THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS - X. THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF TOAD

THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS

By Kenneth Grahame

Author Of “The Golden Age,” “Dream Days,” Etc.

X. 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 handsome 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 probably 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 triumphal 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 fingers; and,
his toilet complete, marched forth into the comfortable morning sun,
cold but confident, hungry but hopeful, all nervous terrors of yesterday
dispelled by rest and sleep and frank and heartening sunshine.

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 loneliness that was everywhere,
seemed, like a stray dog, to be looking 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 somewhere,
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 attached 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 sending 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 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 laundering 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 business 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 thereabouts,
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?’

‘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 meantime, 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 describe 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.’

‘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 getting 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-woman, but she appeared to be gazing out in front of her,
absorbed 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 washerwomen 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 unrestrainedly, 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!’

The woman moved nearer to him and peered under his bonnet 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 furious 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 impeded 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 overtook 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 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 effort, 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
behind 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 sitting 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 steaminess. Also smells--warm, rich, and varied
smells--that twined and twisted and wreathed themselves at last into one
complete, 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 remarked in a
careless way, ‘Want to sell that there horse of yours?’

Toad was completely taken aback. He did not know that gipsies were very
fond of horse-dealing, and never missed an opportunity, 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 before 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 appear a large sum of money. On the other hand,
it did not seem 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 sending forth such delicious and exciting
smells. In return, I will make over to you my spirited young horse, with
all the beautiful 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 pocket, and counted out six shillings
and sixpence into Toad’s paw. Then he disappeared into the caravan for
an instant, and returned 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 possible spirits. He was, indeed, a very
different Toad from the animal 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 nourishing, and
felt big, and strong, and careless, and self-confident.

As he tramped along gaily, he thought of his adventures and escapes, and
how when things seemed at their worst he had always 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 fingers at them, and vanish,
laughing, into space. I am, unfortunately, 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.

          ‘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 dreadfully
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 delighted 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 interior. And well he might, the unhappy animal; for the
approaching 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, murmuring to
himself in his despair, ‘It’s all up! It’s all over now! Chains and
policemen again! Prison again! Dry bread and water again! O, what a
fool I have been! What did I want to go 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 feeling 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 beside 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 possession 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!’

The driver laughed at the proposal, so heartily that the gentleman
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 humility 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, indeed!’ 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 themselves 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 desperate 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 churning
up the thick mud of a horse-pond.

Toad found himself flying through the air with the strong upward rush
and delicate curve of a swallow. He liked the motion, and was just
beginning to wonder whether it would go on 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, encumbered
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, jumping 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 usual,
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 again! Shouting and singing songs
again! Sitting still and gassing again! O my! O my! O my!’

He glanced back, and saw to his dismay that they were gaining 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
suddenly 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 contend 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 gradually 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!

Posted in: ***English Literature***