He slowly opened his eyes to find his head supported by the softest of down pillows, encased in the finest of linen pillowcases, and his hands resting upon the crispest and whitest of turned-down sheets, beyond which, ruffled only by his now blissfully cool legs and feet, was a quilted eiderdown overlaid with a silken bedspread. He was gratified to find himself still attired just as he had been, complete with goggles, his identity as aviator thus far seemingly intact. He peered about suspiciously before taking the goggles off so that he might take a better look at where he was, and found himself in a large and spacious bedchamber, about as large as the refectory in Toad Hall itself. He lay, like a well—framed picture, in the largest, highest and grandest of mahogany four-poster beds. Toad sighed with contentment and lazily examined his surroundings from his supine position. Across the room, though not quite opposite his bed, was a splendid coal fire, its flames warm and merry. Off to his left was an exterior wall, with two tall windows, reaching nearly as high as the lofty ceiling, and nearly as low as the floor, and curtained with the folds and drapes and hangings of the softest, palest of pale pink and mauve materials.
