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The Wind in the Willows
By Kenneth Grahame, Thea Kliros Dover Publications, Inc.
Copyright © 1995 Dover Publications, Inc.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-486-31065-7
CHAPTER 1
The River Bank
THE MOLE had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home. Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, even into his dark and lowly little house.
He suddenly flung down his paint-brush on the floor, said "Bother!" and "O blow!" and also "Hang spring-cleaning!" and bolted out of the house without even waiting to put on his coat. Something up above was calling him, and he made for the steep little tunnel. He scraped and scratched and scrabbled and scrooged, and then he scrooged again and scrabbled and scratched and scraped, working busily with his little paws and muttering to himself, "Up we go! Up we go!" till at last, pop! his snout came out into the sunlight and he found himself rolling in the warm grass of a great meadow.
"This is fine!" he said to himself. The sunshine struck hot on his fur, soft breezes caressed his heated brow, and the songs of happy birds fell on his sensitive hearing. Hither and thither through the meadows he rambled, finding everywhere birds building, flowers budding, leaves thrusting—everything happy and busy. He felt how jolly it was to be the only idle one among all these happy citizens.
He thought his happiness was complete when suddenly he stood by the edge of a full-fed river. Never in his life had he seen a river before. The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side of the river he trotted, and, when tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on to him.
As he sat on the grass and looked across the river, a dark hole in the bank opposite, just above the water's edge, caught his eye. As he gazed something bright and small seemed to twinkle down in the heart of it, vanished, then twinkled once more like a tiny star. As he looked, it winked at him, and so declared itself to be an eye; and a small face began gradually to grow up round it, like a frame round a picture.
A brown little face, with whiskers.
A round face, with the same twinkle in its eye that had first attracted his notice.
Small neat ears and thick silky hair.
It was the Water Rat!
"Hullo, Mole!" said the Water Rat.
"Hullo, Rat!" said the Mole.
"Would you like to come over?" inquired the Rat. He stooped and unfastened a rope and hauled on it; then he stepped into a little boat. It was painted blue outside and white within, and was just the size for two animals. The Rat paddled across and tied the boat to the bank and invited the Mole aboard.
"This has been a wonderful day!" said the Mole, as the Rat shoved off and took to the oars again. "Do you know I've never been in a boat before in all my life."
"What?" cried the Rat. "Never been in a—you never—what have you been doing, then?"
"Is it so nice as all that?" asked the Mole.
"Nice? It's the only thing," said the. Water Rat. "Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing—absolutely nothing—half so much worth doing as simply going about in boats. Simply going," he said dreamily.
"Look ahead, Rat!" cried the Mole suddenly.
It was too late. The boat struck the bank full tilt. The dreamer lay on his back at the bottom of the boat, his heels in the air. The Rat picked himself up with a pleasant laugh, and said, "Look here! If you've really nothing else on hand this morning, supposing we drop down the river together, and have a long day of it?"
The Mole waggled his toes from sheer happiness. "What a day I'm having!" he said. "Let us start at once!"
"Hold hard a minute, then!" said the Rat. He tied the boat to his dock, climbed up into his hole above, and in a few moments reappeared with a fat lunch basket.
"Shove that under your feet," he said to the Mole. He untied the boat and took to his oars again.
"What's inside it?" asked the Mole.
"There's cold chicken inside it," replied the Rat; "cold tongue cold ham cold beef pickled gherkins salad frenchrolls cress sandwiches potted meat ginger beer lemonade soda water—"
"O stop, stop," cried the Mole. "This is too much!"
"Do you really think so? It's only what I always take on these little trips."
The Mole, absorbed in the new life he was entering upon, the sparkle, the scents and the sounds and the sunlight, trailed a paw in the water and dreamed long waking dreams.
He asked the Water Rat, "And you really live by the river? What a jolly life!"
"By it and with it and on it and in it," said the Rat. "It's brother and sister to me, and food and drink, and washing. It's my world and I don't want any other. What it hasn't got is not worth having, and what it doesn't know is not worth knowing."
"But isn't it a bit dull at times?" the Mole asked. "Just you and the river, and no one else to pass a word with?"
"No one else to—well, I mustn't be hard on you," said the Rat. "You're new to it, and of course you don't know. The bank is so crowded nowadays that many people are moving away altogether."
"What lies over there?" asked the Mole, waving a paw towards a background of woodland that framed the water-meadows on one side of the river.
"That? O, that's just the Wild Wood," said the Rat. "We don't go there very much, we river-bankers."
"Aren't they—aren't they very nice people in there?" said the Mole.
"W-e-ll," said the Rat. "The squirrels are all right. And the rabbits—some of 'em, but rabbits are a mixed lot. And then there's Badger. He lives right in the heart of it; wouldn't live anywhere else. Dear old Badger! Nobody interferes with him. They'd better not."
"Why, who should interfere with him?" asked the Mole.
"Weasels and stoats and foxes and so on. They're all right in a way—but they break out sometimes, and then—well, you can't really trust them, and that's the fact."
"And beyond the Wild Wood?" asked the Mole. "Where it's all blue and dim, and one sees what may be hills and something like the smoke of towns?"
"Beyond the Wild Wood comes the Wide World," said the Rat. "And that's something that doesn't matter, either to you or me. I've never been there, and I'm never going, nor you either, if you've got any sense at all. Don't ever refer to it again, please. Now then! Here's our backwater at last, where we're going to lunch."
Leaving the main stream, they now passed into what seemed at first sight like a little land-locked lake.
The Rat brought the boat alongside the bank, tied her up, helped the Mole ashore, and swung out the lunch basket. The Mole took out all the mysterious packets one by one from the lunch basket and arranged their contents, gasping, "O my! O my!" at each new item. When all was ready, the Rat said, "Now, pitch in, old fellow!"
After the edge of their hunger was somewhat dulled, the Mole's eyes were able to wander off the tablecloth a little.
A broad glistening muzzle showed itself above the edge of the bank, and the Otter hauled himself out and shook the water from his coat.
"Why didn't you invite me, Ratty?" the Otter asked.
"This was an unplanned party," explained the Rat. "By the way—my friend Mr. Mole."
"Proud, I'm sure," said the Otter, and the two animals were friends ever after. "Such a rumpus everywhere," continued the Otter. "All the world seems out on the river today."
There was a rustle behind them, coming from a hedge, and a stripy head, with high shoulders behind it, peered forth on them.
"Come on, old Badger!" shouted the Rat.
The Badger trotted forward a pace or two; then grunted, "H'm! Company," and turned his back and disappeared from view.
"That's just the sort of fellow he is!" observed the Rat. "Simply hates society! Now we shan't see any more of him today. Well, tell us, Otter, who's out on the river?"
"Toad's out, for one," replied the Otter. "In his brand-new boat."
From where they sat they could get a glimpse of the main stream across the island. And just then the new boat flashed into view—the rower splashing badly and rolling a good deal, but working his hardest. The Rat stood up and hailed him, but Toad shook his head and continued to row.
Shortly after, the Otter spotted a May-fly and swooped into the water after it.
"Well, well," said the Rat, "I suppose we ought to be moving."
The Mole packed up the lunch basket and they got back in the Rat's little boat.
The afternoon sun was getting low as the Rat rowed gently homewards. The Mole was very full of lunch, and already quite at home in a boat (so he thought) and was getting a bit restless besides. He said, "Ratty! Please, I want to row now!"
The Rat shook his head with a smile. "Not yet, my young friend," he said. "Wait till you've had a few lessons. It's not so easy as it looks."
The Mole was quiet for a minute or two. But he began to feel more and more jealous of Rat, rowing so strongly and easily along, and he imagined that he could do it every bit as well. He jumped up and seized the oars, so suddenly that the Rat, who was gazing out over the water and saying poetry-things to himself, was taken by surprise and fell backwards off his seat with his legs in the air for the second time, while the triumphant Mole took his place and grabbed the oars with entire confidence.
"Stop it, you silly fool!" cried the Rat, from the bottom of the boat. "You can't do it! You'll have us over!"
The Mole flung his oars back, and made a great dig at the water. He missed the surface altogether, his legs flew up above his head, and he found himself lying on the top of the tumbled Rat. He made a grab at the side of the boat, and the next moment—Sploosh!
Over went the boat, and he found himself struggling in the river.
The Rat hauled the Mole out of the water, and set him down on the bank, a squashy lump of misery.
When all was ready for a start once more, the Mole, limp and dejected, took his seat in the stern of the boat; and as they set off, he said, "Ratty, my generous friend! I am very sorry indeed for my foolish and ungrateful conduct."
"That's all right," responded the Rat cheerily. "What's a little wet to a Water Rat? I'm more in the water than out of it most days. Look here, I really think you had better come and stay with me for a little time. I'll teach you to row, and to swim."
The Mole was so touched by his kind manner of speaking that he could find no voice to answer him; and he had to brush away a tear or two with the back of his paw.
When they got home, the Rat made a bright fire in the parlor, and planted the Mole in an armchair in front of it, and told him river stories till suppertime. Supper was a most cheerful meal; but very shortly afterwards a terribly sleepy Mole had to be escorted upstairs by his considerate host, to the best bedroom, where he soon laid his head on his pillow in great peace and contentment, knowing that his new-found friend the River was lapping the sill of his window.
This day was only the first of many similar ones for the Mole, each of them longer and full of interest as the spring became summer. He learnt to swim and to row, and entered into the joy of the River; and listening to the reeds by the riverside, he caught, sometimes, something of what the wind went whispering so constantly among them.
CHAPTER 2
The Open Road
"RATTY," SAID the Mole one bright summer morning, "if you please, I want to ask you a favor. Won't you take me to call on Mr. Toad? I've heard so much about him, and I do so want to meet him."
"Why, certainly," said the Rat. "Get the boat out and we'll paddle up there. It's never the wrong time to call on Toad. Early or late, he's always the same fellow. Always glad to see you, always sorry when you go! ... It may be that he is both boastful and conceited. But he has got some great qualities, has Toady."
Rounding a bend in the river, they came in sight of a handsome, old house of red brick and lawns reaching down to the water's edge.
"There's Toad Hall," said the Rat. "Toad is rather rich, you know, and this is really one of the nicest houses in these parts."
They got out of Rat's boat and strolled across the pretty flower-decked lawns in search of Toad, whom they soon found resting in a garden chair, with a far-off look in his eyes, and a large map spread out on his knees.
"Hooray!" he cried, jumping up on seeing them, "this is splendid!" He shook the paws of both of them. "How kind of you!" he went on dancing round them. "I was just going to send a boat down the river for you, Ratty. I want you badly—both of you. Come inside and have something!"
"Let's sit quiet a bit, Toady!" said the Rat.
"You are the very animals I wanted. You've got to help me. It's most important," said Toad.
"It's about your rowing, I suppose," said the Rat. "You're getting on fairly well, though you splash a good bit still."
"O, pooh! boating!" said the Toad. "Silly boyish amusement. No, I've discovered the real thing. I propose to devote the remainder of my lifetime to it. Come with me, dear Ratty, and your nice friend also, just as far as the stableyard, and you shall see what you shall see!"
Toad led the way, and there, outside the coach house in the open, they saw a horse-drawn caravan, shining with newness, painted yellow with green and red wheels.
"There you are!" cried the Toad. "There's real life for you. The open road, the dusty highway, the countryside! Camps, villages, towns, cities! Here today, up and off to somewhere else tomorrow. Travel, change, interest, excitement! The whole world before you, and a horizon that's always changing!"
The van was indeed very compact and comfortable. Little sleeping bunks, a little table, a cooking-stove, lockers, bookshelves, a birdcage with a bird in it; and pots, pans, jugs and kettles of every size.
"All complete!" said the Toad. "You see—biscuits, canned lobster and sardines—everything you could possibly want. You'll find that nothing whatever has been forgotten, when we make our start this afternoon."
"I beg your pardon," said the Rat. "But did I overhear you say something about 'we,' and 'start,' and 'this afternoon'?"
"Now, you dear good old Ratty," said Toad, "you know you've got to come. I can't possibly manage without you. You surely don't mean to stick to your dull old river all your life, and just live in a hole in a bank, and boat? I want to show you the world!"
"I don't care," said the Rat. "I'm not coming. And I am going to stick to my old river, and live in a hole, and boat, as I've always done. And what's more, Mole's going to stick to me and do as I do, aren't you, Mole?"
"Of course I am," said the Mole. "I'll always stick to you, Rat, and what you say is to be—has got to be. All the same, it sounds as if it might have been—well, rather fun, you know!"
"Come along in, and have some lunch," said Toad, "and we'll talk it over. 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 lunch, which was excellent, of course, it soon seemed taken for granted by all three of them that the trip was a settled thing; the Rat could not bear to disappoint his two friends, who were already deep in plans for each day's activities of several weeks ahead.
When they were quite ready that afternoon, the Toad led his companions to the paddock and set them to capture the old gray horse. In the meantime, Toad packed the caravan lockers still tighter with necessities. At last the horse was caught, and they set off, all talking at once, each animal either trudging by the side of the cart or sitting on the shaft. It was a golden afternoon. On either side of the road, birds called and whistled to them; pleasant wayfarers 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 forepaws and said, "0 my! 0 my! 0 my!"
Late in the evening, miles from home, they drew up on a remote meadow, turned the horse loose to graze, and ate their simple supper sitting on the grass by the side of the cart. Toad talked big about all he was going to do in the days to come, while stars grew fuller and larger all around them, and a yellow moon came to keep them company and listen to their talk. At last they turned in to their little bunks in the caravan; and Toad said, "Well, good night, you fellows! This is the real life for a gentleman! Talk about your old river!"
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame, Thea Kliros. Copyright © 1995 Dover Publications, Inc.. Excerpted by permission of Dover Publications, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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