ten o'clock at
night
The gaoler nodded grimly , laying his withered hand on the shoulder of the miserable Toad . The rusty key creaked in the lock , the great door clanged behind them ; and Toad was a helpless prisoner in the remotest dungeon of the best-guarded keep of the stoutest castle in all the length and breadth of Merry England . The Willow-Wren was twittering his thin little song , hidden himself in the dark selvedge of the river bank . Though it was past ten o'clock at night , the sky still clung to and retained some lingering skirts of light from the departed day ; and the sullen heats of the torrid afternoon broke up and rolled away at the dispersing touch of the cool fingers of the short midsummer night . Mole lay stretched on the bank , still panting from the stress of the fierce day that had been cloudless from dawn to late sunset , and waited for his friend to return . He had been on the river with some companions , leaving the Water Rat free to keep an engagement of long standing with Otter ; and he had come back to find the house dark and deserted , and no sign of Rat , who was doubtless keeping it up late with his old comrade . It was still too hot to think of staying indoors , so he lay on some cool dock-leaves , and thought over the past day and its doings , and how very good they all had been .