Complete Works of Kenneth Grahame

by Kenneth Grahame

  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.

  VI. 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 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 arm-chairs 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 p
leasant 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.”