He Had Got Down To The Bones

There He Got Out The Luncheon-basket And Packed A Simple Meal, In Which, Remembering The Stranger's Origin And Preferences, He Took Care To Include A Yard Of Long French Bread, A Sausage Out Of Which The Garlic Sang, Some Cheese Which Lay Down And Cried, And A Long-necked Straw-covered Flask Wherein Lay Bottled Sunshine Shed And Garnered On Far Southern Slopes.

The Wild Wood Is Pretty Well Populated By Now; With All The Usual Lot, Good, Bad, And Indifferent--i Name No Names. It Takes All Sorts To Make A World.

Toad, With No One To Check His Statements Or To Criticize 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 Raciest Adventures; And Why Should They Not Be Truly Ours, As Much As The Somewhat Inadequate Things That Really Come Off?

"glorious, Stirring Sight!" Murmured Toad. . . . "the Poetry Of Motion! The Real Way To Travel! The Only Way To Travel! Here Today - In Next Week Tomorrow! Villages Skipped, Towns And Cities Jumped- Always Somebody Else's Horizons! O Bliss! O Poop-poop! O My! O My!"

An Errant May-fly Swerved Unsteadily Athwart The Current In The Intoxicated Fashion Affected By Young Bloods Of May-flies Seeing Life. A Swirl Of Water And A 'cloop!' And The May-fly Was Visible No More