“Hooray! Here’s old Toad!” cried the Mole, his face beaming. “Fancy having you back again!” And he began to dance round him. “We never dreamt you would turn up so soon! Why, you must have managed to escape, you clever, ingenious, intelligent Toad!”

The Rat, alarmed, pulled him by the elbow; but it was too late. Toad was puffing and swelling already.

“Clever? O, no!” he said. “I’m not really clever, according to my friends. I’ve only broken out of the strongest prison in England, that’s all! And captured a railway train and escaped on it, that’s all! And disguised myself and gone about the country humbugging everybody, that’s all! O, no! I’m a stupid ass, I am! I’ll tell you one or two of my little adventures, Mole, and you shall judge for yourself!”

“Well, well,” said the Mole, moving towards the supper-table; “supposing you talk while I eat. Not a bite since breakfast! O my! O my!” And he sat down and helped himself liberally to cold beef and pickles.