Lenten season: a truly altered toad

To all dear fellow sufferers who are practicing humility this Lent:

"Then he heaved a deep sigh; a long, long, long sigh.

Then he dipped his hairbrush in the water-jug, parted his hair in the
middle, and plastered it down very straight and sleek on each side of
his face; and, unlocking the door, went quietly down the stairs to greet
his guests, who he knew must be assembling in the drawing-room.

All the animals cheered when he entered, and crowded round to
congratulate him and say nice things about his courage, and his
cleverness, and his fighting qualities; but Toad only smiled faintly,
and murmured, 'Not at all!' Or, sometimes, for a change, 'On the
contrary!' Otter, who was standing on the hearthrug, describing to an
admiring circle of friends exactly how he would have managed things had
he been there, came forward with a shout, threw his arm round Toad's
neck, and tried to take him round the room in triumphal progress; but
Toad, in a mild way, was rather snubby to him, remarking gently, as he
disengaged himself, 'Badger's was the mastermind; the Mole and the Water
Rat bore the brunt of the fighting; I merely served in the ranks and did
little or nothing.' The animals were evidently puzzled and taken aback
by this unexpected attitude of his; and Toad felt, as he moved from one
guest to the other, making his modest responses, that he was an object
of absorbing interest to every one.

The Badger had ordered everything of the best, and the banquet was a
great success. There was much talking and laughter and chaff among the
animals, but through it all Toad, who of course was in the chair, looked
down his nose and murmured pleasant nothings to the animals on either
side of him. At intervals he stole a glance at the Badger and the Rat,
and always when he looked they were staring at each other with their
mouths open; and this gave him the greatest satisfaction. Some of the
younger and livelier animals, as the evening wore on, got whispering
to each other that things were not so amusing as they used to be in the
good old days; and there were some knockings on the table and cries of
'Toad! Speech! Speech from Toad! Song! Mr. Toad's song!' But Toad only
shook his head gently, raised one paw in mild protest, and, by pressing
delicacies on his guests, by topical small-talk, and by earnest
inquiries after members of their families not yet old enough to appear
at social functions, managed to convey to them that this dinner was
being run on strictly conventional lines.

He was indeed an altered Toad!"

--From The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame.