



Produced by Joe Longo, Emmy and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net











THE TALE OF
FERDINAND FROG




SLEEPY-TIME TALES

(Trademark Registered)

  BY
  ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY

AUTHOR OF TUCK-ME-IN TALES

(Trademark Registered)

        THE TALE OF CUFFY BEAR
        THE TALE OF FRISKY SQUIRREL
        THE TALE OF TOMMY FOX
        THE TALE OF FATTY <DW53>
        THE TALE OF BILLY WOODCHUCK
        THE TALE OF JIMMY RABBIT
        THE TALE OF PETER MINK
        THE TALE OF SANDY CHIPMUNK
        THE TALE OF BROWNIE BEAVER
        THE TALE OF PADDY MUSKRAT
        THE TALE OF FERDINAND FROG
        THE TALE OF DICKIE DEER MOUSE

[Illustration: Mr. Frog Bows to Aunt Polly Woodchuck]




SLEEPY-TIME TALES (Trademark Registered)


  THE TALE OF
  FERDINAND
  FROG

  BY
  ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY

Author of "TUCK-ME-IN TALES"

(Trademark Registered)

  ILLUSTRATED BY
  HARRY L. SMITH

  NEW YORK
  GROSSET & DUNLAP
  PUBLISHERS
  Made in the United States of America




  Copyright, 1918,
  by GROSSET & DUNLAP




CONTENTS


CHAPTER                                   PAGE

      I  PRETTY AS A PICTURE                9

     II  THE DANGERS OF TRAVEL             14

    III  MR. FROG'S DOUBLE                 19

     IV  MR. CROW LOSES SOMETHING          25

      V  MR. FROG'S SECRET SORROW          31

     VI  TIRED TIM DOES A FAVOR            36

    VII  THE SINGING-PARTY                 42

   VIII  THE MISSING SUPPER                46

     IX  THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER           51

      X  CATCHING UP WITH MR. FROG         56

     XI  MR. FROG IS IN NO HURRY           61

    XII  A BAD BLUNDER                     66

   XIII  A SIXTY-INCH MEAL                 71

    XIV  AN UNPLEASANT MIX-UP              77

     XV  EVERYONE IS HAPPY                 82

    XVI  STOP THAT!                        87

   XVII  A LONG, SHARP BILL                92

  XVIII  MAKING BUTTON-HOLES               97

    XIX  THE SWIMMING TEACHER             103

     XX  DISTURBING THE NEIGHBORS         109

    XXI  MUD BATHS                        114

   XXII  HOLDING HIS BREATH               119

  XXIII  MR. FROG RUNS AWAY               124




THE TALE OF FERDINAND FROG




I

PRETTY AS A PICTURE


There was something about Ferdinand Frog that made everybody smile. It
may have been his amazingly wide mouth and his queer, bulging eyes, or
perhaps it was his sprightly manner--for one never could tell when Mr.
Frog would leap into the air, or turn a somersault backward. Indeed,
some of his neighbors claimed that he himself didn't know what he was
going to do next--he was so _jumpy_.

Anyhow, all the wild folk in Pleasant Valley agreed that Ferdinand Frog
was an agreeable person to have around. No matter what happened, he was
always cheerful. Nobody ever heard of his losing his temper, though to
be sure he was sometimes the means of other peoples losing theirs. But
let a body be as angry as he pleased with Mr. Frog, Mr. Frog would
continue to smile and smirk.

Of course, such extreme cheerfulness often made angry folk only the more
furious, especially when the whole trouble was Ferdinand Frog's own
fault. But it made no difference to him what blunder he had made. He was
always ready to make another--and smile at the same time.

Really, he was so good-natured that nobody could feel peevish towards
him for long. In fact, he was a great favorite--especially among the
ladies. Whenever he met one of them--it might be the youngest of the
Rabbit sisters, or old Aunt Polly Woodchuck--he never failed to make the
lowest of bows, smile the broadest of smiles, and inquire after her
health.

That was Ferdinand Frog--known far and wide for his elegant manners.
Every young lady declared that he wore exquisite clothes, too; and many
of them secretly thought him quite good-looking.

But people as old as Aunt Polly Woodchuck seldom take heed of what a
person wears. As for Mr. Frog's looks, since Aunt Polly believed that
"handsome is as handsome does," she admitted that Ferdinand Frog was--as
she put it--"purty as a picter."

When Ferdinand Frog heard that, he was so delighted that he hurried
straight home and put on his best suit. And then he spent most of a
whole afternoon smiling at his reflection in the surface of the Beaver
pond, where he was living at the time.

So it is easy to see that Ferdinand Frog was a vain and silly fellow. He
was even foolish enough to repeat Aunt Polly's remark to everybody he
chanced to meet that night, and the following day as well.

There was no one who could help grinning at Ferdinand Frog's news--he
looked so comical. And old Mr. Crow, who was noted for his rudeness,
even burst out with a hoarse _haw-haw_.

"You're pretty as a picture, eh?" he chuckled. "I suppose Aunt Polly
means that you're as pretty as one of the pictures that the circus men
have pasted on Farmer Green's barn. . . . I believe----" he added, as
he stared at Ferdinand Frog----"I believe I know which one Aunt Polly
means."

"Is that so?" cried Mr. Frog, swelling himself up--through pride--until
it seemed that he must burst. "Oh, which picture is it?"

"It's the one in the upper left-hand corner," old Mr. Crow informed him
solemnly. "And if you haven't yet seen it, you should take a good look
at it soon."

"I will!" Ferdinand Frog declared. "I'll visit Farmer Green's place this
very night!"

And he opened his mouth and smiled so widely that old Mr. Crow couldn't
help shuddering--though he knew well enough that Ferdinand Frog could
never swallow anyone as big as he was.




II

THE DANGERS OF TRAVEL


It was a long way to Farmer Green's from the Beaver pond where Ferdinand
Frog made his home. But he felt that he simply _must_ see that picture
which Mr. Crow said looked like him. So he started out just before
sunset.

One thing, at least, about his journey pleased him: he could make the
trip by water--and he certainly did hate travelling on land.

Luckily the stream that trickled its way below the Beaver dam led
straight to Swift River. And everybody who knew anything was aware that
Swift River ran right under the bridge not far from the farmhouse.

So Mr. Frog leaped spryly into the brook and struck out downstream.

He was a famous swimmer, having been used to the water from the time he
was a tadpole. And now he swam so fast, with the help of the current,
that he reached the river by the time the moon was up.

As he looked up at the sky Ferdinand Frog was both glad and sorry that
there was a moon that night. The moon would be a good thing, provided he
reached the end of his journey, for it would give him a fine clear view
of the picture on the barn, which he so much wanted to see. On the other
hand, he would have preferred a dark night for a swim in Swift River.
There were fish there--pickerel--which would rather swallow him than
not. And he knew that they were sure to be feeding by the light of the
moon.

If Mr. Frog hadn't always looked on the bright side of life no doubt he
would have waited a week or two, until there was no moon at all. But he
remarked to himself with a grin, as he hurried along, that he had never
yet seen the pickerel that was quick enough to catch him, and
furthermore, he never expected to.

But those words were hardly out of Ferdinand Frog's mouth when he turned
and made for the bank as fast as he could go. He had caught sight of a
dark, long-nosed fish lying among some weeds. And he decided suddenly
that he would finish his journey by land.

"It would be a shame----" he told himself, as he flopped up the steep
bank----"it would be a shame for so handsome a person as I am to be
eaten by a fish."

"But you wouldn't object to a bird, would you?" said a voice right in
Ferdinand Frog's ear--or so it seemed to him.

He made no answer--not even stopping to bow, or say good evening--but
turned a somersault backward and hid himself under the overhanging bank.

It was Solomon Owl who had spoken to him. There was no mistaking the
loud, mocking laughter that followed Mr. Frog's hasty retreat.

"Solomon Owl is a great joker," Mr. Frog murmured with a smile. "He was
only teasing me. . . . Still, he might be a bit hungry. So I'll stay here
out of harm's way for a while, for it would be a shame for so handsome a
person as I am to be eaten by an old, rascally bird like Solomon Owl."

One can judge, just by that remark, that Ferdinand Frog was not quite so
polite as his neighbors supposed--_when there was no one to hear what he
said_.




III

MR. FROG'S DOUBLE


Mr. Frog waited until it was broad daylight before he left his hiding
place beneath the bank of the river. He knew that by that time Solomon
Owl must have gone home to his hemlock tree to get his rest. So
Ferdinand Frog felt quite safe again.

Having made up his mind that he would finish his journey to Farmer
Green's place by land, he started briskly across the cornfield,
travelling in a straight line between two rows of young corn.

He had not gone far before a hoarse voice called to him. But this time
he was not alarmed.

It was only old Mr. Crow, who seemed greatly pleased to see him.

"Hullo, young fellow!" said Mr. Crow. "If you're on your way to the barn
to look at that picture, I'll fly over there myself, because I'd like to
see it again."

"Aren't you afraid of meeting Farmer Green?" Ferdinand Frog asked him.

"Afraid?" Mr. Crow snorted. "Certainly not! We're the best of friends.
He set up this straw man here, just to keep me company. . . . Besides,"
he went on, "at this time o' day Farmer Green is inside the barn, milking
the cows. And we'll be outside it, looking at the circus pictures."

"We can call to him, if you want to say good morning to him," Ferdinand
Frog suggested cheerfully.

"Oh, no!" his companion said quickly. "I wouldn't want to do that--he's
so busy."

Ferdinand Frog smiled. And for some reason old Mr. Crow seemed
displeased.

"What's the joke?" he inquired in a surly tone. "Something seems to
amuse you. Why are you grinning?"

"It's just a habit I have," Ferdinand Frog explained.

"I'd try to break myself of that habit, if I were you," Mr. Crow advised
him. "Some day it will get you into trouble, for you're likely to grin
when you oughtn't to. There's a wrong time and a right time for
everything, you know."

"Just as there is for planting corn," Mr. Frog chimed in.

"Exactly!" Mr. Crow returned.

"And for eating it!" Mr. Frog added.

But old Mr. Crow only said hastily that he would be at the barn by the
time Ferdinand reached it. And without another word he flapped himself
away across the field.

"He's a queer one," said Ferdinand Frog to himself. "It seems as if a
person couldn't please him, no matter how much a person tried." Then he
untied his necktie, and tied it again, because he thought one end of the
bow was longer than the other; and that was something he couldn't
endure.

Then he resumed his jumping. And after exactly one hundred and
thirty-two jumps he reached a corner of Farmer Green's great barn, where
he found old Mr. Crow waiting for him.

"Still smiling, I see," the old gentleman observed gruffly. "Maybe
you'll laugh out of the other corner of your mouth after you've seen
the pretty picture that you look like."

"I hope so! Where is it?" Ferdinand Frog asked him eagerly. "Show me the
pretty one!"

"Come with me!" said old Mr. Crow. And he led the way around the barn,
stopping before the side that faced the road.

"There!" he cried. "It's in the upper left-hand corner, just as I told
you." And he chuckled as loud as he dared--with Farmer Green inside the
building, milking the cows.

As Ferdinand Frog gazed upward a shadow of disappointment came over his
face. And for once he did not smile.

"Do I look like that?" he faltered.

"You certainly do," old Mr. Crow assured him. "See those eyes--don't
they bulge just like yours? And look at that mouth! It's fully as wide
as yours--and maybe a trifle wider!"

"The face does look a bit like mine, I'll admit," Ferdinand Frog
muttered. "But no one could ever mistake one of us for the other. . . .
What's the name of this creature?"

"It's called the _hippopotamus_," old Mr. Crow replied. "I heard Johnnie
Green say so. And he ought to know, if anyone does."




IV

MR. CROW LOSES SOMETHING


The picture of the hippopotamus on Farmer Green's barn did not please
Ferdinand Frog. But in a few moments he began to smile again.

"You've made a mistake," he told old Mr. Crow with a snicker. "When Aunt
Polly Woodchuck said I was as pretty as a picture she never could have
had this one in mind."

"Why not?" Mr. Crow inquired. "The eyes and the mouth----"

"Yes! Yes--I know!" Ferdinand interrupted. "But this creature has a
tail! And tails are terribly out of fashion. I haven't worn one since I
was a tadpole."

That was enough for old Mr. Crow. _He_ had a tail----or tail feathers,
at least. And he at once flew into a terrible rage.

"You've insulted me!" he shouted.

Ferdinand Frog knew then that he had blundered. So he hastened to mend
matters.

"There, there!" he said in a soothing tone. "Having a tail is not so
bad, after all; for you can always cut it off, if you want to be in
style." And he was surprised to find that his remark only made Mr. Crow
angrier than ever.

[Illustration: Old Mr. Crow Plays a Joke on Mr. Frog]

"Cut off my tail, indeed!" the old gentleman snorted. "I'd be a pretty
sight, if I did. Why, I wouldn't part with a single tail-feather, on any
account." He continued to scold Ferdinand Frog at the top of his lungs,
telling him that he was a silly fellow, and that nobody--unless it
was a few foolish young creatures--thought he was the least bit
handsome.

Now, old Mr. Crow was in such a temper that he forgot that Farmer Green
was inside the barn. And he made so much noise that Farmer Green heard
him and peeped around the corner of the barn to see what was going on.

A moment later the old shot-gun went off with a terrific roar. Ferdinand
Frog saw Mr. Crow spring up and go tearing off towards the woods. And a
long, black tail-feather floated slowly down out of the air and settled
on the ground near the place where Mr. Crow had been standing.

After shaking his fist in Mr. Crow's direction, Farmer Green
disappeared.

"That's a pity," Mr. Frog thought. "Mr. Crow has parted with one of his
tail-feathers. And I must find him as soon as I can and tell him how
sorry I am."

Then Mr. Frog turned to look at the other pictures, which covered the
whole side of the big barn. He beheld many strange creatures--some with
necks of enormous length, some with humps on their backs, and all of
them of amazing colors.

But whether they were ringed, streaked or striped, not one of them
was--in Mr. Frog's opinion--one-half as beautiful as the hippopotamus.

"Even he----" Mr. Frog decided----"even he couldn't be called half as
handsome as I am. For once old Mr. Crow certainly was mistaken."

And he began to laugh. And while he was laughing, Farmer Green came out
of the barn with a pail of milk in each hand.

Then Ferdinand Frog had a happy thought. Why not ask Farmer Green to
shoot off the tail of the hippopotamus? The loss of that ugly tail would
improve the creature's looks, and make him appear still more like Mr.
Frog himself.

At least, that was Mr. Frog's own opinion.

And he called to Farmer Green and suggested to him that he step out
behind the barn and take a shot at the tail of the hippopotamus.

"Try your luck!" Mr. Frog coaxed. "It's plain to see that you need
practice, or you'd have made Mr. Crow part with all his tail-feathers,
instead of only one." And he laughed harder than ever.

But Farmer Green paid little heed to Ferdinand Frog's wheedling,
although he did smile and say:

"I declare, I believe that bull frog's jeering at me because I missed
the old crow!"




V

MR. FROG'S SECRET SORROW


Ferdinand Frog always looked so cheerful that no one ever suspected that
he had a secret sorrow. But it is true, nevertheless, that something
troubled him, though he took great pains not to let a single one of his
neighbors know that anything grieved him.

His trouble was simply this: he had never been invited to attend the
singing-parties which the Frog family held almost every evening in Cedar
Swamp.

Now, Ferdinand Frog loved to sing at night.

Indeed, he liked nothing better than to go to the lake not far from the
Beaver dam and practice his songs among the lily pads near the shore. He
had a deep, powerful bass voice, which one could hear a mile or more
across the water on a still evening.

Often he dressed himself with the greatest care and went to the lake
alone, where he stayed half the night and sang so loudly that a good
many of the wild folk who lived in the neighborhood thought him a great
nuisance. Not caring for music, they objected to being forced to listen
to Ferdinand Frog's favorite songs.

"Why don't you go over to Cedar Swamp, if you want to make a noise?" one
of the Beaver family who was known as Tired Tim asked Mr. Frog one
evening. "You have come here for nine nights running; and your racket
has upset me so that I haven't done a stroke of work in all this time."

Mr. Frog had puffed himself up and had just opened his mouth to begin a
new song. But upon being spoken to so rudely he closed his mouth quickly
and swallowed several times. For just a second or two he was speechless,
he was so surprised. And then presently he began to giggle.

"I believe you," he said. "I believe that you haven't done a stroke of
work for ninety nights." He knew--as did everybody else--that Tired Tim
was the laziest person for miles around.

"I said nine--not ninety," Tired Tim corrected him.

"Oh! My mistake!" Mr. Frog replied.

"You haven't answered my question," Tired Tim reminded him with a wide
yawn. "I asked you why you didn't attend the singing-parties over in
Cedar Swamp. You could croak your head off there and no one would stop
you."

But Mr. Frog shook his head. And at the same time, he sighed.

"No!" he said. "I'd rather sing here on the border of the lake. The
trouble is, _I sing too well_ for those fellows over in Cedar Swamp."

"Why don't you join them and teach them how to sing, if you know so much
about it?" Tired Tim persisted.

"Oh, I've no time for that," Ferdinand Frog answered.

And then it was his companion's turn to snicker.

"You appear to have plenty of time to waste here," he observed. "It's my
opinion that there's just one reason why you don't go to the Cedar Swamp
singing parties."

"What's that?" Mr. Frog inquired with a slight trace of uneasiness.

"They haven't invited you."

"How did you guess that?" Ferdinand Frog asked him.

He wished, the next moment, that he had not put that question to Tired
Tim. For he saw at once that he had given his sad secret away.




VI

TIRED TIM DOES A FAVOR


In spite of all Ferdinand Frog's teasing, Tired Tim Beaver refused to
explain how he happened to know Mr. Frog's secret.

To tell the truth, he had _guessed_ the reason why Mr. Frog did not
attend the Cedar Swamp singing-parties. But he hoped that Ferdinand Frog
would think that some of the musical Frog family had been talking to
him. And he even hinted to Mr. Frog that maybe it would be possible to
get him an invitation to the singing-parties.

"Do you think you could do that?" Ferdinand Frog asked him with, great
eagerness.

"I _might_ be able to; but it wouldn't be an easy matter," Tired Tim
replied. "And I'd expect you to do something for me, if I went to so
much trouble on your account."

"I'll do _anything_ for you, in return for an invitation to the Cedar
Swamp singing-parties," Ferdinand Frog declared.

"Very well!" Tired Tim told him. "I'll go right over to the swamp now.
And when I tell 'em a few things, I know they'll want you to join 'em."

Ferdinand Frog felt so gay that he stood on his head and waved his feet
in the air.

"Let's meet here to-morrow night," he suggested.

But Tired Tim objected to that plan.

"You would be hanging about this place--and singing--for four-and-twenty
hours," he grumbled. "It will be a great deal better if we meet on the
edge of the swamp."

"Just as you wish!" Ferdinand Frog exclaimed. "And since you're going to
Cedar Swamp, I'll hop along with you, to keep you company."

"You forget----" said Tired Tim Beaver----"you forget that you haven't
been invited yet."

"Have you?" Mr. Frog inquired.

"Certainly!" said Tired Tim. And grinning over his shoulder, he swam
away.

Mr. Frog watched his friend from the shore.

"He can't fool me," he muttered. "Tired Tim _invited himself_. And I've
been stupid not to do likewise."

On the following night Ferdinand Frog went to the edge of Cedar Swamp,
where he waited somewhat impatiently on a log until Tired Tim Beaver
joined him.

"Well!" Mr. Frog cried. "I'm glad to see you and I hope you've brought
my invitation."

But Tired Tim wouldn't say yes or no.

"If I succeed in getting you into the Cedar Swamp singing-parties will
you promise me that you won't sing any more around the lake, or near our
pond, either?" he demanded.

Ferdinand Frog gave his solemn promise.

"Very well, then!" Tired Tim said. "Go along over to the swamp. They're
expecting you."

When he heard the good news Ferdinand Frog was so delighted that he
leaped into the air and kicked his heels together.

And then forgetting his solemn promise, he began to bellow at the top of
his voice:

        "To Cedar Swamp I'll haste away;
           Though first I'll sing a song.
         My voice I must not waste to-day,
           So I'll not keep you long.
         I simply want to let you know
           I'm much obliged, before I go."

"Don't mention it!" said Tired Tim.

"Don't interrupt me, please!" said Ferdinand Frog. "I haven't finished
thanking you yet. That's only the first verse."

"How many more are there?" Tired Tim inquired with a yawn.

"Ninety-nine!" Mr. Frog answered. And he was somewhat surprised--and
puzzled--when Tired Tim left him suddenly and plunged into the
underbrush.




VII

THE SINGING-PARTY


Ferdinand Frog lost no time, after Tired Tim left him. He jumped into
the swamp and made straight towards the very middle of it, whence he
could already hear the chorus of the numerous Frog family; for the
singing-party had begun.

Mr. Frog made all haste, not wishing to miss any more of the fun. Now
swimming, now leaping from one hummock to another--or sometimes to an
old stump--he quickly reached the place where the Frog family were
enjoying themselves.

"Here he is!" several of the singers exclaimed as soon as Ferdinand
Frog's head popped out of the water, in their midst.

He saw at once that they had been expecting him; and he smiled and
bowed--and waited for the company to stop singing and give him a warm
greeting with their cold, damp hands. But except for those first few
words, no one paid the slightest attention to the newcomer.

In fact, nobody even took the trouble to nod to Ferdinand Frog--much
less to shake hands with him and tell him that he was welcome.

Meanwhile one song followed another with hardly a pause between them.
And Mr. Frog found that he did not know the words of even one.

He was so impatient that at last he climbed upon an old fallen
tree-trunk, which stuck out of the greenish-black water, and began to
roar his favorite song, while he beat time for the other singers. The
name of that song was "A Frog on a Log in a Bog"; and Ferdinand Frog
thought that he couldn't have chosen another so fitting.

But the rest of the singing-party had other ideas. They turned about and
scowled at Mr. Frog as if he had done something most unpleasant.

"Stop! Stop!" several of them cried. And an important-looking fellow
near him shouted, "Don't sing that, for pity's sake!"

"Why not?" Ferdinand Frog faltered. "What's the matter with my song?
It's my special favorite, which I sing at least fifty times each night,
regularly."

"It's old stuff," the other told him with a sneer. "We haven't sung that
for a year, at least."

Ferdinand Frog did not try to argue with him. But as soon as he saw
another chance he began a different ditty.

Then a loud groan arose. And somebody stopped him again. And Mr. Frog
soon learned that they hadn't sung that one for a year and a half.

Though he tried again and again, he had no better luck. But he kept
smiling bravely. And finally he asked the company in a loud voice if he
"wasn't going to have a chance."

"Certainly!" a number of the singers assured him. "Your chance is coming
later. We shan't forget you."

And that made Ferdinand Frog feel better. He told himself that he could
wait patiently for a time--if it wasn't too long.




VIII

THE MISSING SUPPER


Ferdinand Frog had begun to feel uneasy again. He was afraid that the
singers had forgotten their promise to him. But at last they suddenly
started a rousing song which made him take heart again.

They roared out the chorus in a joyful way which left no doubt in his
mind that his chance was at hand:

        "Now that the concert is ended
           We'll sit at the banquet and feast.
         Now that the singing's suspended
           We'll dine till it's gray in the east."

Mr. Frog only hoped that the company did not expect him to sing to them
_all_ the time while they were banqueting.

"They needn't think--" he murmured under his breath--"they needn't think
I don't like good things to eat as well as they do." But he let no one
see that he was worried. That was Ferdinand Frog's way: almost always he
managed to smile, no matter how things went.

When the last echoes of the song had died away a great hubbub arose.
Everybody crowded around Mr. Frog. And there were cries of "Now! Now!"

He thought, of course, that they wanted to hear him sing. So he started
once more to sing his favorite song. But they stopped him quickly.

"We've finished the songs for to-night," they told him. "We're ready for
the supper now. . . . Where is it?"

"Supper?" Mr. Frog faltered, as his jaw dropped. "What supper?"

"The supper you're going to give us!" the whole company shouted. "You
know--don't you?--that we have just made a rule for new members: they're
to furnish a banquet."

Ferdinand Frog's eyes seemed to bulge further out of his head than ever.

"I--I never heard of this before!" he stammered.

"Didn't Tired Tim tell you about our new rule?" somebody inquired. "It
was his own idea."

"He never said a word to me about it!" Ferdinand Frog declared with a
loud laugh. "And I can't give you a supper, for I haven't one ready."

"Then we'll postpone it until to-morrow night," the company told him
hopefully.

"What does your rule say?" Ferdinand Frog rolled his eyes as he put the
question to them.

"It says that the banquet must take place the first night the new member
is present," a fat gentleman replied.

"Then I can't give you any food to-morrow night," Mr. Frog informed
them, "because it would be against the rule."

"Then you can't be a member!" a hundred voices croaked.

"I _am_ one now," Ferdinand Frog replied happily. "And what's more, I
don't see how you can keep me out of your singing-parties."

There was silence for a time.

"We've been sold," some one said at last. "We've no rule to prevent this
fellow from coming here. And the worst of it is, as everybody knows, his
voice is so loud it will spoil all our songs."

Oddly enough, the speaker was the very one who had always objected to
inviting Ferdinand Frog to join the singing parties. His own voice had
always been the loudest in the whole company. And naturally he did not
want anybody with a louder one to come and drown his best notes.

But now he couldn't help himself. And thereafter when the singers met in
Cedar Swamp he always turned greener in the face than ever and looked as
if he were about to burst, when Ferdinand Frog opened his mouth its
widest and let his voice rumble forth into the night.




IX

THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER


When Ferdinand Frog first came to the Beaver pond to live no one knew
anything about him.

He appeared suddenly--no one knew whence--and at once made himself very
much at home. It was no time at all before he could call every one of
the big Beaver family by name. And he acted exactly as if the pond
belonged to him, instead of to the Beavers, whose great-grandfathers had
dammed the stream many years before.

But the newcomer was so polite that nobody cared to send him away. At
the same time, people couldn't help wondering who the stranger was and
where he had come from and what his plans for the future were. Whenever
two or three Beavers stopped working long enough to enjoy a pleasant
chat, they were sure to talk of the mysterious Mr. Frog and tell one
another what they thought of him. Many were the tales told about the
nimble fellow.

Some said that he had moved all the way from Farmer Green's duck pond,
because Johnnie Green had tried to catch him; while others declared that
Ferdinand Frog was a famous singer, who had come to that quiet spot in
order to rest his voice, which had become harsh from too much use.
Indeed, there were so many stories about the stranger that it was hard
to know which to believe--especially after old Mr. Crow informed
Brownie Beaver that in his opinion Ferdinand Frog was a slippery fellow.
"I shouldn't be surprised----" Mr. Crow had said with a wise wag of his
head----"I shouldn't be surprised if his real name was Ferdinand Fraud."

Anyhow, there was one thing that almost all the Beaver colony agreed
upon. They were of one opinion as to Mr. Frog's clothes, which they
thought must be very fashionable, because they were like no others that
had ever been seen before in those parts.

There was one young gentleman, however--the beau of the village--who
disputed everybody, saying that he believed that Ferdinand Frog must be
wearing old clothes that were many years behind the times.

Now, there was one lazy Beaver known as Tired Tim who had nothing better
to do than to go straight to Mr. Frog and repeat what he heard.

To Tired Tim's surprise--for he had expected Mr. Frog to lose his
temper--to his surprise that gentleman appeared much amused by the bit
of gossip. He shook with silent laughter for a time, quite as if he were
saving his voice to use that evening. And then he said:

"So your young friend thinks I'm not in style, eh? . . . Well, I'll tell
you something: he's right, in a way. And in another way he isn't. The
reason why I'm not in style is because I always aim to keep five years
ahead of everybody else.

"Five years from now and your neighbors will all be wearing clothes like
mine."

"Can't we ever catch up with you?" Tired Tim asked him.

"There's only one way you can do that," was Mr. Frog's mysterious
answer.

And he would say no more.




X

CATCHING UP WITH MR. FROG


Tired Tim Beaver asked Mr. Frog point-blank how a person might catch up
with him in the matter of clothes.

"If you manage to dress in a style that's five years ahead of the times,
I should like to know the way to be just as fashionable," Tired Tim
said.

But he got no help--then--from Mr. Frog. All Ferdinand Frog would say
was that he'd be glad to oblige a friend, but he couldn't--and
wouldn't--be hurried.

And though the unhappy, eager Tim teased and begged him to tell his
secret, Mr. Frog only smiled the more cheerfully and said nothing.

It was maddening--for Tired Tim--though Mr. Frog seemed to be enjoying
himself hugely. And the result was that Tired Tim Beaver returned to the
village in the pond in a terrible state of mind. Since he told everyone
else what he had learned about Ferdinand Frog and his clothes, it was
only a short time before the whole Beaver family was so stirred up that
they couldn't do a stroke of work. Ferdinand Frog was in everybody's
mouth, so to speak. And at last old Grandaddy Beaver hit upon a plan.

"Why don't you get somebody to make you a suit exactly like Mr. Frog's?"
he asked Tired Tim.

So Tired Tim took Grandaddy's advice. That very night he disappeared, to
swagger back in a few days in a costume that made him appear almost
like Mr. Frog's twin brother--if one didn't look at his face. And there
were some among the villagers who even declared that Tired Tim's mouth
seemed wider than it had been, and more like Mr. Frog's.

When they asked Tired Tim if his tailor hadn't stretched his mouth for
him he replied no, that he had been smiling a good deal for a day or
two, and perhaps that was what made his mouth look different.

Well, the whole Beaver village was delighted with Tired Tim's new suit.

"Wait till Mr. Frog sees you!" people cried. "He'll be _so_ surprised!"

[Illustration: Mr. Frog Liked to Hear Himself Sing]

And somebody swam away in great haste to find Mr. Frog and ask him to
come to the lower end of the pond, where all the houses were. But when
Ferdinand Frog arrived, everybody was disappointed, and especially
Tired Tim, who had felt very proud in his gorgeous new clothes. For he
saw at once that Mr. Frog was arrayed from head to foot in an entirely
new outfit. He looked almost like a rainbow, so brilliant were the
colors of his costume.

At the same time Tired Tim put on as brave a front as he could. And
drawing near to Mr. Frog, he said:

"What do you think of my new suit?"

Ferdinand Frog looked at him as if he hadn't noticed him before.

"Your suit's all right," he replied, "for one who isn't particular. But
it's not far enough ahead of the times for me. . . . I'd hate to be caught
wearing it."

It was a bitter blow for Tired Tim Beaver. In fact, he felt more tired
than ever; and he sank to the bottom of the pond to rest, where his
friends couldn't see him.

As for the other members of the Beaver family, they all went home with a
great longing inside them. There wasn't a single one of them that wasn't
eager to wear clothes exactly as far ahead of the times as were those of
the elegant stranger, Ferdinand Frog.




XI

FERDINAND FROG IS IN NO HURRY


Although everybody in the Beaver village looked worried, Mr. Frog seemed
to be all the more cheerful. He knew well enough that there was hardly
one Beaver in the pond that didn't wish and long for clothes which were,
like Mr. Frog's, five years ahead of the times.

As day after day passed, not only were the Beavers unable to do a single
stroke of work; they were so upset that they could scarcely eat or
sleep. And at last the older villagers, such as Grandaddy Beaver, began
to see that something would have to be done. There was the dam, which
needed mending; and there was the winter's food, which had to be
gathered.

So Grandaddy Beaver went to Ferdinand Frog one day and told him that he
simply _must_ come to the rescue of the pond folk, and tell them how
they might have clothes as far ahead of the times as were his own.

"Why?" Mr. Frog inquired. "What's the trouble?"

"They can't work," Grandaddy Beaver told him. "And there's the dam to be
fixed, and tree-tops to be cut and stored for food, because winter's
a-coming, and there's no way we can stop it."

"I'll tell you what you and your people can do," Ferdinand Frog replied.
"Just bury yourselves in the mud during the winter, as I do, and you'd
have no use for a dam, nor for food, either."

But Grandaddy Beaver explained that though such a plan might suit a Frog
exceedingly well, for a Beaver it would never do at all.

"You have got us into this scrape," he told Mr. Frog, "so it's only fair
that you should help us out of it."

Ferdinand Frog then did a number of things, all of which were intended
to let Grandaddy Beaver see that what he asked couldn't be done. Mr.
Frog held up his hands with the palms out and rolled his eyes; he shut
his great mouth together as if he did not intend to say another word. He
looked so determined that Grandaddy Beaver's heart sank.

And then--when Grandaddy Beaver had almost given up all hope--then Mr.
Frog said suddenly:

"I'll consent to help you, because I see that it's my duty."

"Good!" Grandaddy Beaver cried. "I told people that I knew you'd come to
our rescue, for you have such a kind face! . . .

"And now, tell me!" he bade Ferdinand Frog with great eagerness, while
he held a hand behind one of his ears, in order to hear more clearly.

But Mr. Frog was not ready to give away his secret.

He winked at Grandaddy Beaver, and poked his fingers into the old
gentleman's ribs.

"Not so fast, my lad!" said Mr. Frog, who was certainly many years
younger than Grandaddy Beaver. "I'm not prepared to explain everything
to you just yet.

"You come to the big rock on the other side of the pond as soon as it's
dark to-night; and bring with you everybody who wants to know how to
get clothes like mine.

"Now, do exactly as I say," Mr. Frog cautioned Grandaddy, "and
_everything will be made easy_."




XII

A BAD BLUNDER


When it was almost dark Grandaddy Beaver swam across the pond to the big
rock, where Ferdinand Frog had told him to come.

And trooping after Daddy was almost everybody in the village. Not
counting the women and children, there were eleven of them. They climbed
upon the rock, looking for Mr. Frog. But he was nowhere in sight.

"He'll be here in a minute or two, probably," Grandaddy Beaver said
hopefully, for all he looked a bit anxious.

Then somebody spied a neat building near-by, which not one of them had
noticed before.

"What's this strange house?" people asked one another. "Is this where
Mr. Frog lives?"

But nobody seemed to know the answer to that question.

"It can't be a shop," Grandaddy decided, "for there's no sign on it. And
nobody would have a shop without a sign."

Now, the door of the little building was shut and fastened. And the
window-shades were pulled carefully down. It certainly looked as if
nobody was at home.

But suddenly there came a sound that made the Beaver family jump. It
came from the house--there was no doubt of that.

In fact it came right through the keyhole; and it was like nothing in
the world but a sneeze.

A number of people were all ready to jump into the water and swim away,
they were so startled.

And then a snicker followed the sneeze. And by that time Grandaddy
Beaver and his friends guessed who was inside the building. It was
Ferdinand Frog; and he had been watching his callers all the time,
through the keyhole, and listening to everything that they said.

A few felt slightly uneasy, as they tried to remember exactly what
remarks they had made about Mr. Frog himself.

"Come out!" they all cried, as soon as they had recovered from their
surprise. "We want to see you!" And they formed a half-circle in the
dooryard.

Presently the door swung out, as if somebody had pushed it open. And
there, on the _inside_ of the open door, which was flung back against
the outside of the building, they all saw a sign, which said:

         MR. FERDINAND FROG
        UNFASHIONABLE TAILOR
          ALL THE STYLES
         FIVE YEARS AHEAD
          OF THE TIMES

People began exclaiming that that was just like Ferdinand Frog--who was
an odd fellow--to have his sign painted on the inside of his door
instead of on the outside.

"It'll be all the style five years from now," he retorted.

So that was Mr. Frog's secret! He was a tailor himself! And there he
was, ready to make clothes for all of them!

It was almost too good to be true. But there he stood in the doorway,
with a tape around his neck, smiling and bowing.

"You'd better form in line!" he suggested. "You can come in through the
front door. I'll measure you. And you can pass out the back way. . . .
Don't crowd, please!"

Now, that was just where Mr. Frog made a great blunder. But he didn't
find it out till it was too late.




XIII

A SIXTY-INCH MEAL


Mr. Frog's scheme of measuring the Beaver family for new suits had just
one drawback; the Beaver family liked it too well. So pleased were they
over the prospect of having "unfashionable" clothes like Mr. Frog's at
last that all of them wanted to be measured not once but several times.
And each and every one, as soon as Mr. Frog had taken his measurements,
went out through the back door and slipped around the little building,
to wait again at the foot of the line.

Now, Mr. Frog was a spry worker. He passed his tape around his
customers and jotted down figures on flat, black stones as fast as he
could make his fingers fly. And if it hadn't been for just one thing
Ferdinand Frog would have been quite happy. But beginning with his first
customer, he was somewhat troubled; for in the whole company he found
not one who had brought his pocket-book with him.

"What's the matter?" he asked Grandaddy Beaver, when the old gentleman's
turn came. "Didn't you tell 'em what I said about pocket-books?"

"I certainly did!" Grandaddy replied. "I told them to be sure to leave
their pocket-books at home."

Mr. Frog gulped once or twice, as if he were swallowing something
unpleasant. And he looked most surprised.

"Why, that's exactly wrong!" he cried.

"Is that so?" Grandaddy Beaver quavered. "Then I must have made a
mistake. You know I'm a _leetle_ hard of hearing."

"Never mind!" Ferdinand Frog answered, for he always took his troubles
lightly. "Bring 'em when you come to have your clothes fitted and it'll
be all right."

So he worked on. But by and by he began to grow uneasy again. And now
and then he paused and went to the window, where he peered somewhat
anxiously at the Beavers who waited before his door in a long line.

"It's queer!" Mr. Frog exclaimed aloud at last. "Here I've been
measuring 'em for an hour and a half; and there's just as many of 'em
left. . . . I'll have to stop soon," he continued, "for I'm going to
a singing-party to-night. And I don't want to be late."

His customers, however, wouldn't hear of his leaving. The moment Mr.
Frog's remarks passed down the line, the Beaver family began to jostle
and push one another. They crowded inside the tailor's shop.

And to get rid of them, Mr. Frog worked faster than ever. So great was
his haste that he measured everybody wrong; whereas before he had
measured them correctly, while merely scratching wrong figures upon the
stones.

And finally he stopped suddenly. As Grandaddy Beaver stepped forward to
be measured for the fourth time it dawned upon Mr. Frog that he had
measured him several times already.

But Ferdinand Frog said nothing at all.

Holding one end of his tape in his mouth, he passed the other end
around Grandaddy's plump body.

All at once a cry of dismay came from the customers who were looking on
while they waited.

"He's swallowing the tape!" they cried, pointing to Mr. Frog.

It was true. Beneath their horrified gaze the tape-measure disappeared
little by little inside Mr. Frog's mouth. And before any of them could
come to his senses and seize the end of the yellow strip, it had
vanished from view completely.

Of course they saw that the tailor could work no longer that evening. So
they filed sadly out of the shop.

"How did it happen?" they asked Mr. Frog, who was already locking his
door.

"The tape stuck to my tongue," he explained. "Everything does, you
know. But it doesn't matter, because I was hungry. And now I feel
better."

So Mr. Frog reached the singing-party in time, after all.




XIV

AN UNPLEASANT MIX-UP


For a long time after he took the measurements of the Beaver family Mr.
Frog kept carefully out of sight. Though several of the Beavers visited
his shop every day, they always found the door locked and the shades
drawn. But from various odd sounds--such as giggles and titters and
snickers--which they heard by listening at the keyhole, they knew that
the tailor was inside.

To all their knocks and calls, however, Mr. Frog made no other response.
He was working busily, and he did not want to be interrupted.

At last, to the delight of everybody, a notice appeared one evening upon
Mr. Frog's door, which said:

        TO-MORROW WILL BE
           FITTING-DAY

Well, never was such excitement known in the Beaver family--unless it
was when the great freshet came, and almost washed away the dam. And it
was lucky there was no freshet upon Mr. Frog's fitting-day, for there
would have been no one except the women and children to do any work.
Some of the young dandies even spent the night right in front of Mr.
Frog's tailor's shop, in order to be among the first to try on their new
clothes, which were to be five years ahead of the times.

When Mr. Frog opened his door bright and early the following morning he
had to beg his eager customers to keep order.

"There's a suit here for everybody," he announced. "But if you crowd
into my shop I may get the garments mixed. And that would be terrible."

So the Beaver gentlemen were as quiet and orderly as they could be. But
as for Mr. Frog himself, he jumped around as if he were standing in a
hot frying-pan. He hustled his customers into their suits in no time,
assuring each one that his garments fitted him perfectly, and asking him
please to step out through the back door and wait.

By the time the last Beaver had on his new clothes, and Mr. Frog
followed him into the back-yard, the tailor found that there was a
frightful uproar outside. There wasn't one of the Beavers who didn't
claim that there was something wrong about his new clothes. But whether
sleeves, trousers or coat-tails were too short or too long, or whether
they were too loose or too tight, Mr. Frog declared that they were
exactly as they should be, because they were bound to be in style in
five years' time, and nobody--so he said--could prove otherwise.

Of course, the Beaver family was far from satisfied. Though they had
what they had been wishing for, they couldn't help thinking that they
looked very queer--as, indeed, they did.

But Ferdinand Frog told the crowd that it was only because they weren't
used to being dressed in that fashion. He said he certainly was pleased
with their appearance and that he had never seen any company that looked
the least bit like them.

There was one Beaver, however, who shouted angrily that he knew his
suit wasn't fashionable and that he wouldn't accept it.




XV

EVERYONE IS HAPPY


Mr. Frog led the angry Beaver around to the front of his shop, while the
others followed, and pointed to his sign.

"There!" he said. "Don't you see that I _claim_ to be an unfashionable
tailor? You'll have to keep that suit, and pay me for it, too. And so
will everybody else."

But the whole Beaver family cried out that they objected. "No one ever
pays his tailor," they told Mr. Frog. "It's not the fashionable thing to
do."

Even then Ferdinand Frog continued to smile at them. He was such an
agreeable chap!

"I know it's not fashionable now," he admitted, "but it will be five
years from now. And since it's my way to collect on delivery, I'll thank
you to step up one at a time and pay me. . . . And please don't crowd!"
he added.

There was really no need of that last warning, because nobody made a
move.

Mr. Frog, however, was not dismayed. He leaped suddenly into the air and
alighted directly in front of a Beaver known among his friends as Stingy
Steve--the very one to whom Mr. Frog had just shown his sign.

"Pay up, please!" Ferdinand Frog said.

"How much do I owe you?" the uneasy Beaver asked him.

"Sixty!" Mr. Frog told him, with a grin.

Stingy Steve thrust his hand inside the pocket of his new trousers,
from which he slowly drew one of Mr. Frog's tape-measures--of which the
tailor had at least a dozen. Mr. Frog was always tucking them away in
odd places.

"Here!" Stingy Steve cried. "Here's your pay--sixty inches, neither more
nor less!"

But Ferdinand Frog only laughed and told him that he didn't mean
_inches_. That, he explained, was no pay at all.

"I know," Stingy Steve replied. "I know it's not the fashionable way to
pay a bill at present. But it will be five years from now. And what's
more, you can't prove that what I say isn't true."

For a few moments Mr. Frog stood there gasping. And pretty soon he
noticed that his customers were all busily picking up chips and sticks
and pebbles. At first he thought they were going to throw them at him;
and he was all ready to jump.

But he soon found that he was mistaken.

"Here! Here's your pay, Mr. Frog!" they began to cry. And to their
astonishment Mr. Frog began to laugh.

"I don't want any pay," he declared. "Will you all promise to wear your
new clothes if I make them free?"

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" sounded on all sides.

"Then it's a bargain!" Ferdinand Frog shouted. And he leaped into the
air and kicked his heels together three times.

After that he turned a back somersault, and then he rolled over and over
until he landed with a great splash in the pond.

Deep down on the muddy bottom Mr. Frog laughed as if he could never
stop. The Beavers on the bank could neither see nor hear him. And he
knew there was no danger of their thinking him impolite, especially when
he said:

"They don't even know that I've played a trick on them! And what a
terrible sight they are! I've never seen any company that looked the
least bit like them."




XVI

STOP THAT!


On a cool summer's morning Ferdinand Frog was sitting among the reeds
near the bank of the pond when a harsh voice suddenly said:

"Stop that!"

Looking up, Mr. Frog saw a huge bird standing on one leg in the water,
watching him. The stranger was actually so big that Mr. Frog hadn't
noticed him.

To be sure, he had seen what he thought was a stick stuck upright in the
muddy bottom of the pond. That was really the stranger's leg; but Mr.
Frog hadn't taken the trouble to glance upwards and see what was at the
top of it.

Of course, Mr. Frog was frightened as soon as he discovered his mistake,
for the bird had a great, long bill. Without being told, Ferdinand Frog
knew that that bill could open like a trap--and seize him, too. But he
showed not the least sign that he was even disturbed.

"Stop that, I say!" the stranger repeated, before Mr. Frog had so much
as said a word.

"Stop what?" Mr. Frog asked.

"Stop sticking your tongue out at me!" the other commanded.

In spite of his alarm, when he heard that Ferdinand Frog began to laugh.

"I beg your pardon," he said, "but I think you are mistaken. I wasn't
sticking my tongue out at you. I was only catching flies." Mr. Frog paid
no attention to the sneering laugh that the stranger gave. "You see,"
he went on, "I'm having my breakfast. And this is how I manage it: I
wait here without moving until a fly comes my way. Then I dart my tongue
at him as quick as lightning.

"My tongue," Mr. Frog explained, "is fastened at the front of my mouth
instead of at the back. So I can often reach a fly when he thinks he's
perfectly safe. And furthermore, my tongue is so sticky that if it
touches a fly, he can't get away. Then I swallow that one and wait for
another."

"A likely story!" the big bird scoffed. "I've been watching you for a
long time (Mr. Frog shivered when he heard that!) and I know what I'm
talking about. . . . There you go again!" he shrieked angrily, as
Ferdinand Frog's tongue flew out and captured another fly so quickly
that the stranger couldn't see just what had happened.

"Listen to me a moment!" Mr. Frog said. "Like most people, I have to
eat. And when I eat I can't help sticking out my tongue. So I'd suggest
that if you don't care to watch me at my breakfast you'd better go away.
It certainly isn't my fault that you're standing right in front of me."

But the stranger declined to move.

"If you really meant to be polite," he grumbled, "you'd at least turn
your back when you stick out your tongue."

But Mr. Frog never stirred. He was afraid that the moment he turned his
back the big bird would pounce upon him.

"It's not necessary for me to turn around now," he explained. "I've
finished my breakfast. And I hope you've had yours, too."

[Illustration: Grand-daddy Beaver Appeals to Mr. Frog]

"I'm sorry to say that I have," the stranger answered with a sigh, as he
looked longingly at plump Mr. Frog. "I couldn't eat another mouthful if
it sat right in front of me."

And then Ferdinand Frog felt as if a great weight had been lifted from
his mind. He smiled all over his face, to show the stranger that he was
glad to see him.

"Ah!" Mr. Frog cried. "Then we can have a friendly chat together. I
always like to talk with travellers. . . . What a long, sharp bill you
have!"

Now, some people would think that a rude remark. But it seemed to please
the stranger immensely.




XVII

A LONG, SHARP BILL


Certainly it was an odd remark that Ferdinand Frog made about the
stranger's wicked-looking bill. But knowing that its owner had eaten
until he had no appetite left for the time being, Mr. Frog forgot his
fear. And he couldn't help being curious about the big bird, because he
had never seen another like him.

Of course, what Mr. Frog said would have annoyed some people a good
deal, for he had just the same as told the stranger that he had _a long,
sharp nose_. But luckily it happened that the newcomer was very vain
both of the length and the sharpness of his bill. So he liked Mr.
Frog's comment. And he promptly forgot his displeasure over Mr. Frog's
tongue.

"Yes!" he said, in response to Ferdinand Frog's speech, "there isn't
another bill like mine for twenty miles around--except my wife's."

"You don't live in this neighborhood, do you?" Mr. Frog inquired.

"My home is beyond the Second Mountain," the stranger informed him.

And Ferdinand Frog was glad to hear that the huge fellow dwelt no
nearer.

"What's your name, friend?" Mr. Frog then asked.

"My name----" the giant bird replied--"my name is G. B. Heron."

"'G. B.'!" Mr. Frog exclaimed, turning a pale green color. "What do
those letters stand for? Not Grizzly Bear, I hope!" He had heard
of--but had never seen--a Grizzly Bear; and for a moment he thought that
perhaps he had met one at last.

But the stranger soon set his fresh fears at rest.

"My full name," he told Mr. Frog, "is Great Blue Heron. But plain Mr.
Heron will do, when you address me."

"I hope I'll see you sooner the next time we meet," Mr. Frog said. And
he resolved that he would keep a sharp eye out for Mr. Heron, so that he
might have plenty of time to hide the moment he caught sight of him.

"There's no doubt that we'll meet again," Mr. Heron replied. "I expect
to come here to live. And I flew over here to-day to look about a
bit. . . . Are there many in your family?"

"No!" Mr. Frog hastened to answer. "There's only myself living in this
pond."

"But you must have plenty of relations somewhere," Mr. G. B. Heron
insisted. "If I came here to live, and anything happened to you, I'd
want to tell your family."

"Well, I have a few relations, to be sure," Mr. Frog admitted. "But they
don't amount to much. They're a stringy lot, I can tell you."

Mr. Heron looked at him as if he couldn't quite believe that statement.

"That's odd," he observed. "Now, you're nice and plump."

"Oh, I'm _too_ fat," Ferdinand Frog said. "Aunt Polly Woodchuck tells me
that if I get much fatter I'll lose my good looks."

"I don't agree with her," said Mr. Heron. "You look good to me."

And now it was Mr. Frog's turn to be pleased; for he was very vain.

"I'm glad to hear it!" he cried. "And I'll tell you a secret: I've
always been quite satisfied with myself until my eyes fell on you. Oh!
if I only had such a bill as yours!"

"You like my bill, then?" Mr. Heron asked him.

"Yes!" Ferdinand Frog answered. "And it must be very handy, too."

"What for?" Mr. Heron inquired.

"Why, for making button-holes!" Ferdinand Frog exclaimed.




XVIII

MAKING BUTTON-HOLES


Mr. Heron couldn't help being interested.

"Button-holes in what?" he asked Ferdinand Frog.

"Why, in suits of clothes, of course!" the tailor answered. "If you had
a tailor's shop, as I have, you'd find that bill of yours a handy thing
to have. When you wanted to make a button-hole in a piece of cloth all
you'd need do would be to stick your bill through it."

"I'd like to try that," Mr. Heron remarked.

"Then come right over to my shop," Mr. Frog urged him. "I'll let you
make all the button-holes you want."

"Very well!" Mr. Heron agreed. "I'll make button-holes until I get
hungry."

"That's a good idea!" Mr. Frog cried. And his new friend smiled, for he
thought the tailor must be very stupid. He intended to stay with Mr.
Frog until he was hungry enough to eat him. And no one who wasn't
dull-witted could have failed to grasp his plan.

Well, they started off together; and they arrived shortly afterward at
the tailor's shop.

Observing that Mr. Heron was altogether too big to squeeze inside the
tiny building, Mr. Frog entered it, to reappear soon with an armful of
cloth.

On this Mr. Frog proceeded to mark a row of dots. And then he hung the
cloth upon some reeds.

"There!" he announced. "Can you hit the mark?"

"Certainly I can," Mr. Heron replied. And quick as lightning his sharp
bill darted out and made a neat hole exactly where every dot had been.

"Splendid! Perfect!" Mr. Frog exclaimed. And thereupon he brought forth
more cloth.

In a surprisingly short time Mr. Heron had made eighty-seven
button-holes. But Mr. Frog noticed that beginning with the
seventy-seventh button-hole the stranger's aim began to fail. He did not
hit the dots quite squarely. And he seemed not to have his mind on his
work.

"What's the matter?" Mr. Frog inquired. "Are you getting tired?"

"No--not tired," Mr. Heron told him.

"Are your eyes troubling you?" the tailor asked him.

"No--I can see well enough," Mr. Heron replied. "But I'm beginning to
feel a bit faint. And I think I've made enough button-holes for one
day."

But Mr. Frog said that he had a special suit which he was making for
somebody. And he begged Mr. Heron to make the button-holes in that too.

Mr. Heron frowned. But presently he yielded, telling Mr. Frog to hurry,
for he had another matter to attend to.

So the tailor leaped into his shop once more. And for a few moments he
was very busy, arranging another strip of cloth so that the stranger
might make button-holes in it.

When all was ready Mr. Heron stepped up to do his work. He was just
about to strike, when he suddenly paused.

"Who's going to have this suit?" he asked the tailor.

"Mr. Fish Hawk," said the tailor. "Do you know him?"

"I should say I did!" Mr. Heron cried. "And he's no friend of mine, I
assure you. I only wish he was behind this cloth! I'd run my bill clean
through him!"

A cold, cruel glitter came into Mr. Heron's eyes. And when he struck, he
struck with all his power, as if he were driving his wicked bill through
Mr. Fish Hawk that very moment.

He made only that one thrust. And he did not withdraw his bill, either.
Instead he set up a terrible squawking and began to flounder about on
the bank of the pond.

"Help! Help!" he cried in a muffled voice.

But Ferdinand Frog only smiled--and made no move to assist his new
acquaintance. The truth of the matter was that he had hidden a block of
wood behind the cloth, and Mr. Heron had driven his bill into it so far
that he couldn't pull it out.

With a loud chuckle Mr. Frog jumped into the water and swam away. And
that very day he moved to Black Creek, without troubling himself to
learn how Mr. Heron got himself out of his difficulty.

But the tailor couldn't help thinking what a handy thing it would be to
have a bill like Mr. Heron's.

"He can even make button-holes in wood!" Mr. Frog exclaimed.




XIX

THE SWIMMING TEACHER


It surprised the wild folk in Pleasant Valley when they learned that Mr.
Frog had forsaken the Beaver pond for a new home on the bank of Black
Creek.

When his friends asked him why he had moved Mr. Frog told them he had
made up his mind that the pond was too damp for the good of his health.
Besides, Black Creek was nearer Cedar Swamp, where the Frog family held
their singing-parties.

Of course, the real reason for Ferdinand Frog's change of scene was that
he was afraid Mr. Heron might return to the Beaver pond some day, to
look for him.

And when that happened, Mr. Frog did not care to be there.

In his new home, however, he felt quite at his ease. And he set out at
once to make himself agreeable to his neighbors.

The nearest of these were Long Bill Wren and his wife, who at that time
chanced to have a family of five growing children.

Mr. Frog took a great interest in the youngsters, who were already big
enough to leave their ball-shaped home, which hung among the reeds, and
hop about on the bank of the creek--and even fly a bit now and then.

Quite often Mr. Frog stopped to look at Long Bill's children and tell
their parents how handsome they were.

"I suppose--" he said to their father one day----"I suppose you are
going to teach them to swim?"

Long Bill Wren hadn't thought of that. And he said quickly that he was
afraid it wouldn't be safe.

But Mr. Frog replied that it certainly wouldn't be safe not to, living
as they did so close to the water.

"They're liable to tumble in almost any day," he said. "I suppose you
can swim, yourself?"

"No!" Long Bill answered, looking somewhat worried. "I've never learned
how."

Mr. Frog appeared greatly surprised by his neighbor's reply.

"Then I'd be glad to teach your children," he offered.

"Swimming is a very simple matter. And when you're young is the time to
learn. I began when I was a tadpole. And knowing how to swim has saved
my life a good many times."

Naturally the children were eager to have a lesson at once. And Long
Bill Wren was about to yield to their teasing, when his wife happened to
come flying home.

"What's going on here?" she asked sharply, for she saw that something
unusual was afoot.

And when her husband explained Mr. Frog had kindly offered to teach the
children to swim she cried, "The idea! I won't have it!"

Long Bill Wren looked uncomfortable. He was afraid his wife had hurt Mr.
Frog's feelings.

But Mr. Frog smiled and bowed politely to Mrs. Wren.

"Surely you're not afraid your children will drown in my care?" he
cried.

"No!" she told him. "The trouble is I'd be nervous, because one of my
young brothers was eaten by a member of your family."

Ferdinand Frog's face fell. But not for long.

"I don't see how that could have come about," he declared. "It must have
been an accident."

"Perhaps!" Long Bill's wife replied. "Anyhow, I want no such accidents
to happen to my children." And she looked sternly at her new neighbor.

Mr. Frog glanced away uneasily.

"I'm afraid," he observed, "you do not trust me. But I assure you I had
no idea of eating any of your little ones. They'd be perfectly safe with
me. Why, every one of them is so plump I'd never be able to decide which
one to choose first!"

He often wondered, afterward, why Mrs. Wren promptly called all her
children into the house.




XX

DISTURBING THE NEIGHBORS


It was no wonder that Long Bill Wren's wife did not care for Ferdinand
Frog, after his blundering remark about her children.

Though her husband often told her that Mr. Frog must have been merely
joking, she insisted that he was not a safe person to have in the
neighborhood.

"That Mr. Frog certainly is a queer one," she said to her husband one
day. "I was watching him this morning. And what do you suppose I saw him
do?" Mrs. Wren did not wait for Long Bill to answer her question. "Mr.
Frog actually pulled off his own skin!" she cackled nervously.

"Cat-tails and pussy-willows!" Long Bill Wren exclaimed--which was his
way of showing he was surprised. "Mr. Frog must be ill. Maybe I ought to
go and tell Aunt Polly Woodchuck, the herb-doctor, and ask her to come
over here at once."

His wife, however, shook her head.

"He can't be ill," she said.

"Why not?"

"His appetite is still good," she explained. "I saw Mr. Frog swallow his
skin after he had pulled it off. And it didn't seem to disagree with
him. He went in swimming right afterwards."

"Ah!" Long Bill exclaimed. "That's a very dangerous thing to do. At
least, I've often heard Johnnie Green say that a boy ought not to go in
the water sooner than a full hour after he has had a meal."

"There he is now!" Mrs. Wren cried abruptly. "There's Mr. Frog!"

Peeping out of the doorway on one side of his ball-shaped house, Long
Bill could see Ferdinand Frog paddling about in Black Creek.

While they were watching him, he sank before their eyes. And after a
time they couldn't help feeling uneasy, because their odd neighbor did
not show himself again.

"I'm afraid----" Long Bill whispered at last----"I'm afraid he was taken
with a cramp, for that's what you get by swimming too soon after a
meal--so Johnnie Green says. . . . I'm glad now that we didn't let Mr.
Frog teach our children to swim, because it's easy to see that he's a
careless fellow."

So worried were Long Bill and his wife over Mr. Frog's disappearance
that they hurried out and told all their neighbors about it. And soon a
crowd had gathered upon the bank of the creek, to watch the spot where
Mr. Frog had vanished.

They stayed there for a long time. But to their great alarm, their
missing friend did not reappear.

"I hope he's safe," old Mr. Turtle piped in his thin, quavering voice.
"He's making a new suit for me; and I'd hate to have anything happen to
him."

"What's this--a party?" a voice called suddenly from under the bank. And
then Mr. Frog himself, looking fine and fit, hopped up and stood before
the company, with a broad grin on his face.

"Where have you been?" they shouted. "We were worried about you."

"Oh, I've been having a mud bath at the bottom of the creek," Mr. Frog
told them. "Mud baths, you know, are very healthful. And I advise you
all to try one."




XXI

MUD BATHS


Though Mr. Frog agreed cheerfully to show his neighbors how to take a
mud bath, there wasn't even one of them that accepted his offer.

To be sure, old Mr. Turtle remarked that there was a good deal to be
said about mud baths. And then he waddled to the water's edge and swam
away.

"You heard what he said," Mr. Frog continued, turning to those who were
left. "It's simple enough. All one has to do is to dive down to the
bottom of the creek and bury himself snugly in the soft mud."

"How do you breathe?" somebody inquired.

"Oh, that's simple enough," Mr. Frog replied. "You breathe through your
skin."

Smiles appeared on the faces of his listeners. And here and there a
cough sounded. It was plain that the company had little faith in Mr.
Frog's easy explanation.

"Doesn't it hurt your skin to breathe through it?" some one else asked.

"What if it does?" Ferdinand Frog retorted. "When your skin becomes
worn, pull it off!"

Everybody laughed heartily at his answer; or at least, everybody except
Long Bill Wren and his wife. They exchanged a thoughtful look. For they
knew Mr. Frog's ways better than his other neighbors did.

Now, Ferdinand Frog did not mind the laughter at all.

"Of course," he went on, "you can't breathe through your skin quite so
well as you can in the _regular_ way. After you have stayed in the mud a
while, you'll begin to want a _regular_ breath of fresh air. So then you
come up to the top of the water."

"Cat-tails and pussy-willows!" Long Bill Wren cried out. "I'm sure I
shall never take a mud bath. They seem to me to be very dangerous."

"Not at all!" Mr. Frog assured him. "They're as safe as standing on your
head." And thereupon he stood on his own head, to prove that what he
said was true.

Still the company was not moved to take Mr. Frog's advice and try a mud
bath. Most of them declared that nothing could induce them to undertake
such a risky act. But a few daring ones said that if all the rest would
take mud baths, and if they found that they liked them, they themselves
would be willing to test them too.

However, nobody took a single step towards the creek. So at last the
company scattered, leaving Long Bill Wren and Mr. Frog alone upon the
bank.

Meanwhile Long Bill had been thinking deeply. He had begun to wonder
whether there might not be some good in a mud bath, in spite of his
neighbors' doubts. And now he turned to Ferdinand Frog and began
speaking in a hushed voice.

"Don't tell my wife I asked you this question," he said; "but I should
like to know if mud baths are good for rheumatism."

"Good for it!" Mr. Frog exclaimed. "Why, they're a sure cure--and the
only one!"




XXII

LEARNING TO HOLD HIS BREATH


There on the bank of Black Creek Mr. Frog and Long Bill Wren talked in
whispers about mud baths. And in a short time Long Bill announced that
he had made up his mind to try one.

"Good!" Mr. Frog cried, as he patted his neighbor on the back. "And now
let me give you a bit of advice. Before you dive into the creek you
should learn _to hold your breath_. . . .

"You'd better go home and begin practising at once."

So Long Bill Wren flew into his house and stayed there the rest of that
day. But he soon found that all was not as simple as he had hoped.
Whenever he was trying to hold his breath his wife was sure to ask him a
question. And of course that led to trouble. If he didn't answer her she
thought him rude--and said so, quite frankly, too. While if he did
answer her, speaking spoiled his practice.

It was annoying, to say the least. And by the next morning the poor
fellow was almost frantic.

He sought out Mr. Frog and explained how hard it was for him to learn to
hold his breath.

"If you could only think of some way of making my wife hold hers too!"
Long Bill moaned.

But Mr. Frog said at once that nobody could do that, and there was no
use in trying.

"Why don't you," he asked, "go off by yourself in Cedar Swamp, and
practice there?"

But Long Bill said that he ought not to stay away from home long enough
to do that.

"Then there's only one way left for you," Mr. Frog decided. "You must
practice at night, when your wife's asleep."

"A good idea!" Long Bill whispered. "I'll try it this very night!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Bright and early the next morning Long Bill Wren found Mr. Frog a little
way up the creek and told him that his night's practice had been a great
success.

"I began holding my breath right after sunset," he said, "and it was so
easy that I fell asleep. And I never breathed once all night long,
until I awoke at day-break."

The news delighted Mr. Frog.

"Good!" he cried. "And now there's one more thing you must do before you
take a mud bath. You must learn to breathe through your skin. . . . Just
try right now," he urged his companion.

So Long Bill tried to breathe through his skin, while holding his breath
at the same time.

And soon he began to sputter and choke.

"I'm afraid I can't do it," he faltered at last.

Mr. Frog looked somewhat glum--for a moment.

He pondered in silence. And at length he declared that without doubt
there must be something wrong with Long Bill's skin!

"How long have you worn it?" he inquired.

"All my life!" Long Bill told him.

"That's it!" Mr. Frog exclaimed. "It's worn out. You'll have to pull it
off and use a fresh one."




XXIII

MR. FROG RUNS AWAY


It may have been Mr. Frog's words that dismayed Long Bill Wren, or it
may have been his manner--or perhaps both. Anyhow, Long Bill looked
frightened.

"Where can I get a fresh skin if I pull off the one I'm wearing?" he
wanted to know.

"Why, there's another skin just beneath your old one," Mr. Frog informed
him glibly. "Just pull hard and you'll see that I know what I'm talking
about."

But Long Bill was puzzled.

"I--I don't know where to begin," he stammered.

"Maybe you need help," Mr. Frog suggested.

And Long Bill agreed that he did need help--and a good deal of it, too.

"Well," Mr. Frog said with a giggle, "I'll get old Mr. Turtle to assist
me. And between us we'll have your old skin off before you know it."

He began to bellow Mr. Turtle's name at the top of his lungs. And soon
the old gentleman's black head popped out of the water. And presently
Mr. Turtle waddled up the bank of Black Creek and listened to Ferdinand
Frog's directions.

"You take hold of Long Bill's tail," Mr. Frog ordered him, while to the
frightened owner of the tail he said cheerfully, "Anything Mr. Turtle
takes hold of just _has_ to come. He never lets go until it does."

Now, Long Bill Wren had suddenly made up his mind that he wouldn't take
a mud bath, after all. He didn't like the prospect of having his skin
pulled off. Suppose Mr. Frog should be mistaken about that second skin,
which the tailor claimed lay underneath the old one?

Long Bill believed that with no skin at all he would find his rheumatism
much worse than before. And he would certainly be a queer-looking
object.

So as old Mr. Turtle crawled slowly towards him, he drew away.

"I'm going to wait----" Long Bill announced.

"Why?" Mr. Frog demanded.

"Going to wait till the weather is warmer," Long Bill faltered.

Of course Mr. Frog was disappointed by having his plans so upset.

And Mr. Turtle was disappointed too.

"My mouth is open," he told Mr. Frog. "I must grab something. And it
might as well be you."

But Mr. Frog jumped nimbly out of Mr. Turtle's reach. And a moment later
he thrust the free end of a tree-root between Mr. Turtle's jaws.

They closed with a snap. And Mr. Turtle began to pull.

"Come on!" Mr. Frog urged Long Bill Wren. "The tree may fall at any
moment. It's safer elsewhere." And without waiting to see what happened,
he leaped into Black Creek and swam away.

As for Long Bill Wren, he hurried home. He knew his wife would be
wondering where he was, for he had been away from the house in the reeds
much longer than his usual ten minutes.

Arriving there, he was not surprised that she asked him a few
questions. And he explained to her that he had been on the bank of the
creek, watching old Mr. Turtle pulling at the root of a willow.

"And I can tell you that I'm well pleased that it wasn't my tail Mr.
Turtle had in his jaws," he said solemnly.

Mrs. Wren shuddered at the mere mention of such an unlucky accident. And
then she said: "I hope that dangerous Mr. Frog was not with you."

"I believe he was there for a time," her husband replied. "But he left
before I did."

"I wish you would keep away from him," she remarked.

"I'm going to," Long Bill Wren promised. "Although Mr. Frog is our
newest neighbor, I shall have nothing more to do with him."


THE END





Little Jack Rabbit Books

(Trademark Registered)

By DAVID CORY

Author of "Little Journeys to Happyland"

= Wrappers With Text Illustrations.=


A new and unique series about the furred and feathered little people of
the wood and meadow.

Children will eagerly follow the doings of little Jack Rabbit, and the
clever way in which he escapes from his three enemies, Danny Fox, Mr.
Wicked Wolf and Hungry Hawk will delight the youngsters.

        LITTLE JACK RABBIT'S ADVENTURES
        LITTLE JACK RABBIT AND DANNY FOX
        LITTLE JACK RABBIT AND THE SQUIRREL BROTHERS
        LITTLE JACK RABBIT AND CHIPPY CHIPMUNK
        LITTLE JACK RABBIT AND THE BIG BROWN BEAR
        LITTLE JACK RABBIT AND UNCLE JOHN HARE
        LITTLE JACK RABBIT AND PROFESSOR CROW
        LITTLE JACK RABBIT AND OLD MAN WEASEL
        LITTLE JACK RABBIT AND MR. WICKED WOLF
        LITTLE JACK RABBIT AND HUNGRY HAWK
        LITTLE JACK RABBIT AND THE POLICEMAN DOG
        LITTLE JACK RABBIT AND MISS MOUSIE
        LITTLE JACK RABBIT AND UNCLE LUCKY
        LITTLE JACK RABBIT AND THE YELLOW DOG TRAMP

GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK





HAPPY HOME SERIES

By HOWARD R. GARIS


=Individual  Wrappers and  Illustrations by LANG CAMPBELL=


Mr. Garis has written many stories for boys and girls, among them his
Uncle Wiggly volumes, but these books are something distinctly new,
surprising and entertaining.


ADVENTURES OF THE GALLOPING GAS STOVE

A tale of how Gassy mysteriously disappeared, and how he came riding
home on the back of an elephant. It is also related how he broke his
leg, and fed a hungry family in a cottage near a lake.


ADVENTURES of the RUNAWAY ROCKING CHAIR

Racky creaked and groaned when fat Grandma sat on him too hard. He felt
himself ill-treated, so he vanished. He did not intend to take Grandma's
glasses with him, but he did. And he rocked a bunny to sleep.


ADVENTURES OF THE TRAVELING TABLE

Tippy, the table, always wanted to travel and see the world, but he did
not know how to start. Until, all of a sudden, a diamond ring was hidden
in his leg and a balloon carried him off through the air.


ADVENTURES OF THE SLIDING FOOT STOOL

Just because he did not want to be used as a milking stool by the Maiden
All Forlorn, Skiddy slid away Christmas eve. With him went Jack the
Jumper, and they had a wonderful time in the top shop.


ADVENTURES OF THE SAILING SOFA

Skippy always wanted to be a sailor. When the high water came in the
spring, the sofa went sailing. He had a Rooster for a crew, while
Tatter, the rag doll with one shoe button eye, was Captain.


GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK




[Illustration]


Sleepy-Time Tales

(Trademark Registered)

_By_ ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY


These little books for little people tell of the adventures of the
four-footed creatures of our American woods and fields in an amusing way
that delights small two-footed human beings. At the same time, in the
short-comings of Cuffy Bear and his neighbors, children are quick to
recognize their own faults and to take home the obvious lessons.

_For complete list of the books in The Sleepy-Time Tales, see inside
flap of this wrapper._


GROSSET & DUNLAP--NEW YORK





End of Project Gutenberg's The Tale of Ferdinand Frog, by Arthur Scott Bailey

*** 