ying 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
banque