THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS

by Kenneth Graham
Illustrated by Paul Bransom

(Published in 1913 by Charles Scribner's Sons)

CONTENTS

1. The River Bank
2. The Open Road
3. The Wild Wood
4. Mr. Badger
5. Dulce Domum
6. Mr. Toad
7. The Piper at the Gates of Dawn
8. Toad's Adventures
9. Wayfarers All
10. The Further Adventures of Toad
11. "Like Summer Tempests Came His Tears"
12. The Return of Ulysses

ILLUSTRATIONS

• The Piper at the Gates of Dawn (front picture)
• It was the Water Rat
• "Come on!" he said. "We shall just have to walk it"
• In panic, he began to run
• Through the Wild Wood and the snow
• Toad was a helpless prisoner in the deepest dungeon
• He lay flat on the floor, feeling miserable
• "It's a hard life, from what people say," said the Rat quietly
• Mostly talking about how clever and calm he'd been
• The Badger said, "Now then, follow me!"

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CHAPTER I

THE RIVER BANK

The Mole had worked hard all morning doing his spring-cleaning. First he used brooms, then dust cloths. Then he climbed on ladders and chairs with a brush and a bucket of whitewash — a kind of white paint used to freshen up walls. By the end, dust filled his throat and eyes, splashes of white paint covered his black fur, and his back and arms ached from all the work.

Spring was in the air everywhere — above the ground, below it, and all around. Even inside the Mole's small, dim house, that spring feeling crept in, filling him with a strange, restless longing. So it wasn't surprising that he suddenly threw down his brush and shouted, "Bother! Oh, blow! Forget spring-cleaning!" Then he rushed outside without even grabbing his coat.

Something up above seemed to be calling him. He hurried into the steep little tunnel that worked like a driveway for animals who live underground. He scraped and scratched and squeezed his way up, saying to himself, "Up we go! Up we go!" Finally—pop!—his nose popped out into the sunshine, and he found himself rolling in the warm grass of a big meadow.

"This is wonderful!" he said to himself. "Much better than whitewashing!" The sun felt hot on his fur, and a soft breeze brushed his face. After being underground so long, even the sound of birds singing seemed as loud as a shout to him. He jumped for joy, happy just to be alive on a spring day with no cleaning to do, and ran across the meadow until he reached a hedge on the far side.

"Hold up!" said an old rabbit guarding a gap in the hedge. "That'll be sixpence to use this private path!" But the Mole, impatient and unimpressed, knocked right past him and trotted along, teasing the other rabbits as they peeked out of their holes to see what the fuss was about. "Onion sauce! Onion sauce!" he called back playfully, and was gone before they could think of a good reply. The rabbits then began blaming each other. "Why didn't you warn him?" "Well, why didn't you?" But of course, it was too late by then—it always is.

Everything seemed almost too wonderful to be true. The Mole wandered happily through meadows, along hedges, and across small groves of trees. Everywhere, birds were building nests, flowers were opening, and new leaves were pushing out. Everything was busy and full of life. Instead of feeling guilty about his unfinished cleaning, he only felt glad to be the one lazy creature among all these busy workers. Maybe the best part of a holiday isn't resting yourself — it's watching everyone else work instead!

He thought he couldn't be any happier, until suddenly, while wandering along, he found himself standing beside a wide, flowing river. He had never seen a river before. It moved like some sleek, playful creature—rushing, bubbling, laughing, grabbing hold of things only to release them again, always chasing after something new. Everything sparkled and rippled and rustled. The Mole was completely charmed by it. He walked along the bank, just like a child following a grown-up who tells exciting stories. When he finally grew tired, he sat down, and the river kept "talking" to him — a steady stream of wonderful stories flowing from deep in the earth on its way to the sea.

As he sat on the grass looking across the water, he noticed a dark hole in the opposite bank, just above the waterline. He thought dreamily that it would make a perfect little home for some small, simple animal — a cozy riverside house, safe from floods, dust, and noise. As he stared, something small and bright twinkled inside the hole, disappeared, then twinkled again like a tiny star. But that seemed unlikely in such a spot — and it was too shiny to be a glow-worm (a small bug that glows in the dark). Then it blinked at him, and he realized it was an eye. Slowly, a little face formed around it, like a picture appearing inside a frame.

It was a small brown face with whiskers.

A serious, round face, with the same twinkling eye that had caught his attention.

Neat little ears and smooth, silky fur.

It was the Water Rat!

The two animals stared at each other carefully.

"Hello, Mole!" said the Water Rat.

"Hello, Rat!" said the Mole.

"Would you like to come over?" the Rat asked after a moment.

"It's easy to say that," replied the Mole, a little grumpily, since he was new to rivers and didn't know how one might cross.

The Rat didn't answer. He simply untied a rope and pulled it, then stepped lightly into a small boat that the Mole hadn't even noticed. It was painted blue on the outside and white inside — just the right size for two animals. The Mole's heart leapt at the sight of it, even though he didn't yet understand what boats were for.

The Rat rowed smoothly across the river and tied up the boat. Then he reached out a paw as the Mole carefully stepped down. "Lean on that!" he said. "Now, step lively!" And the Mole, amazed and delighted, found himself sitting in the back of a real boat.

"What a wonderful day this has been!" he said, as the Rat pushed off and began rowing again. "You know, I've never been in a boat before in my whole life."

"What?" cried the Rat, shocked. "Never been in a—you never—well, what have you been doing all this time?"

"Is it really that wonderful?" the Mole asked shyly, though he was already sure it must be, as he leaned back and looked at the cushions, the oars, and all the interesting parts of the boat, feeling it sway gently beneath him.

"Wonderful? It's the only thing worth doing," the Rat said seriously, leaning forward to row. "Believe me, young friend, there is absolutely nothing better than simply messing about in boats. Simply messing," he repeated dreamily, "about—in—boats—messing—"

"Look out, Rat!" the Mole shouted suddenly.

Too late. The boat crashed straight into the bank. The dreamy, happy rower tumbled backward into the bottom of the boat, his feet waving in the air.

"—about in boats, or with boats," the Rat continued calmly, picking himself back up with a cheerful laugh. "In them or out of them, it doesn't matter. Nothing really matters much — that's the best part. Whether you get where you're going, or somewhere else entirely, or nowhere at all, you're always busy doing something, even if it's nothing in particular. And once you've finished, there's always something else to do — though you're usually better off not doing it! Anyway — if you've got nothing else planned this morning, why don't we go down the river together and make a whole day of it?"

The Mole wiggled his toes with pure happiness, took a deep, satisfied breath, and sank back happily into the soft cushions. "What a day I'm having!" he said. "Let's go right now!"

"Wait just a minute!" said the Rat. He looped the rope through a ring on his dock, climbed up into his home above, and returned a short while later carrying a big picnic basket.

"Put that under your feet," he told the Mole, handing it down into the boat. Then he untied the rope and picked up the oars again.

"What's inside it?" the Mole asked, wriggling with curiosity.

"There's cold chicken inside," the Rat answered simply, "coldtonguecoldhamcoldbeefpickles saladrollswatercresssandwiches pottedmeatgingerbeerlemonadesodawater—"

"Oh, stop, stop!" cried the Mole, delighted. "That's more than enough!"

"Do you really think so?" the Rat asked seriously. "It's only what I always bring on these little trips. The other animals are always telling me I pack far too little!"

But the Mole wasn't really listening anymore. He was too caught up in this exciting new world — the sparkling water, the gentle ripples, the smells and sounds and warm sunlight. He trailed a paw through the water and drifted into a daydream. The Water Rat, being the good friend he was, kept rowing steadily and let him be.

"I really like your clothes, old fellow," he said after about half an hour had passed. "One day, I'm going to get a black velvet jacket just like that, once I can afford it."

"Sorry," said the Mole, snapping out of his daydream. "You must think I'm being rude, but all of this is so new to me. So — this is a River!"

"The River," the Rat corrected gently.

"And you really live on the river? What a wonderful life!"

"By it, with it, on it, and in it," said the Rat. "It's like a brother and sister to me — family, food, drink, and even my bathwater! It's my whole world, and I don't need any other. Whatever it doesn't have isn't worth having, and whatever it doesn't know isn't worth knowing. The times we've had together! Whether it's winter, summer, spring, or fall, the river always brings something exciting. When floods come in February and my basement floods with water that's no good to drink, and brown water rushes past my bedroom window — or later, when the water drops and leaves patches of mud that sm