the room. But Toad knew
his man, so he sat down and made the best breakfast he could,
merely observing to himself that he would get square with the
others sooner or later. When he had nearly finished, the
Badger looked up and remarked rather shortly: 'I'm sorry,

150
Toad, but I'm afraid there's a heavy morning's work in front of
you. You see, we really ought to have a Banquet at once, to cel-
ebrate this affair. It's expected of you—in fact, it's the rule.'
'O, all right!' said the Toad, readily. 'Anything to oblige.
Though why on earth you should want to have a Banquet in the
morning I cannot understand. But you know I do not live to
please myself, but merely to find out what my friends want,
and then try and arrange it for 'em, you dear old Badger!'
'Don't pretend to be stupider than you really are,' replied the
Badger, crossly; 'and don't chuckle and splutter in your coffee
while you're talking; it's not manners. What I mean is, the Ban-
quet will be at night, of course, but the invitations will have to
be written and got off at once, and you've got to write 'em.
Now, sit down at that table—there's stacks of letter-paper on
it, with "Toad Hall" at the top in blue and gold—and write invit-
ations to all our friends, and if you stick to it we shall get them
out before luncheon. And I'LL bear a hand, too; and take my
share of the burden. I'LL order the Banquet.'
'What!' cried Toad, dismayed. 'Me stop indoors and write a
lot of rotten letters on a jolly morning like this, when I want to
go around my property, and set everything and everybody to
rights, and swagger about and enjoy myself! Certainly not! I'll
be—I'll see you——Stop a minute, though! Why, of course, dear
Badger! What is my pleasure or convenience compared with
that of others! You wish it done, and it shall be done. Go,
Badger, order the Banquet, order what you like; then join our
young friends outside in their innocent mirth, oblivious of me
and my cares and toils. I sacrifice this fair morning on the altar
of duty and friendship!'
The Badger looked at him very suspiciously, but Toad's frank,
open countenance made it difficult to suggest any unworthy
motive in this change of attitude. He quitted the room, accord-
ingly, in the direction of the kitchen, and as soon as the door
had closed behind him, Toad hurried to the writing-table. A
fine idea had occurred to him while he was talking. He WOULD
write the invitations; and he would take care to mention the
leading part he had taken in the fight, and how he had laid the
Chief Weasel flat; and he would hint at his adventures, and
what a career of triumph he had to tell about; and on the fly-
leaf he would set out a sort of a programme of entertainment

151
for the evening—something like this, as he sketched it out in
his head:—
SPEECH… . BY TOAD.
(There will be other speeches by TOAD during the evening.)
ADDRESS… BY TOAD
SYNOPSIS—Our Prison System—the Waterways of Old
England—Horse-dealing, and how to deal—Property, its rights
and its duties—Back to the Land—A Typical English Squire.
SONG… . BY TOAD. (Composed by himself.) OTHER
COMPOSITIONS. BY TOAD
will be sung in the course of the evening by the…
COMPOSER.
The idea pleased him mightily, and he worked very hard and
got all the letters finished by noon, at which hour it was repor-
ted to him that there was a small and rather bedraggled weasel
at the door, inquiring timidly whether he could be of any ser-
vice to the gentlemen. Toad swaggered out and found it was
one of the prisoners of the previous evening, very respectful
and anxious to please. He patted him on the head, shoved the
bundle of invitations into his paw, and told him to cut along
quick and deliver them as fast as he could, and if he liked to
come back again in the evening, perhaps there might be a shil-
ling for him, or, again, perhaps there mightn't; and the poor
weasel seemed really quite grateful, and hurried off eagerly to
do his mission.
When the other animals came back to luncheon, very boister-
ous and breezy after a morning on the river, the Mole, whose
conscience had been pricking him, looked doubtfully at Toad,
expecting to find him sulky or depressed. Instead, he was so
uppish and inflated that the Mole began to suspect something;
while the Rat and the Badger exchanged significant glances.
As soon as the meal was over, Toad thrust his paws deep into
his trouser-pockets, remarked casually, 'Well, look after
yourselves, you fellows! Ask for anything you want!' and was
swaggering off in the direction of the garden, where he wanted
to think out an idea or two for his coming speeches, when the
Rat caught him by the arm.
Toad rather suspected what he was after, and did his best to
get away; but when the Badger took him firmly by the other
arm he began to see that the game was up. The two animals

152
conducted him between them into the small smoking-room that
opened out of the entrance-hall, shut the door, and put him in-
to a chair. Then they both stood in front of him, while Toad sat
silent and regarded them with much suspicion and ill-humour.
'Now, look here, Toad,' said the Rat. 'It's about this Banquet,
and very sorry I am to have to speak to you like this. But we
want you to understand clearly, once and for all, that there are
going to be no speeches and no songs. Try and grasp the fact
that on this occasion we're not arguing with you; we're just
telling you.'
Toad saw that he was trapped. They understood him, they
saw through him, they had got ahead of him. His pleasant
dream was shattered.
'Mayn't I sing them just one LITTLE song?' he pleaded
piteously.
'No, not ONE little song,' replied the Rat firmly, though his
heart bled as he noticed the trembling lip of the poor disap-
pointed Toad. 'It's no good, Toady; you know well that your
songs are all conceit and boasting and vanity; and your
speeches are all self-praise and—and—well, and gross exagger-
ation and—and——'
'And gas,' put in the Badger, in his common way.
'It's for your own good, Toady,' went on the Rat. 'You know
you MUST turn over a new leaf sooner or later, and now seems
a splendid time to begin; a sort of turning-point in your career.
Please don't think that saying all this doesn't hurt me more
than it hurts you.'
Toad remained a long while plunged in thought. At last he
raised his head, and the traces of strong emotion were visible
on his features. 'You have conquered, my friends,' he said in
broken accents. 'It was, to be sure, but a small thing that I
asked—merely leave to blossom and expand for yet one more
evening, to let myself go and hear the tumultuous applause
that always seems to me—somehow—to bring out my best qual-
ities. However, you are right, I know, and I am wrong. Hence
forth I will be a very different Toad. My friends, you shall never
have occasion to blush for me again. But, O dear, O dear, this
is a hard world!'
And, pressing his handkerchief to his face, he left the room,
with faltering footsteps.

153
 'Badger,' said the Rat, 'I feel like a brute; I wonder what YOU
feel like?'
'O, I know, I know,' said the Badger gloomily. 'But the thing
had to be done. This good fellow has got to live here, and hold
his own, and be respected. Would you have him a common
laughing-stock, mocked and jeered at by stoats and weasels?'
'Of course not,' said the Rat. 'And, talking of weasels, it's
lucky we came upon that little weasel, just as he was setting
out with Toad's invitations. I suspected something from what
you told me, and had a look at one or two; they were simply
disgraceful. I confiscated the lot, and the good Mole is now sit-
ting in the blue boudoir, filling up plain, simple invitation
cards.'

At last the hour for the banquet began to draw near, and
Toad, who on leaving the others had retired to his bedroom,
was still sitting there, melancholy and thoughtful. His brow
resting on his paw, he pondered long and deeply. Gradually his
countenance cleared, and he began to smile long, slow smiles.
Then he took to giggling in a shy, self-conscious manner. At
last he got up, locked the door, drew the curtains across the
windows, collected all the chairs in the room and arranged
them in a semicircle, and took up his position in front of them,
swelling visibly. Then he bowed, coughed twice, and, letting
himself go, with uplifted voice he sang, to the enraptured audi-
ence that his imagination so clearly saw.

TOAD'S LAST LITTLE SONG!

The Toad—came—home!
There was panic in the parlours and howling in the halls,
There was crying in the cow-sheds and shrieking in the
stalls,
When the Toad—came—home!

When the Toad—came—home!

There was smashing in of window and crashing in of
door,
There was chivvying of weasels that fainted on the floor,
When the Toad—came—home!

154
 Bang! go the drums!
The trumpeters are tooting and the soldiers are saluting,
And the cannon they are shooting and the motor-cars are
hooting,
As the—Hero—comes!

Shout—Hoo-ray!
And let each one of the crowd try and shout it very loud,
In honour of an animal of whom you're justly proud,
For it's Toad's—great—day!

He sang this very loud, with great unction and expression;

and when he had done, he sang it all over again.
Then he heaved a deep sigh; a long, long, long sigh.
Then he dipped his hairbrush in the water-jug, parted his
hair in the middle, and plastered it down very straight and
sleek on each side of his face; and, unlocking the door, went
quietly down the stairs to greet his guests, who he knew must
be assembling in the drawing-room.
All the animals cheered when he entered, and crowded round
to congratulate him and say nice things about his courage, and
his cleverness, and his fighting qualities; but Toad only smiled
faintly, and murmured, 'Not at all!' Or, sometimes, for a
change, 'On the contrary!' Otter, who was standing on the
hearthrug, describing to an admiring circle of friends exactly
how he would have managed things had he been there, came
forward with a shout, threw his arm round Toad's neck, and
tried to take him round the room in triumphal progress; but
Toad, in a mild way, was rather snubby to him, remarking
gently, as he disengaged himself, 'Badger's was the master-
mind; the Mole and the Water Rat bore the brunt of the fight-
ing; I merely served in the ranks and did little or nothing.' The
animals were evidently puzzled and taken aback by this unex-
pected attitude of his; and Toad felt, as he moved from one
guest to the other, making his modest responses, that he was
an object of absorbing interest to every one.
The Badger had ordered everything of the best, and the ban-
quet was a great success. There was much talking and
laughter and chaff among the animals, but through it all Toad,

155
who of course was in the chair, looked down his nose and mur-
mured pleasant nothings to the animals on either side of him.
At intervals he stole a glance at the Badger and the Rat, and al-
ways when he looked they were staring at each other with
their mouths open; and this gave him the greatest satisfaction.
Some of the younger and livelier animals, as the evening wore
on, got whispering to each other that things were not so amus-
ing as they used to be in the good old days; and there were
some knockings on the table and cries of 'Toad! Speech!
Speech from Toad! Song! Mr. Toad's song!' But Toad only
shook his head gently, raised one paw in mild protest, and, by
pressing delicacies on his guests, by topical small-talk, and by
earnest inquiries after members of their families not yet old
enough to appear at social functions, managed to convey to
them that this dinner was being run on strictly conventional
lines.
He was indeed an altered Toad!

After this climax, the four animals continued to lead their

lives, so rudely broken in upon by civil war, in great joy and
contentment, undisturbed by further risings or invasions. Toad,
after due consultation with his friends, selected a handsome
gold chain and locket set with pearls, which he dispatched to
the gaoler's daughter with a letter that even the Badger admit-
ted to be modest, grateful, and appreciative; and the engine-
driver, in his turn, was properly thanked and compensated for
all his pains and trouble. Under severe compulsion from the
Badger, even the barge-woman was, with some trouble, sought
out and the value of her horse discreetly made good to her;
though Toad kicked terribly at this, holding himself to be an in-
strument of Fate, sent to punish fat women with mottled arms
who couldn't tell a real gentleman when they saw one. The
amount involved, it was true, was not very burdensome, the
gipsy's valuation being admitted by local assessors to be ap-
proximately correct.
Sometimes, in the course of long summer evenings, the
friends would take a stroll together in the Wild Wood, now suc-
cessfully tamed so far as they were concerned; and it was
pleasing to see how respectfully they were greeted by the in-
habitants, and how the mother-weasels would bring their

156
young ones to the mouths of their holes, and say, pointing,
'Look, baby! There goes the great Mr. Toad! And that's the gal-
lant Water Rat, a terrible fighter, walking along o' him! And
yonder comes the famous Mr. Mole, of whom you so often have
heard your father tell!' But when their infants were fractious
and quite beyond control, they would quiet them by telling
how, if they didn't hush them and not fret them, the terrible
grey Badger would up and get them. This was a base libel on
Badger, who, though he cared little about Society, was rather
fond of children; but it never failed to have its full effect.

157
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