"Ker-ek!" croaked the old frog. "You make me dizzy."
"Are you there still?" said Puck, turning a somersault on to the ground. "I thought your cold was no better."
"I haven't got a cold," grumbled the frog. "I haven't always got a cold. Sometimes it's a cold, sometimes it's not."
"Well," said Puck, "you see, he came to our party after all."
But the old frog didn't answer. He made all kinds of queer noises, blew himself out like a balloon, and really frightened the fairies. They ran as fast as they could with dewdrops and honey-balls—their medicine, you know—to help him.
"I'm all right!" he gasped. "I'm all right. I was only laughing."
This was too much for the fairies. They laughed and laughed until they were tired, for who had ever heard of an old frog laughing?
"What were you laughing at?" Puck asked.
"Why, at you, of course!" replied the old frog. "Your party was delightful. It quite cured my cold. And that boy of yours, George Henry, is a nice little boy. I'll teach him to swim one day."