How Toads Help the Garden

Speaking of food, Feather Flop—have you eaten any of those delicious tent caterpillars? No? Well, you should try some. Don’t you like them? They stick to your throat? Oh, I didn’t know that, but I’ve noticed that you didn’t seem to eat them, nor “thousand-leggers.” That’s the reason I said I was of more benefit than you to the garden.

Just listen until I tell you what I had this early morning for supper. No, not breakfast! I told you I feed at night. Early morning brings my supper time! Well, these are what I had:

We eat also snails, injurious beetles, grasshoppers, worms, potato bugs, and lots more of harmful creatures. Well, ants and spiders may be useful, but ants are a question, and we eat few spiders. Spiders are lots of fun to catch, though. See, there is one! See how my tongue shot out at him? My tongue is fastened to the lower jaw at the front of my mouth. You didn’t see it? Well, I suppose we toads do use our tongues pretty quickly. They have a sticky substance spread over them, so we’re pretty certain to make our “catch.”

“Now, Feather Flop, I think I’ve told you almost everything. Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

Mary Frances had been listening with all her ears.

“My, there are things I’d like to know,” she thought. “How I wish he’d talk to me!”

“No,” said Feather Flop in a crestfallen voice, “I don’t think of any. I certainly must acknowledge that you are usefuller than I thought!”

“Thanks! All right!” replied the toad, taking a hop.

“Hold on, please, Hoppy!” Mary Frances ventured to call.

The toad turned.

“Please, Mr. Hop Toad,” she begged, “please will you tell me something? I’ve overheard your wonderful story. If it is not too inquisitive, may I ask why your throat puffs all the time?”

“Certainly, certainly,” croaked the toad, “my voice is hoarse, Miss, but I’ll do my best to answer. You see, we toads have no ribs to use when we breathe, so we have to swallow every bit of air we use.”

“Oh,” said Mary Frances, “that is it. I am so much obliged to you for telling me. Here is a fish-worm—or do you call them angle-worms, or earth-worms?—for you!”

“A fish-worm!” exclaimed the toad. “That is fine. Throw it down, please. No, that is the wrong end toward me. Fish-worms wear rough rings along their bodies which hurt the throat if swallowed the wrong way foremost. They’re pretty large to get down, so I may have to rub it down my throat with my hands.”

This the funny little toad did, and after getting it down, patted its little stomach. “My, it was so good. I shut my eyes while I swallowed!” he said.

Mary Frances laughed outright. “I’m glad I gave you a treat,” she said. “I wish I knew something else I could do to make you happy.”

“Then just take a stick and scratch my back, please.”

Mary Frances did as requested.

Feather Flop looked on all the while without a word. At length he blurted out, “You told me, little Miss, I think, that fish-worms were good for the garden—that they stir the soil and make it light and porous. I’ve never eaten one since you told me that!”

He looked scornfully at the toad.

Mary Frances smiled. “Oh, Feather Flop, indeed I thank you, but you see, we don’t need so many of them. You could take one once in a while.”

“I must be going,” said the toad, “and I thank you, Miss. You’re much more polite and kind than some people I’ve known!” glancing at the rooster.

“He means the boy that stoned him,” said Feather Flop.

“Excuse me, I did not refer to him,” said the toad; “but really, boys are terribly hard on us! And think of all we do to help them. We eat the dreadfully destructive insects.”

“I wonder if my brother Billy ever—” began Mary Frances.

“No, not any more,” said the toad. “I’ve lived here in this garden five years and it’s over a year since he’s troubled any of us.”

“He never will again,” promised Mary Frances. “I shall certainly tell him your story.”

“Good-bye, and thank you very much!” suddenly exclaimed the toad, hopping away very rapidly.

“Oh,” called Mary Frances, “I want to ask you something else. Won’t you talk to us again?”

This time the toad did not turn around nor answer a word, but hopped more rapidly than ever.

“I can catch him!” exclaimed Feather Flop, “and I’ll peck him as hard as ever I can, too, for treating you that way!”

“Don’t you dare, Feather Flop,” called Mary Frances, running after him. “I’m ashamed of you!” catching him up.

“Oh, dear,” sighed Feather Flop, “and I wanted to help you so much! I am always doing something wrong!”

“Listen, Feather Flop,” explained Mary Frances, “that probably frightened him so he’ll never speak again.”

“I’ll be to blame for that, too,” mourned Feather Flop. “Oh, I’m sorry, so sorry.”

“Never mind, my friend,” said Mary Frances; “I appreciate the kindness you meant to show even if you made a mistake.”

“Are you sure you forgive me, little Miss?” asked the rooster.

“Quite sure,” answered Mary Frances. “But I can’t promise about the hop toad!”

“I don’t care a hop about Hoppy,” said the rooster, “just so you forgive me.”

“I guess a rooster, even if as clever as Feather Flop, can’t understand such things,” mused Mary Frances to herself.

“Please be polite to him for my sake, then,” she said.

“I will! indeed I will!” promised Feather Flop.

[CHAPTER XXIV]
Mr. Cutworm, the Villain

“IF he mentioned cutworms,” said Billy, as Mary Frances finished telling him the story of the hop toad, “If he mentioned cutworms among the insects he eats, I certainly am glad to make his acquaintance. Will you introduce me to him?”

“Certainly I will, Billy; come right down into the garden.”

The children looked all over the place for the hop toad, but were unable to find a trace of him.

“I remember,” said Mary Frances, “that he told me he slept in the day time.”

“Oh, of course,” replied Billy, “that’s the reason we don’t see him. I might have thought of that!”

“Hello, he’s been lazing on the job though,” he exclaimed. “Look at those three young tomato plants, all cut off near the roots. Neat work, that. Mr. Cutworm the Villain’s, I’ll bet!”

“Oh, dear! Billy, won’t they grow up again?”

“Not much!” exclaimed Billy. “No, indeed; we’ll have to put in new ones in their place. We’ve had so little trouble with cutworms that I forgot to take precaution.”

“What’s that?” asked Mary Frances.

“Precaution—why, means to keep him from the plants. We could have used—