"There is only one way that I know of," said the frog; "you must smile; that will dry the pond and we can escape."
"But I do not feel like smiling," said Tearful, and her eyes filled with tears again.
"Look out!" said the frog; "you will surely be drowned in your own tears if you cry again."
Tearful began to laugh. "That would be queer, wouldn't it, to be drowned in my own tears?" she said.
"That is right, keep on smiling," said the frog; "the pond is smaller already." And he stood up on his hind legs and began to dance for joy.
Tearful laughed again. "Oh, you are so funny!" she said. "I wish I had your picture. I never saw a frog dance before."
"You have a slate under your arm," said the frog. "Why don't you draw a picture of me?" The frog picked up a stick and stuck it in the ground, and then he leaned on it with one arm, or front leg, and, crossing his feet, he stood very still.
Tearful drew him in that position, and then he kicked up his legs as if he were dancing, and she tried to draw him that way, but it was not a very good likeness.
"Do you like that?" she asked the frog when she held the slate for him to see. He looked so surprised that Tearful laughed again. "You did not think you were handsome, did you?" she asked.
"I had never thought I looked as bad as those pictures," replied the frog. "Let me try drawing your picture," he said.