Wind in the Willows FULL Audiobook

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 longing. 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 gravelled 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 whitewashing!’ The sunshine struck hot on his fur, soft breezes
caressed his heated brow, and after the seclusion of the cellarage
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. ‘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 satisfactory 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 budding, 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 meandered 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, gripping 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, chatter and
bubble. The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. 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 exciting 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 dwelling-place
it would make for an animal with few wants and fond of a bijou
riverside residence, above flood level and remote 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 surprise 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 surveyed the cushions, the oars, the rowlocks, and all
the fascinating 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 doing 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 dreamer, 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 composedly, 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, supposing 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 painter 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; ‘coldtonguecoldhamcold-beefpickledgherkinssaladfrenchrolls-cresssan
dwichespottedmeat-gingerbeerlemonadesodawater….’ ‘O stop, stop,’ cried the Mole in ecstacies:
‘This is too much!’ ‘Do you really think so?’ enquired the Rat seriously. ‘It’s only what I
always take on these little excursions; and the other animals 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 steadily on and forbore 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 day long and always wanting you to DO
something, as if a fellow had no business of his own to attend to!’ ‘What lies over THERE’ asked the Mole,
waving a paw towards 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 shoulder and foamy tumble of a weir,
arm-in-arm with a restless 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
cheerfully 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 allowed 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 inviting 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 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 disappointed 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 figure, 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 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 unpacking’ the basket. It never is. But the Mole was bent on enjoying everything,
and although just when he had got the basket 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, 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
laughing, 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,
swimming 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 water 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 generous friend! I am very
sorry indeed for my foolish and ungrateful 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 revived again,
and he was even able to give some straight back-talk to a couple of moorhens
who were sniggering to each other about his bedraggled appearance. When they got home, the Rat made a bright
fire in the parlour, 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 excursions 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 bedroom, 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 emancipated 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 the
reed-stems he caught, at intervals, something of what the wind went
whispering so constantly among them. 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 feathers 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, 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 sitting on banks and watching them
all the time and making remarks 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 clever, we
can’t all be geniuses; and it may be that he is both boastful and
conceited. But he has got some great qualities, has Toady.’ Rounding a bend in the river, they came in
sight of a handsome, 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 shipped
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 expression
of face, and a large map spread out on his knees. ‘Hooray!’ he cried, jumping up on seeing
them, ‘this is splendid!’ 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. 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 innocent 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 following with a most mistrustful expression; and there,
drawn out of the coach house into the open, they saw a gipsy caravan, shining
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
myself, I did!’ The Mole was tremendously interested and excited,
and followed him eagerly up the steps and into the interior
of the 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 continued,
as they descended the steps again, ‘you’ll find that nothing 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
to 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 aspect 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. ‘Come along in, and have some lunch,’
he said, diplomatically, ‘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 pleasure 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 himself
go. Disregarding the Rat,
he proceeded to play upon the inexperienced 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 disappoint 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 was going to
do in the days to come, while stars grew fuller and larger all
around them, and a yellow moon, appearing suddenly 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 pathetically,
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 awfully, 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 manfully, 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 exhausted, 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 housekeeping 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 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 unforeseen, 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
complained that he was being frightfully left out of it, and nobody considered
him in the least; the Toad and the Water Rat walking 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
abandoned himself to his natural emotions. Rearing, plunging, backing 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. 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 mariners, 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 direction 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 succeeded 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 intervals 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! Villages 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 knew, never even DREAMT! But NOW, but now that I know, now that I fully
realise! O what a flowery
track lies spread before me, henceforth! What dust-clouds shall spring
up behind me as I speed on my reckless way! What carts I shall fling
carelessly into the ditch in the wake of my magnificent onset! Horrid
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 succeeded 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 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 recovered 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 addressed 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 porter 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 escorted 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 gossiping,
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 morning. And he has ordered a large and very expensive
motor-car.’ 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 influence 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 introduce 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 Society, 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 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 coloured! 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
odorous 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, recalled 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, deep in green undergrowth, the sun striking
through in tiny golden shafts and spots; the boating and bathing
of the afternoon, the rambles along dusty lanes and through yellow cornfields;
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 trying 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
southern sea. There was nothing to alarm him at first entry. Twigs crackled under his
feet, logs tripped him, funguses on stumps resembled 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 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 possess 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 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. Instead,
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, aimlessly,
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, perhaps
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 answer, got up and went out into the hall. The Mole’s cap was missing from its accustomed
peg. His galoshes, 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 galoshes 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 whistling 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, laboriously working
over the whole ground, and all the time calling 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 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 careless laughter, as well as by the sight of his stick
and his gleaming 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 himself 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 outside and see if
everything’s quiet, and then we really must be off.’ 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
pretending with invincible cheerfulness that they recognised 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 consider
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 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 attentively. ‘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 surrounded 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 handkerchief, 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 intervals, ‘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. ‘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 animal?’ 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 thoughtless 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 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 moment 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 appreciated. 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!’ 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. 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 suspicious 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 slippers 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 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, passages 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 sociably 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 victory, 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 contentment. 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 mended the cut with sticking-plaster till the
whole thing was just as good as new, if not better. In the embracing
light and warmth, 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 actually 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 obligingly 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 independent,
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 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 expected to do
anything strenuous, or heroic, or even moderately active during the
off-season of winter. All are sleepy, some actually 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 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 morning, 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 remainder of the floor looked
soft and inviting, and the linen on them, though coarse, was clean
and smelt beautifully of lavender; and the Mole and the Water Rat,
shaking off their garments 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 porridge
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 respectfully. ‘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. 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 affectionate 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 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, terraces,
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 expression; 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 particular 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 hundreds 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, 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 enquiries
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
touching 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 master, 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,
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 remarks 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;
uncomfortable, 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 appreciate 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 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,
ceaselessly, 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 saplings 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. Animals arrived,
liked the look of the place, took up their quarters, 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 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 atmosphere 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 yourself 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 distance 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, 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, menacing, compact,
grimly set in vast white surroundings; simultaneously 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. 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 returning across country after a
long day’s outing with Otter, hunting and exploring on the wide
uplands where certain streams tributary 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 responded, moreover, to that small inquiring something
which all animals 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.’ 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 capture, the
natural grace which goes with perfect unconsciousness of observation. Moving at will from one theatre to another,
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 silhouetted, every wire, perch, and
appurtenance distinct and recognisable, even to yesterday’s dull-edged
lump of sugar. On the middle perch the fluffy occupant, head
tucked well into feathers, seemed so near to them as to
be easily stroked, had they tried; even the delicate tips of his
plumped-out plumage pencilled 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 gradually 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 darkness the friendly fields again; and they braced themselves for
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 summons 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 otherwise,
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, repelling. 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 thither 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 hurriedly 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 absorbed had he
been in his new life, in all its pleasures, its surprises, 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 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 missing 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 forward 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 inside
him, to leap up to the surface presently, he knew, in passionate
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 imperiously. 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, 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 control 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, 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, remarking
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 tearful 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
companion, who by a flow of cheerful talk and anecdote endeavoured to
beguile his spirits back and make the weary way seem shorter. 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 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 wall 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 brackets 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 reflected 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 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 burying 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 reproachfully. ‘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 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 freedom 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 bargain, 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 expatiate 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 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 regularly 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! 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, exchanged sidelong glances, and silence succeeded, but for a
moment only. Then, from up
above and far away, down the tunnel 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
impending. ‘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.’ ‘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 allowed 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
remarked 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 afterwards. 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 escaped and got
home again, his lady-love had gone into a convent. 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 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 submersion, 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 remembrances for the small brothers and sisters at home. When the door had closed on the last
of them and the chink of the lanterns 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 room, mellow in the glow of the
firelight that played or rested on familiar and friendly things which
had long been unconsciously 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 return 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 counted upon for the same
simple welcome. 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. ‘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 habiliments 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 rescue 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 converted 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 overcoat, came swaggering down the steps,
drawing on his gauntleted 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 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 understand 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 removal 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
understand 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 police. 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.’ 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, evidently 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 gratified 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 backsliding 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 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 repentant 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 converted 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 female 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
conference 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 itself 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 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 forward 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 revive, 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
submissive 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 excellent Mole?’ ‘O, WE’RE all right,’ replied the Rat. ‘Mole,’ he added incautiously,
‘is going out for a run round with Badger. They’ll be out till luncheon
time, so you and I will spend a pleasant morning 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.’ ‘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 beginning! 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 anything 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, coming 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-morrow, indeed, you
may be saying to yourself, “O, if only I had noticed 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 matter; 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 moments, perhaps I should say there is A moment, when one must face
disagreeable tasks, at whatever cost to exhausted nature!’ ‘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
together 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 saying, ‘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 conceited
with what he’ll think is his cleverness that he may commit 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 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 education. 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 breakfasted 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 familiar sound, approaching down the street, made him start
and fall a-trembling all over. The poop-poop! drew nearer and nearer, 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 conceal his over-mastering
emotion. Presently
the party entered the coffee-room, hungry, talkative, and gay, voluble
on their experiences 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 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 completely 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 temporarily suspended. He increased his pace, and as the car devoured
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 Magistrates 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 stealing 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 penalty we can impose for each of these offences? Without, of course,
giving the prisoner the benefit of any doubt, because there isn’t any.’ 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 undoubtedly carries
the severest penalty; and so it ought. Supposing 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 never believe more myself, those figures, if added together correctly,
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 gentleman in difficulties; across the hollow-sounding
drawbridge, below 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 casket 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 ancient 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 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 fingering a bunch of mighty keys. ‘Oddsbodikins!’ said the sergeant of police,
taking off his helmet 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 untoward 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. 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 midsummer 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 comrade. 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 moment 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.’ ‘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 animal 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,
considering 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 going 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, gravelly 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 remember 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!’ 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, plying 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 apparent
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 terror, 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 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 silent, 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 became
clearer, field and tree came more into sight, and somehow 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, transported,
trembling, he was possessed in all his senses by this new divine thing
that caught up his helpless soul and swung and 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 backwater. 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 liquid 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 heavenly 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 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 undergrowth 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 difficulty he turned to look for his
friend and saw him at his side cowed, stricken, and trembling violently. And still there was utter
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
summons seemed still dominant and imperious. He might not refuse, 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 humourously, 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
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 unutterable
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
capricious 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 remembrance 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 recall it, and can re-capture
nothing but a dim sense of the 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 pleading 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 unwearying, 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
animals, 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 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 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 unmistakable
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. Chapter 8 TOAD’S ADVENTURES When Toad found himself immured in a dank
and noisome dungeon, and knew that all the grim darkness of a medieval fortress
lay between him and the outer world of sunshine and well-metalled
high roads where he had lately been so happy, disporting 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 careless and debonair! How can I
hope to be ever set at large again’ (he said), ‘who have been imprisoned
so justly for stealing 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 indeed 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 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 meanness. 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 fragrance 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 chivalry,
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
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 uncertain 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-contained 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 trayful; and Toad, pitching into the toast with avidity, his
spirits quite restored to their usual level, told her about the boathouse,
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 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 extremely 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 evidently
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 attention
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 understand. 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 believe is the word you animals
use, you could come to some arrangement by which she would let you have
her dress and bonnet and so on, and you could escape from the
castle as the official washerwoman. You’re very alike in many
respects, particularly 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, bearing 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.’ Shaking with laughter, she proceeded to ‘hook-and-eye’
him into the cotton print gown, arranged the shawl with
a professional 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 remember 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 command, 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 popularity, 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, rejected 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! 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 neighbourhood
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 support 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 direction 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 cotton 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, arrived 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-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 moment, and then laughed. ‘I should think you were pretty well known
in these parts,’ he said, ‘if you’ve tried this game on
often. 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,
addressed 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 mistrustfulness 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
schoolboys, 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 washerwoman, and I’ve lost all my money, and can’t
pay for a ticket, 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 reflectively. ‘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 never washed a shirt in
his life, and couldn’t if he tried and, anyhow,
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. 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
another 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 engine, 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 ancient warders,
waving halberds; policemen in their helmets, waving truncheons; and
shabbily dressed men in pot-hats, obvious and unmistakable plain-clothes
detectives even at this distance, 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 children 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 loathsome 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, unhappy, innocent Toad!’ 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
moonlight, 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 almost a walking pace he heard the driver call out, ‘Now,
jump!’ Toad jumped, rolled down a short embankment,
picked himself up unhurt, scrambled into the wood and hid. Peeping out, he saw his train get up speed
again and disappear 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 unknown 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 certainty 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. 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 movement, 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 impatient 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 of the
season, and what fun we have among ourselves, we fellows 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 engagements, 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 always 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 desirable 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 quarters yet, by a long
way!’ ‘O yes, we know that,’ explained a field-mouse
rather shamefacedly; ‘but it’s always as well to be in good time,
isn’t it? We 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,
before 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 Christmas, 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 sitting. Presently it was joined by another, and then
by a third; and the birds, fidgeting restlessly on their bough, talked
together 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. Talking 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, and face all the trouble and
discomfort and change and newness, 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 swallow. ‘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 below 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 southwards 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 passionate 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. 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
passionate 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 looking 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 outline 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! 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, islands 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, saluted 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
unquestioned, understanding something of what was in his
thoughts; knowing, too, the value all animals attach at times to mere
silent 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 remarked; ‘and those are cows we hear cropping the grass
behind us and blowing softly between mouthfuls. There is a sound of distant reapers, and yonder
rises a blue line of cottage 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 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 because 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, tramping 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 expect 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 ancient 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
remained 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 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 appeal
to me, as much as any seafaring. O, those southern seaports! 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 eventually 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
Constantinople, 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 harbour all the time, old friends
everywhere, sleeping in some cool temple or ruined cistern during the
heat of the day, feasting 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 ancient 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 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 prejudiced. 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
of 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 drawing 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 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 Mediterranean 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 inadvertently 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 voyages 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 unpacked 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 Lisbon, Oporto,
and Bordeaux, introducing him to the pleasant harbours of Cornwall and
Devon, and so up the Channel to that final quayside, where, landing
after winds long contrary, storm-driven and weather-beaten,
he had caught the first magical hints and heraldings of another Spring,
and, fired by these, had sped on a long tramp inland, hungry for the
experiment 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, sonorous 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
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 rounded, 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 Adventurer 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 arrive; 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 midstream, 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 canvas; 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 the Adventure, heed the
call, now ere the irrevocable moment passes!’ ‘Tis but a banging of the
door behind you, a blithesome 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
wayfaring, 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 inside, 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 assisted him to rise and
placed him in a chair, where he sat collapsed and shrunken into
himself, his body shaken by a violent shivering, passing in time into
an hysterical fit of dry sobbing. 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 murmurings
of things strange and wild and foreign to the unenlightened 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
suggestion? 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 himself, 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 interest 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. 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, brooding 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. 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 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 barge-woman!’ 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! 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 disguise 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 subterfuges,
and all so cleverly planned and carried out! Been in prison, 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 upstairs 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!’ 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 anything
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 bankrupt, 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 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 seriously, he kept saying to himself mutinously,
‘But it WAS fun, though! Awful fun!’ and making strange suppressed
noises inside him, k-i-ck-ck-ck, and poop-p-p, and other sounds
resembling 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 property, 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 excited. ‘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?’ 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,
overflowed 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 infamously 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 weasels, armed to the teeth, crept silently up the
carriage-drive to the front entrance. Simultaneously, a body of desperate 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 conservatory 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
surprise, 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 magistrates, 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. ‘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 leaning 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 disappointing 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 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 acted. 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 appeased, ‘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 forgotten 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 camping 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 bitter 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!’ The Rat remembered that poor Toad had been
on prison fare for a considerable time, and that large allowances
had therefore 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
conveniences. His shoes were
covered with mud, and he was looking 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, intelligent 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 England, that’s all! And captured a railway train and escaped on
it, that’s all! And
disguised myself and gone about the country 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 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 admirable 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 attacking 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 immense 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, impressively, ‘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!’ ‘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 discovered 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 passage;
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 drinking 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. ‘, 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 jumping 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
snoring 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, pushing onwards, but
it twisted and turned round and shook itself, and sat up on its end; yet
somehow, at the last, he found himself 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 breakfast 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 concerning himself in the slightest about what was
going to happen 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, 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 retired 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 breakfast being kept
hot for him. I found that old washerwoman-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 nonsense. “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 going 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 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 excellently, 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 preparations, 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 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? 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 into 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, 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 being 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 terrors all returned,
but the Badger only remarked placidly, ‘They ARE going it, the Weasels!’ The passage now began to slope upwards; they
groped onward 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, 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 subsided, a voice could
be made out saying, ‘Well, I do not propose to detain you much
longer’, (great applause), ‘but before I resume 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 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 into 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 terrified 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
handcuffs. 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 outside
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 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 comfortable. 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!’ The goodnatured Mole picked up a stick, formed
his prisoners 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 especially
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 temper, 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, 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 celebrate 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 Banquet 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 invitations 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, accordingly, 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
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 reported to him that there was a small and rather bedraggled weasel
at the door, inquiring timidly whether he could be of any service
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 shilling
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 boisterous 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 conducted him between them
into the small smoking-room that opened out of
the entrance-hall, shut the door, and put him into 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
disappointed 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 exaggeration 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 qualities. 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. ‘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 sitting 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 audience
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! 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
mastermind; the Mole and the Water Rat bore the brunt of the fighting; I merely
served in the ranks and did little or nothing.’ The animals were evidently puzzled and taken
aback by this unexpected 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 banquet was a great success. There was much talking and laughter and chaff
among the animals, but through it all Toad, who of course
was in the chair, looked down his nose and murmured pleasant nothings
to the animals on either side of him. At intervals he stole a glance at the Badger
and the Rat, and always 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 amusing 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 admitted 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 instrument 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 approximately correct. Sometimes, in the course of long summer evenings,
the friends would take a stroll together in the Wild Wood, now successfully
tamed so far as they were concerned; and it was pleasing to
see how respectfully they were greeted by the inhabitants, and how the
mother-weasels would bring their young ones to the mouths of their holes,
and say, pointing, ‘Look, baby! There goes the great Mr. Toad! And that’s the gallant 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. This is the end of the book – The Wind in the Willows

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