'Bother them!' said Toad
to himself. 'But, anyhow, one thing's clear. They must both be coming
FROM somewhere, and going TO somewhere. You can't get over that.
Toad, my boy!' So he marched on patiently by the water's edge.
Round a bend in the canal came plodding a solitary horse, stooping
forward as if in anxious thought. From rope traces attached to his
collar stretched a long line, taut, but dipping with his stride, the
further part of it dripping pearly drops. Toad let the horse pass, and
stood waiting for what the fates were sending him.
With a pleasant swirl of quiet water at its blunt bow the barge slid
up alongside of him, its gaily painted gunwale level with the
towing-path, its sole occupant a big stout woman wearing a linen
sun-bonnet, one brawny arm laid along the tiller.
'A nice morning, ma'am!' she remarked to Toad, as she drew up level
with him.
'I dare say it is, ma'am!' responded Toad politely, as he walked along
the tow-path abreast of her. 'I dare it IS a nice morning to them
that's not in sore trouble, like what I am. Here's my married
daughter, she sends off to me post-haste to come to her at once; so
off I comes, not knowing what may be happening or going to happen, but
fearing the worst, as you will understand, ma'am, if you're a mother,
too.
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