Just then from a little pool close to the Old Duck Pond came the sound of voices. "What's that?" thought the little rabbit, and he hopped over the marshy ground to look into the little pool. And what do you think he saw? Why, a lot of dark spots on the water, each one singing a tune. And, Oh dear me! The little bunny was so surprised that he leaned way over the water, when, all of a sudden, the little dark spots disappeared and all he could see were funny little forms swimming away under the water.
"Ha, ha!" laughed Granddaddy Bullfrog. "They are little singing toads. Mr. Tree Toad's grandchildren!"
The little rabbit was so surprised that he said nothing. Neither did Granddaddy Bullfrog until the next story.
RAT-A-TAT-TAT
"Well, well, well," thought the little rabbit, as he hopped away from the Old Duck Pond, "Granddaddy Bullfrog is a wise old frog." And I guess the little rabbit was right, for everybody doesn't know that those little funny singing toads I told you about in the last story are called Hylas, although everybody knows that some candies are! But it isn't spelt the same way. Oh dear me, no! But I don't believe Granddaddy Bullfrog knew that!
And while the little rabbit was hopping along towards the Shady Forest, he heard a noise like the beating of a drum. So he stopped to listen. There it came again, rat-a-tat-tat! rat-a-tat-tat! Yes, sir. Those sounds certainly came from the old orchard. So the little rabbit turned and hopped along the Old Rail Fence until he came to an old apple tree just behind the Big Red Barn where the Weathercock lived.
Rat-a-tat-tat! rat-a-tat-tat! "Who can it be?" thought the little rabbit, and he looked all around, and then, all of a sudden, he saw Red Head, the Woodpecker, building a new home for himself in the old apple tree.
Chip, chop, chip, chop, back and forth went the woodpecker's sharp bill, cutting out the chips from the old apple bough.
My! but it was hard work. The Miller's Boy always grumbled when his father told him to chop the wood, but Red Head kept right along, happy as could be. You see, the little people of the wood don't grumble if they have to work, and let me tell you in the Spring they have lots to do. Every one is busy making his home. Some are digging holes in the ground and some are making nests in the trees. But everybody is happy as the day is long. And the birds sing as they work, for a song helps the work along. Helps you do your very best, whether it's a hole or nest. Sing away, and never fret, worry won't keep out the wet. Sing and work until the sun tells you that the day is done.