The Wind in the Willows - Chapters 3 & 4
Aug 10, 2026 · 46 min · 10 segments
Chapter 3: The Wild Wood Chapter 4: Mr. Badger
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Aug 10, 2026 · 46 min · 10 segments
Chapter 3: The Wild Wood Chapter 4: Mr. Badger
Chapter Three: The Wild Wood.
He seemed, by all accounts, to be a very important person and, though rarely visible, to make his unseen influence felt by everybody.
"Badger will turn up someday or another.
He's always turning up, and then I'll introduce you.
The best of fellows, but you must not only take him as you find him, but when you find him." "Couldn't you ask him here for dinner or something?" asked the Mole.
"Badger, he hates society, and invitations, and dinner, and all that sort of thing." "Well then, supposing we go and call on him?" asked Mole.
"He's so very shy, he'd be sure to be offended.
I've never even ventured to call him at his own home myself, although I know him very well.
Besides, we can't.
It's quite out of the question, because he lives in the very middle of the Wild Wood." "Well, supposing he does," said the Mole.
"You, you told me the Wild Wood was all right, didn't you?" "Oh, I, I know, I know, and so it is," replied the Rat.
"But I think we won't go there just for now, not just yet.
It's a very long way, and he wouldn't be in at home at this time of year anyway.
He'll be coming along someday, if you wait quietly." The Mole had to be content with this, but the Badger never came along, and every day brought its amusements.
But it was not until summer was long over, and cold and frost kept them much indoors, and the swollen river raced past outside their windows with a speed that mocked at the boating of any sort of kind, that he then found his thoughts dwelling again with a must and persistence of Badger, who lived his own life by himself in his hole in the middle of the Wild Wood.
He went to sleep early and rose late, and during his short day, he would sometimes scribble poetry or some other jobs about the house.
And of course, there were always animals dropping in for a chat, and there was a good deal of storytelling and comparing notes on the past summer, and all this sort of thing.
Such a rich chapter it had been when one came to look on it all, with illustrations, so many of them, and so many colorings.
And the riverbank had marched steadily along, unfolding itself in a scene that made everything just seem like it was at the edge of itself, like a mirror almost, with its own face laughing back at it.
Chapter Three: The Wild Wood.
He seemed, by all accounts, to be a very important person and, though rarely visible, to make his unseen influence felt by everybody.
"Badger will turn up someday or another.
He's always turning up, and then I'll introduce you.
The best of fellows, but you must not only take him as you find him, but when you find him." "Couldn't you ask him here for dinner or something?" asked the Mole.
"Badger, he hates society, and invitations, and dinner, and all that sort of thing." "Well then, supposing we go and call on him?" asked Mole.
"He's so very shy, he'd be sure to be offended.
I've never even ventured to call him at his own home myself, although I know him very well.
Besides, we can't.
It's quite out of the question, because he lives in the very middle of the Wild Wood." "Well, supposing he does," said the Mole.
"You, you told me the Wild Wood was all right, didn't you?" "Oh, I, I know, I know, and so it is," replied the Rat.
"But I think we won't go there just for now, not just yet.
It's a very long way, and he wouldn't be in at home at this time of year anyway.
He'll be coming along someday, if you wait quietly." The Mole had to be content with this, but the Badger never came along, and every day brought its amusements.
But it was not until summer was long over, and cold and frost kept them much indoors, and the swollen river raced past outside their windows with a speed that mocked at the boating of any sort of kind, that he then found his thoughts dwelling again with a must and persistence of Badger, who lived his own life by himself in his hole in the middle of the Wild Wood.
He went to sleep early and rose late, and during his short day, he would sometimes scribble poetry or some other jobs about the house.
And of course, there were always animals dropping in for a chat, and there was a good deal of storytelling and comparing notes on the past summer, and all this sort of thing.
Such a rich chapter it had been when one came to look on it all, with illustrations, so many of them, and so many colorings.
And the riverbank had marched steadily along, unfolding itself in a scene that made everything just seem like it was at the edge of itself, like a mirror almost, with its own face laughing back at it.
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