rked that they ought to have done so-and-so, or ought
not to have done something else. The Mole began to feel very friendly
towards him.

When supper was really finished at last, and each animal felt that his
skin was now as tight as was decently safe, and that by this time he
didn't care a hang for anybody or anything, they gathered round the
glowing embers of the great wood fire, and thought how jolly it was to
be sitting up _so_ late, and _so_ independent, and _so_ full; and
after they had chatted for a time about things in general, the Badger
said heartily, "Now then! tell us the news from your part of the
world. How's old Toad going on?"

"Oh, from bad to worse," said the Rat gravely, while the Mole, cocked
up on a settle and basking in the firelight, his heels higher than his
head, tried to look properly mournful. "Another smash-up only last
week, and a bad one. You see, he will insist on driving himself, and
he's hopelessly incapable. If he'd only employ a decent, steady,
well-trained animal, pay him good wages, and leave everything to him,
he'd get on all right. But no; he's convinced he's a heaven-born
driver, and nobody can teach him anything; and all the rest follows."

"How many has he had?" inquired the Badger gloomily.

"Smashes, or machines?" asked the Rat. "Oh, well, after all, it's the
same thing--with Toad. This is the seventh. As for the others--you
know that coach-house of his? Well, it's piled up--literally piled up
to the roof--with fragments of motor-cars, none of them bigger than
your hat! That accounts for the other six--so far as they can be
accounted for."

"He's been in hospital three times," put in the Mole; "and as for the
fines he's had to pay, it's simply awful to think of."

"Yes, and that's part of the trouble," continued the Rat. "Toad's
rich, we all know; but he's not a millionaire. And he's a hopelessly
bad driver, and quite regardless of law and order. Killed or
ruined--it's got to be one of the two things, sooner or later. Badger!
we're his friends--oughtn't we to do something?"

The Badger went through a bit of hard thinking. "Now look here!" he
said at last, rather severely; "of course you know I can't do anything
_now_?"

His two friends assented, quite understanding his point. No animal,
according to the rules of animal etiquette, is ever expected to do
anything strenuous, or heroic, or even moderately active during the
off-season of winter. All are sleepy--some actua