, across country by narrow lanes,
and it was not till the afternoon that they came out on the high-road,
their first high-road; and there disaster, fleet and unforeseen,
sprang out on them--disaster momentous indeed to their expedition, but
simply overwhelming in its effect on the after career of Toad.

They were strolling along the high-road easily, the Mole by the
horse's head, talking to him, since the horse had complained that he
was being frightfully left out of it, and nobody considered him in
the least; the Toad and the Water Rat walking behind the cart talking
together--at least Toad was talking, and Rat was saying at intervals,
"Yes, precisely; and what did _you_ say to _him_?"--and thinking all
the time of something very different, when far behind them they heard
a faint warning hum, like the drone of a distant bee. Glancing back,
they saw a small cloud of dust, with a dark centre of energy,
advancing on them at incredible speed, while from out the dust a faint
"Poop-poop!" wailed like an uneasy animal in pain. Hardly regarding
it, they turned to resume their conversation, when in an instant (as
it seemed) the peaceful scene was changed, and with a blast of wind
and a whirl of sound that made them jump for the nearest ditch. It was
on them! The "Poop-poop" rang with a brazen shout in their ears, they
had a moment's glimpse of an interior of glittering plate-glass and
rich morocco, and the magnificent motor-car, immense, breath-snatching,
passionate, with its pilot tense and hugging his wheel, possessed all
earth and air for the fraction of a second, flung an enveloping cloud
of dust that blinded and enwrapped them utterly, and then dwindled to
a speck in the far distance, changed back into a droning bee once more.

The old grey horse, dreaming, as he plodded along, of his quiet
paddock, in a new raw situation such as this, simply abandoned himself
to his natural emotions. Rearing, plunging, backing steadily, in spite
of all the Mole's efforts at his head, and all the Mole's lively
language directed at his better feelings, he drove the cart backward
towards the deep ditch at the side of the road. It wavered an
instant--then there was a heart-rending crash--and the canary-coloured
cart, their pride and their joy, lay on its side in the ditch, an
irredeemable wreck.

The Rat danced up and down in the road, simply transported with passion.
"You villains!" he shouted, shaking both fists. "You scoundrels, you
hig