“Harrum,” said Captain Mole to himself as he pulled his mushroom-boat to the stream’s edge. It was such a sunshiny, bright day, and the water was so clear and bubbly. Master Robin Redcoat was composing an opera in the branches of his maple tree, and the lazy crickets hummed a chorus as they warmed up their wing-violins. The bulrushes nodded in the breeze, and the soft cottony clouds drifted as though they had all the time in the world to get where they were going.
It was a day meant for boating. And Captain Eusebius Mole, being the sensible fellow that he was, took his leaf-oar and started out.