Ducks' tails, drakes' tails, Yellow feet a-quiver, Yellow bills all
out of sight Busy in the river!

Slushy green undergrowth Where the roach swim--Here we keep our
larder, Cool and full and dim.

Everyone for what he likes! WE like to be Heads down, tails up,
Dabbling free!

High in the blue above Swifts whirl and call--WE are down a-dabbling
Up tails all!


'I don't know that I think so VERY much of that little song, Rat,'
observed the Mole cautiously. He was no poet himself and didn't care
who knew it; and he had a candid nature.

'Nor don't the ducks neither,' replied the Rat cheerfully. 'They say,
"WHY can't fellows be allowed to do what they like WHEN they like and
AS they like, instead of other fellows sitting on banks and watching
them all the time and making remarks and poetry and things about them?
What NONSENSE it all is!" That's what the ducks say.'

'So it is, so it is,' said the Mole, with great heartiness.

'No, it isn't!' cried the Rat indignantly.

'Well then, it isn't, it isn't,' replied the Mole soothingly. 'But
what I wanted to ask you was, won't you take me to call on Mr. Toad?