The Wind in the Willows
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