gerly for him to make his triumphal entrance, ready to serve him and
play up to him, anxious to help him and to keep him company, as it
always had been in days of old before misfortune fell upon him. He
shook himself and combed the dry leaves out of his hair with his
fingers; and, his toilet complete, marched forth into the comfortable
morning sun, cold but confident, hungry but hopeful, all nervous
terrors of yesterday dispelled by rest and sleep and frank and
heartening sunshine.

He had the world all to himself, that early summer morning. The dewy
woodland, as he threaded it, was solitary and still: the green fields
that succeeded the trees were his own to do as he liked with; the road
itself, when he reached it, in that loneliness that was everywhere,
seemed, like a stray dog, to be looking anxiously for company. Toad,
however, was looking for something that could talk, and tell him
clearly which way he ought to go. It is all very well, when you have a
light heart, and a clear conscience, and money in your pocket, and
nobody scouring the country for you to drag you off to prison again,
to follow where the road beckons and points, not caring whither. The
practical Toad cared very much indeed, and he could have kicked the
road for its helpless silence when every minute was of importance to
him.

The reserved rustic road was presently joined by a shy little brother in
the shape of a canal, which took its hand and ambled along by its side in
perfect confidence, but with the same tongue-tied, uncommunicative
attitude towards strangers. "Bother them!" said Toad to himself. "But,
anyhow, one thing's clear. They must both be coming _from_ somewhere,
and going _to_ somewhere. You can't get over that, Toad, my boy!" So
he marched on patiently by the water's edge.

Round a bend in the canal came plodding a solitary horse, stooping
forward as if in anxious thought. From rope traces attached to his
collar stretched a long line, taut, but dipping with his stride, the
further part of it dripping pearly drops. Toad let the horse pass, and
stood waiting for what the fates were sending him.

With a pleasant swirl of quiet water at its blunt bow the barge slid
up alongside of him, its gaily painted gunwale level with the
towing-path, its sole occupant a big stout woman wearing a linen
sun-bonnet, one brawny arm laid along the tiller.

"A nice morning, ma'am!" she remarked to Toad, as she drew up level
with him.

"I dare say it