that day, and that he was
exceedingly hungry after his long walk. He marched into the Inn, ordered
the best luncheon that could be provided at so short a notice, and sat
down to eat it in the coffee-room.

He was about half-way through his meal when an only too familiar sound,
approaching down the street, made him start and fall a-trembling all
over. The poop-poop! drew nearer and nearer, the car could be heard to
turn into the inn-yard and come to a stop, and Toad had to hold on to
the leg of the table to conceal his over-mastering emotion. Presently
the party entered the coffee-room, hungry, talkative, and gay, voluble
on their experiences of the morning and the merits of the chariot that
had brought them along so well. Toad listened eagerly, all ears, for a
time; at last he could stand it no longer. He slipped out of the
room quietly, paid his bill at the bar, and as soon as he got outside
sauntered round quietly to the inn-yard. 'There cannot be any harm,' he
said to himself, 'in my only just LOOKING at it!'

The car stood in the middle of the yard, quite unattended, the
stable-helps and other hangers-on being all at their dinner. Toad walked
slowly round it, inspecting, criticising, musing deeply.

'I wonder,' he said to himself presently, 'I wonder if this sort of car
STARTS easily?'

Next moment, hardly knowing how it came about, he found he had hold of
the handle and was turning it. As the familiar sound broke forth, the
old passion seized on Toad and completely mastered him, body and soul.
As if in a dream he found himself, somehow, seated in the driver's seat;
as if in a dream, he pulled the lever and swung the car round the yard
and out through the archway; and, as if in a dream, all sense of
right and wrong, all fear of obvious consequences, seemed temporarily
suspended. He increased his pace, and as the car devoured the street
and leapt forth on the high road through the open country, he was only
conscious that he was Toad once more, Toad at his best and highest, Toad
the terror, the traffic-queller, the Lord of the lone trail, before whom
all must give way or be smitten into nothingness and everlasting night.
He chanted as he flew, and the car responded with sonorous drone; the
miles were eaten up under him as he sped he knew not whither, fulfilling
his instincts, living his hour, reckless of what might come to him.

* * * * * *

'To my mind,' observed the Chairman of the Bench of Magistrates
che