...Absorbed in the new scents, the sounds, and the sunlight... - Kenneth Grahame

Toad's ancestral home, won back by matchless valour, consummate strategy, and a proper handling of sticks.

Rat sculled gently homewards in a dreamy mood, murmuring poetry-things over to himself,

The Mole was a good listener, and Toad, with no one to check his statements or to criticise in an unfriendly spirit, rather let himself go. Indeed, much that he related belonged more properly to the category of what-might-have-happened-had-I-only-thought-of-it-in-time-instead-of ten-minutes-afterwards. Those are always the best and the raciest adventures; and why should they not be truly ours, as much as the somewhat inadequate things that really come off?