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

beaten and insulted by his hosts?”
    The company fell silent, waiting upon Master Toad’s response.
    “Well, Pater —“ he began, but then he paused, for he thought that perhaps this was the final test of one who has been tried all day in the disciplines of educational exercise, and that much might depend upon the nature and quality of his reply.
    “I think, possibly,” he continued, raising his glass, “that it would be a very good idea if we wished Mole a very happy birthday, and you made a speech!”
    If there was a moment when Master Toad was finally accepted into River Bank society absolutely and without question, a moment that suggested that he had those same inestimable qualities that Toad had in such abundance, and which allowed others to forgive so very much, that was it.
    “A speech?” said Toad, rising like a fish to bait.
    “At once, Toad,” said the Rat.
    “Upon the subject of Mole’s birthday, and why we are assembled here today to celebrate it?”
    “Yes please, Mr Toad,” said Nephew.
    “Master Toad, hand me my haversack!”
    “It just happens,” said the incorrigible Toad, fumbling from one pocket of the haversack to another before he found what he wanted, “that I have a speech prepared on that very subject!”
    Very much later, when all the drink was nearly drunk, and all the food nearly eaten, and night had come, the Mole asked Toad and Master Toad what they had been doing all day, “if it is not presumptuous to ask?”
    “Doing?” cried the irrepressible Toad with spirit. “Why we were partaking of the very latest, and the very best, form of exercise.”
    “Labouring with heavy loads?” said the perplexed Mole, eyeing the enormous haversacks.
    “We were hiking,” said Toad, “and don’t worry about the size of that haversack, Mole old chap. You’ll work up to it in time? Eh, Master Toad?”
    “‘E will, I expect,” came the reply.
    “But do you enjoy it?”
    “Wonderful!” said Toad, taking up some fruit cake. “Eh, Master Toad?”
    Had those others present known something of the history of the day they might have noticed a momentary pause before Toad’s ward replied, during which a silent struggle took place between that youth’s natural desire to say how truly awful hiking was and his toadish inclination to impress all with his strengths and abilities, and modishness.
    “Nothing better than ‘iking!” he declared at last, scoffing a last crumb of cake and basking in the admiration of his peers.

VI
    A Touch of Araby

    November came, and with it a sudden and unseasonable sweep of blizzard snow from the north, which blanked out the River Bank, and draped the trees of the Wild Wood with hoarfrost, heralding a hard and bitter winter.
    It was a time to stay indoors and enjoy the comforts of home, be they food, friendship or fond memory. Or, if an animal must go out, a time to wrap up well and finish daytime chores before the freezing shadows of the night return, unless it be to visit friends and there find comfort by the fireside, and companionable conversations about times gone by, and thoughts and hopes of spring.
    The Mole’s growing concern about the Rat’s wellbeing seemed to find confirmation when, a week after the snow had thawed and the last pockets of ice were melting, he and Nephew, who had taken advantage of the brief spell of milder weather to go out for a brisk walk, came home to find a most alarming note pinned to their door at Mole End in an unfamiliar hand.
    The Mole glanced quickly at the signature and ascertained it was from Young Rat, but its untidy scrawl seemed so out of character that the Mole guessed it had been written in some haste.
    “Dear Mr Mole! It’s the Cap’n, sit;” he read, realizing it was Ratty who was referred to, “he’s gone poorly and you had better come as soon as you can.”
    “What ever can this mean, Nephew,” said the Mole with a worried frown.
    Nephew looked at the note and said, “I expect Ratty has simply