The Wind in the Willows
“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