"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.