Read Online The Willows in Winter by William Horwood, Patrick Benson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: William Horwood, Patrick Benson
Ads: Link
clearing proved an unnecessary
expense, though one typical of Toad, for the delay in starting coincided with
the thaw, and by the time the great day came, which all unknown to Toad was
that same sad day when the Badger and the others had begun their search for
poor Mole, much of the snow had gone.
Then, at last, he was off, and it was so
exciting that the past delays and difficulties receded behind Toad at the same
ever increasing speed with which the flying machine accelerated the length of
his lawn. Faster and faster, bumpier and bumpier, with Toad letting out little
whoops of delight which ended in one long blissful sigh as, with a final lurch
upwards, he was airborne in his own machine for the first time, and the ground
was falling away beneath him.
“Yes, I’ll go along the river!” he had cried as
they rose, as if he was in command and had a say in the matter, though in fact
the pilot had long since decided what route they would take.
They rose, they banked, they turned and then
they skimmed down-river just above the willows, with the swans and herons, the
moorhens, the mallards and the over-wintering geese fleeing in all directions.
Then suddenly, and so much the better for being
so unexpected, Toad had experienced the very special thrill of seeing beneath
him the Badger, the Water Rat and all the rest — all static as he moved, all
staring as he triumphed.
“Faster!” cried Toad.
“Higher!” commanded Toad.
“Steeper!” whooped Toad.
Now, his trials and tribulations seeming all
behind him, in a trice Toad brought himself back to the present and thought in
his conceited way, “There’s no doubt what they’re saying! No
doubt at all!”
He laughed once more and watched the distant
horizon fall away as they rose ever higher into the sky.
“They are saying’ he told himself, “ ‘There’s Toad, the great Toad, the real Toad! The
Toad we are honoured and privileged to know. The Toad who has deigned to talk
to us in the past, deigned even to entertain us in his home, but who has
recently not been quite himself. Yet now it seems that Toad has found himself
once more! He has triumphed again and will bring honour to us all!”‘
With such vain thoughts as these, and further
thoughts to do with national interest, service to the nation, and some imminent
honour that would put all the shadows of the past to flight, Toad revelled in
the half-hour that followed. The speed was one thing, the noise another, the
power a third, and the aerobatics a fourth — all so much greater than he had
dared hope that he was left in a state of giddy, dizzy breathlessness as,
finally, the pilot turned the machine homewards and they retraced their route,
till they came to the weir and the river above it, with the Wild Wood now to
their left, and to the right, that sorry, scrubby patch of ground where the
Mole lived.
“How impressed he will be by my flight,”
chortled Toad to himself as the flying machine banked into a final turn and the
pilot lined it up ready to land triumphantly upon the lawn before Toad Hall.
“The others — well, no doubt they will
scoff and sneer and seek to belittle this great achievement of mine,” Toad told
himself, for by now he had utterly convinced himself that it was he who had
flown the machine; and he who was landing it. Indeed, he held the useless passenger
joystick in front of him as if he was, and strained to reach the useless
pedals, which were in any case out of reach of his legs, since he was raised so
high on his velveteen cushions.
“But Mole is a good fellow and will share my
triumph! Yes he will! I shall offer to take him up myself, which will make the
others positively green with envy!” laughed Toad.
But as the flying machine came lower, and the
ground ever nearer, the smile fled from his face at what he saw waiting for him
at the far end of his lawn —waiting at the very place where the machine must
soon come to rest and where he had hoped to leap down triumphantly
expense, though one typical of Toad, for the delay in starting coincided with
the thaw, and by the time the great day came, which all unknown to Toad was
that same sad day when the Badger and the others had begun their search for
poor Mole, much of the snow had gone.
Then, at last, he was off, and it was so
exciting that the past delays and difficulties receded behind Toad at the same
ever increasing speed with which the flying machine accelerated the length of
his lawn. Faster and faster, bumpier and bumpier, with Toad letting out little
whoops of delight which ended in one long blissful sigh as, with a final lurch
upwards, he was airborne in his own machine for the first time, and the ground
was falling away beneath him.
“Yes, I’ll go along the river!” he had cried as
they rose, as if he was in command and had a say in the matter, though in fact
the pilot had long since decided what route they would take.
They rose, they banked, they turned and then
they skimmed down-river just above the willows, with the swans and herons, the
moorhens, the mallards and the over-wintering geese fleeing in all directions.
Then suddenly, and so much the better for being
so unexpected, Toad had experienced the very special thrill of seeing beneath
him the Badger, the Water Rat and all the rest — all static as he moved, all
staring as he triumphed.
“Faster!” cried Toad.
“Higher!” commanded Toad.
“Steeper!” whooped Toad.
Now, his trials and tribulations seeming all
behind him, in a trice Toad brought himself back to the present and thought in
his conceited way, “There’s no doubt what they’re saying! No
doubt at all!”
He laughed once more and watched the distant
horizon fall away as they rose ever higher into the sky.
“They are saying’ he told himself, “ ‘There’s Toad, the great Toad, the real Toad! The
Toad we are honoured and privileged to know. The Toad who has deigned to talk
to us in the past, deigned even to entertain us in his home, but who has
recently not been quite himself. Yet now it seems that Toad has found himself
once more! He has triumphed again and will bring honour to us all!”‘
With such vain thoughts as these, and further
thoughts to do with national interest, service to the nation, and some imminent
honour that would put all the shadows of the past to flight, Toad revelled in
the half-hour that followed. The speed was one thing, the noise another, the
power a third, and the aerobatics a fourth — all so much greater than he had
dared hope that he was left in a state of giddy, dizzy breathlessness as,
finally, the pilot turned the machine homewards and they retraced their route,
till they came to the weir and the river above it, with the Wild Wood now to
their left, and to the right, that sorry, scrubby patch of ground where the
Mole lived.
“How impressed he will be by my flight,”
chortled Toad to himself as the flying machine banked into a final turn and the
pilot lined it up ready to land triumphantly upon the lawn before Toad Hall.
“The others — well, no doubt they will
scoff and sneer and seek to belittle this great achievement of mine,” Toad told
himself, for by now he had utterly convinced himself that it was he who had
flown the machine; and he who was landing it. Indeed, he held the useless passenger
joystick in front of him as if he was, and strained to reach the useless
pedals, which were in any case out of reach of his legs, since he was raised so
high on his velveteen cushions.
“But Mole is a good fellow and will share my
triumph! Yes he will! I shall offer to take him up myself, which will make the
others positively green with envy!” laughed Toad.
But as the flying machine came lower, and the
ground ever nearer, the smile fled from his face at what he saw waiting for him
at the far end of his lawn —waiting at the very place where the machine must
soon come to rest and where he had hoped to leap down triumphantly
Similar Books
