ppointing people, and he was fond of the Mole, and would do
almost anything to oblige him. Toad was watching both of them closely.

"Come along in, and have some lunch," he said, diplomatically, "and
we'll talk it over. We needn't decide anything in a hurry. Of course,
_I_ don't really care. I only want to give pleasure to you fellows.
'Live for others!' That's my motto in life."

During luncheon--which was excellent, of course, as everything at Toad
Hall always was--the Toad simply let himself go. Disregarding the Rat,
he proceeded to play upon the inexperienced Mole as on a harp.
Naturally a voluble animal, and always mastered by his imagination, he
painted the prospects of the trip and the joys of the open life and
the roadside in such glowing colours that the Mole could hardly sit in
his chair for excitement. Somehow, it soon seemed taken for granted by
all three of them that the trip was a settled thing; and the Rat,
though still unconvinced in his mind, allowed his good-nature to
over-ride his personal objections. He could not bear to disappoint his
two friends, who were already deep in schemes and anticipations,
planning out each day's separate occupation for several weeks ahead.

When they were quite ready, the now triumphant Toad led his companions
to the paddock and set them to capture the old grey horse, who,
without having been consulted, and to his own extreme annoyance, had
been told off by Toad for the dustiest job in this dusty expedition.
He frankly preferred the paddock, and took a deal of catching.
Meantime Toad packed the lockers still tighter with necessaries, and
hung nose-bags, nets of onions, bundles of hay, and baskets from the
bottom of the cart. At last the horse was caught and harnessed, and
they set off, all talking at once, each animal either trudging by the
side of the cart or sitting on the shaft, as the humour took him. It
was a golden afternoon. The smell of the dust they kicked up was rich
and satisfying; out of thick orchards on either side the road, birds
called and whistled to them cheerily; good-natured wayfarers, passing
them, gave them "Good day," or stopped to say nice things about their
beautiful cart; and rabbits, sitting at their front doors in the
hedgerows, held up their fore-paws, and said, "O my! O my! O my!"

Late in the evening, tired and happy and miles from home, they drew up
on a remote common far from habitations, turned the horse loose to
graze, and ate their si