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 should rightly be? Why, Toad, of course; clever Toad, great Toad, good Toad!'

Then he burst into song again, and chanted with uplifted voice—

"The motor-car went Poop-poop-poop,               As it raced along the road.             Who was it steered it into a pond?                Ingenious Mr. Toad!

O, how clever I am! How clever, how clever, how very clev—"

A slight noise at a distance behind him made him turn his head and look. O horror! O misery! O despair!

About two fields off, a chauffeur in his leather gaiters and two large rural policemen were visible, running towards him as hard as they could go!

Poor Toad sprang to his feet and pelted away again, his heart in his mouth. "O, my!" he gasped, as he panted along, "what an ass I am! What a conceited and heedless ass! Swaggering again! Shouting and singing songs again! Sitting still and gassing again! O my! O my! O my!"