The tunnel – as he eased his way back into it – seemed cooler and more peaceful than it had a moment ago, if such a thing were possible. Judging from the wails now coming from above ("Do as you wish with me then, cruel Mrs Hedgepig. I shall bear it like a Toad") it probably was. Toad lit the lantern and slid the trap-door over the gap. Then he heaved a huge sigh of relief.
"Escape at last!" he breathed. "And not a moment too soon." The lamplit gloom seemed to fold over him like a cool sheet on a summer's evening. Little shadows danced on the moss-covered walls. The Toad felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Here, finally, he was his own master again, with no need to trouble his head about anything tiresome or annoying.
"And the only question is," he said to himself, munching on a biscuit and looking contemplatively around, "what to do with myself now that I'm here. I can't very well stand about eating biscuits and stubbing my toes on… what is this sharp stuff anyway?"
He moved the lantern around to get a better view. "Why, it's a bit of brick," he said. "And here's another one. How strange! It looks as if the whole floor of the tunnel was covered with them once. Look, here's a bit that's still in place." He felt it with his fingers: small, crumbly bricks held together with grey, crumbly mortar. "Just like a road," Toad said to himself. He straightened his back and picked up the lantern. "And just the road for a Toad to walk on, I should think. The road to calm and contentment."
And so saying he began to walk along the passage, picking his way among the broken bricks and the slippery footholds. The shadows grew and shrank against the roots and earthy walls, and sometimes Toad thought he could pick out more of the crumbly brickwork behind the vegetation. At one point, he even thought he saw a painted eye staring out at him in a sudden flare as his candle started to sputter. ("But that's nonsense, of course," Toad told himself). It was interesting, though: the walls of the tunnel rose much higher than Toad would have expected them to. "And that is saying something," he muttered, swinging the lamp. "I really ought to have read up more on the history of this place. I simply had no idea this passage existed."
By now, he had walked some considerable distance from the banqueting-hall, possibly even from Toad Hall itself. Certainly, the cries and wailings were well out of earshot. Not the sound of a voice or even the piping of a bird was to be heard at all.
"Bliss!" said the Toad to himself. "This truly is the life! No more cleaning days. No more bicycles. No more" – he shuddered as a cold chill gripped his heart – "no more Garden Party. I shall be free from every annoying visitor and well-meaning friend who thinks he can turn up uninvited to empty my larder and ply me with unwanted advice and nonsense about the social scene."
It might be inferred from this that there was as much beneath the surface of Toad's annoyance with the day so far, as there was beneath the floorboards of his butler's pantry, but it would not be polite to say so. Toad, for one, did not dwell on it. There were far more immediate things to occupy his imagination. The tunnel stretched on. There was so much one could do with it, Toad thought. After all, there was no better place for getting away from it all. It could become quite a regular escape. The idea pleased him tremendously. As he walked deeper into the contortions of the passageway, he began to imagine more vividly his plans for excavating and improving his newly-discovered retreat. The roots and growths would have to be trimmed, of course. (Toad was disentangling yet another one from around his head as he thought this). And a lot of this earth could be shifted away. Then he supposed he would have to think about re-laying the pavement, to prevent himself tripping and slipping quite so often. It was a pity that he would probably have to get animals in to do that, but it really couldn't be helped.
"I could always swear them to secrecy," Toad decided. "And have them bring down a few bits of furniture while they were at it."
The suggestion of furniture set his plans off all over again, on an even grander scale. Re-painting sprang to Toad's mind, along with decorating and careful arrangement of tasteful objects. Wallpaper might not go amiss, were it not so damp. Curtains would certainly be a welcome addition. He had soon pictured an entire underground sitting-room, complete with a supply of sporting papers and a box of Havanas.
"A lamp or two there," he said to himself, "a foot-rest here and the whole thing could be very satisfactory. Very satisfactory indeed." He nodded to himself and surveyed the scene. "An underground retreat. I do believe every gentleman should have one. A most welcome addition to any country residence."
This thought naturally led him to thinking about who would not be welcome in his private retreat. Voles came particularly high on the list, followed closely by women in general. ("Don't' need 'em," Toad muttered gruffly). And then there was his son.
"Piper forbid that he should get so much as a whiff of this place!" Toad mopped his brow vigorously. "Some things are more than a father can stand."
"And as for friends," said Toad, gazing up at the tunnel roof, which at this point was noticeably clear of roots and looked like nothing so much as a vaulted archway. "As for friends, I suppose Badger's sort are all right. Keeps himself to himself does old Badger, and doesn't interfere. And that young lad of the Water Rats' who called round the other morning to bring back that bicycle wheel. Bright as a button, he was. If young Toady knew more like him, he might keep out of trouble more. But really…" He looked at the roof again. Where had he seen something like that before? Surely no animal he knew built in that fashion? It was imposing, mysterious even. "Really, is it worth the effort? It's only an endless round of repaying calls, and for what? For constant interruptions and inconveniences, that's what. No, on your own you know where you are. And that," he said, planting his feet firmly on the crumbling brickwork, "is where I intend to spend the best part of my time from now on."
He glanced again at the passage wall, just below the arch. For a moment, he could have sworn that he caught a glimpse of a hand fingering a set of pipes, and the queerest feeling came over him, as though something very important were about to happen. He almost stopped walking. But a step or two later, he began to sense a growing freshness in the air, a scent of sedge and reedmace and the delightful richness of a summer evening by running water. All Nature's best flavours came wafting towards him: damp earth and sun-warmed stones, tinged with the faint smell of hay drifting in from the distant meadows.
"The riverbank!" exclaimed Toad. "So that's where this passage leads. I should have known it all along." By now the earthy darkness was starting to give way to a greenish light in the distance. Toad stepped towards it with rising spirits. "But this is simply splendid. Could hardly have planned it better myself."