The Willows and Beyond by Kenneth Grahame, William Horwood, Patrick Benson Page A

haversacks.
    “Destroy the Beast!” cried Nephew, upon whom a Viking-like frenzy had fallen. While Young Rat prepared to offer the coup de grace with his marlin spike.
    No, it had certainly not been a good day for Toad. An enterprise that had seemed so sensible and foolproof, so well planned and so full of promise, had gone from difficulty to disaster and from disaster to this sudden and unprovoked attack from an enemy Toad could not see, for his goggles had misted up once more, and anyway his aggressor could not be anyone he knew.
    Heaving himself to the vertical with his alpenstock, he roared, “Seek to assault two innocent hikers out for a day’s stroll and about to visit their harmless and law-abiding friends, would you? Imagine that you could hurt and destroy Toad of Toad Hall, eh?”
    Then he counter-attacked, venting his spleen upon his attackers for the tribulations and frustrations of the day. As he began his assault a similar passion overcame the still-fallen Master Toad, suffused with a determination to be vanquished no more, and appalled at seeing his pater so unfairly attacked.
    Casting off his haversack at last, and hauling off his loathsome hobnail boots that they might be used in his attack, he began to fight side by side with Toad.
    “But it’s Toad of Toad Hall!” cried the Mole, when he saw at last who it was they had attacked, and who was counter-attacking with very formidable might and determination.
    “And Master Toad,” cried Nephew, in astonishment. “Toad, it’s only us!” yelled the Rat when he realized their mistake.
    For a moment Toad paused as they retreated towards the Mole’s house before his counter—attack, and suddenly he recognized his attackers.
    “Toad, we’re sorry — we thought you were the Beast!” cried Mole.
    For Toad, still reeling from the humiliation and outrage of their assault a moment before, and the pain of their blows upon his legs, this was the final straw.
    “What impudence!” exploded Toad. “How could you possibly mistake the great and handsome Toad of Toad Hall for the hideous Beast of the Iron Bridge?! Why, I’ve never heard such cheek!
    “Khaki-coloured armour, eh?” he yelled, shoving the contrite Mole back through his own front door.

    “A beast with four legs, am I?” he roared, setting about Grandson with a will.
    “Invited for tea, are we?” he screeched, raising his alpenstock once more.
    “You most certainly are,” said Nephew calmly and soothingly, staying Toad’s hand, “and I am sure we have some delectable fruit cake which Ratty made only yesterday evening.”
    “Hmm. Fruit cake, you say?” said Toad faintly, before turning to Master Toad and asking, “Shall we destroy them all and raze Mole End to the ground, young Master Toad … or join them for tea?”
    “I do hope you’ll decide upon the latter course,” called out Ratty from behind the Mole’s dresser, to where he had felt it wisest to retreat in a quite uncharacteristic display of cowardice, but then he had never confronted an enemy quite so — so absolute — as Toad that day, “for that champagne you so kindly offered to bring will be most welcome.”
    “And we can find you a Havana cigar as well,” offered the Mole, emerging from behind the kitchen door, where he had felt it best to take refuge.
    “Hmmm!” grunted Toad, sitting down and accepting the cake that Nephew offered him.
    “Well!” he growled a little later, sipping the champagne now opened and poured.
    “Mmmm!” he muttered, as he contemplated the Havana and put it down ready for use.
    No, it had not been Toad’s day — till now. For he never was an animal to hold grudges, and was always willing to laugh at himself and see to it that others around him were happy and well set, once he had had a little of his own way.
    “Well, and what do you think, Master Toad,” said he finally, with a twinkle in his eye, “that a toad should do when after such a hard day’s work as we have had he is