The Wind In The Willows – A Bedtime Story For Kids-Pt 4

Hi,

This is Stefania,

And we're moving on with part four of The Wind in the Willows.

Maybe you might remember from the last time Mole and Ratty had gone to visit Toad.

And Toad had a big plan,

Places he wanted to go,

Things he wanted to show to Ratty and Mole.

But they didn't really want to go.

But Ratty is a very loyal friend,

So he was willing to go along with Toad whatever he wanted.

Our story moves on.

The Mole reached out from under his blanket,

Felt for the rat's paw in the darkness,

And gave it a squeeze.

I'll do whatever you like,

Ratty,

He whispered.

Shall we run away tomorrow morning,

Quite early,

Very early,

And go back to our dear old hole on the river?

No,

No,

We'll see it out,

Whispered back the rat.

Thanks awfully,

But I ought to stick by Toad till this trip is ended.

It wouldn't be safe for him to be left by himself.

It won't take very long.

His farts never do.

Good night.

The end was even nearer than even Rat suspected.

After so much open air and excitement,

The Toad slept very soundly,

And no amount of shaking could rouse him out of his bed next morning.

So Mole and Rat turned to,

Quietly and manfully.

And while Rat sought to the horse and lit a fire,

And cleaned last night's cups and platters,

And got things ready for breakfast,

The Mole trudged off to the nearest village,

A long way off,

For milk and eggs and various necessities the Toad had,

Of course,

Forgotten to provide.

The hard work had all been done,

And the two animals were resting,

Thoroughly exhausted,

By the time Toad appeared on the scene,

Fresh,

Remarking what a pleasant,

Easy life it was they were all leading now,

After the cares and worries and fatigues of housekeeping at home.

They had a pleasant ramble that day over grassy downs and along narrow bylanes and camped as before on a common.

Only this time,

The two guests took care that Toad should do his fair share of the work.

In consequence,

When the time came for starting the next morning,

Toad was by no means so rapturous about the simplicity of the primitive life,

And indeed attempted to resume his place in his bunk,

Whence he was hauled by force.

Their way lay,

As before,

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 center of energy advancing on them at incredible speed,

While from out the dust a faint boop,

Boop,

Wailed like an uneasy animal in pain.

Hardly regarding it,

It 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 inch,

It was on them.

The boop,

Boop 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 his 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 drowning bee once more.

The old gray 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,

Plugging,

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 backwards towards the deep ditch at the side of the road.

It wavered for an instant,

Then there was a heart-rendering crash,

And the canary-colored cart,

Their pride and 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 highwaymen,

You road hogs.

I'll have the law on you.

I'll report you.

I'll take you through all the courts.

His homesickness had quite slipped away from him,

And for the moment,

He was a skipper of the canary-colored vessel,

Driven on a shoal by the reckless jockeying of rival mariners.

And he was trying to recollect all the fine and fighting things he used to say to masters of steam lodges,

When their wash,

As they drove too near the bank,

Used to flood his parlor carpet at home.

Toad sat straight down in the middle of the dusty road,

His legs stretched out before him,

And stared fixedly in the direction of the disappearing motorcar.

He breathed short.

His face wore a placid,

Satisfied expression,

And at intervals,

He faintly murmured,

Poop,

Poop.

The mole was busy trying to quiet the horse,

Which he succeeded in doing after a time.

Then he went to look at the cart on his side in the ditch.

It was indeed a sorry sight.

Panels and windows smashed,

Axles hopelessly bent,

One wheel off,

Sardine tins scattered over the wide world,

And the bird in the birdcage sobbing pitifully and calling to be let out.

The rat came to help him,

But the united efforts were not sufficient to right the cart.

Oi,

Toad,

They cried,

Come and bear a hand,

Can't you?

The Toad never answered a word or budged from his seat in the road,

So they went to see what was the matter with him.

They found him in a sort of trance,

A happy smile on his face,

His eyes still fixed on the dusty wake of their destroyer.

At intervals,

He was still heard to murmur,

Poop,

Poop.

The rat shook him by the shoulder.

Are you coming to help us,

Toad?

He demanded sternly.

Glorious,

Stirring sight,

Murmured Toad,

Never offering to move.

The poetry of motion,

The real way to travel,

The only way to travel.

Here today?

And next week?

Tomorrow?

Villages skipped,

Towns and cities jumped,

Always somebody else's horizon.

Oh,

Less.

Oh,

Poop,

Poop.

Oh,

Joy.

Oh,

My.

Oh,

Stop being silly,

Toad,

Cried the mole despairingly.

Had to think I never knew,

Went on the Toad in a dreamy monotone.

All those wasted years that lie behind me,

I never knew,

Never even dreamt.

But now,

But now that I know,

Now that I fully realize,

Oh,

What a flowery track lies spread before me henceforth.

What dust clouds shall spring up behind me as I speed on my reckless way?

What carts I shall fling carelessly into the ditch in the wake of my magnificent onset?

Horrid little carts?

Common carts?

Canary-colored carts?

What are we to do with him?

Asked the mole of the water rat.

Nothing at all,

Replied the rat firmly,

Because there is really nothing to be done.

You see,

I know him from of old.

He is now possessed.

He has got a new craze,

And it always takes him that way in its first stage.

He'll continue like that for days now,

Like an animal walking in a happy dream,

Quite useless for all practical purposes.

Never mind him.

Let's go and see what there is to be done about the cart.

A careful inspection showed them that even if they succeeded in riding it by themselves,

The cart would travel no longer.

The axles were in a hopeless state,

And the missing wheel was shattered into pieces.

The rat nodded the horse's reins over his back and took him by the head,

Carrying the birdcage in his hysterical occupant in the other hand.

Come on,

He said grimly to the mole.

It's five or six miles to the nearest town,

And we shall just have to walk it.

The sooner we make a start,

The better.

But what about Toad?

Asked the mole anxiously as they set off together.

We can't leave him here,

Sitting in the middle of the road by himself,

In the distracted state he's in.

It's not safe.

Supposing another thing were to come along?

Oh,

Bother Toad,

Said the rat savagely.

I'm done with him.

They had not proceeded very far on their way,

However,

When there was a pattering of feet behind them,

And Toad caught them up and thrust a paw inside the elbow of each of them,

Still breathing short and staring into vacancy.

Now look here,

Toad,

Said the rat sharply.

As soon as we get to the town,

You'll have to go straight to the police station and see if they know anything about that motor car and who it belongs to,

And lodge a complaint against it.

And then you'll have to go to a blacksmith's or a wheelwright's and arrange for the car to be fetched and mended and put to rights.

It'll take time,

But it's not quite a hopeless smash.

Meanwhile,

The mole and I will go to an inn and find comfortable rooms where we can stay till the cart's ready,

And till your nerves have recovered from their shock.

Police station.

Complaint?

Murmured Toad dreamily.

Me?

Complain of that beautiful,

That heavenly vision that has been foul-safed to me?

And the cart?

I'm done with carts forever.

I never want to see the cart or hear of it again.

Oh,

Ratty,

You can't think how obliged I am to you for consenting to come out on this trip.

I wouldn't have gone without you.

And then I might never have seen that,

That swan,

That sunbeam,

That thunderbolt.

I might never have heard that entrancing sound or smelt that bewitching smell.

I owe it all to you,

My best of friends.

The rat turned from him in despair.

You see what it is,

He said to the mole dressing him across Toad's head.

He's quite hopeless.

I gave up.

When we get to the town,

We'll go to the railway station and with luck,

We may pick up a train there that'll get us back to Riverbank tonight.

And if ever you catch me going a-pleasuring with this provoking animal again,

He snorted.

And during the rest of that,

Weary Drudge addressed his remarks exclusively to Mole.

Upon reaching the town,

They went straight to the station and deposited Toad in the second-class waiting room,

Giving a porter two pence to keep a strict eye on him.

They then left the horse at an inn stable and gave what directions they could about the cart and its contents.

Eventually,

A slow train having landed them at a station not very far from Toad Hall,

They escorted the spellbound,

Sleepwalking Toad to his door,

Put him inside it,

And instructed his housekeeper to feed him,

Undress him,

And put him to bed.

Then they got out the boat from the boathouse,

Sculled down the river home,

And at a very late hour,

Sat down to supper in their own cozy riverside parlor,

To the rat's great joy and contentment.

The following evening,

The Mole,

Who had risen late and had taken things very easy all day,

Was sitting on the bank fishing,

When the rat,

Who had been looking up his friends and gossiping,

Came strolling along to find him.

Heard the news,

He said.

There's nothing else being talked about all along the riverbank.

Toad went up to town by an early train this morning,

And he has ordered a large and very expensive motor car.

Well,

Toad,

What can we say?

All we can say is we're gonna be back very soon with the next chapter of The Wind in the Willows,

And that is gonna be called The Wild Wood.

And we're going to meet Thatcher.

That's it for now.

Stay well.

Be good.

Sleep well.

Bye for now.