I think not.
The toad had not only the nightingale's eyes; he had, during those early spring months, the other gift of the nightingale as well. Had not all heard him on the mild evenings when, with his throat swelled out, he trilled love songs that made the whole pond musical? And did any one give him credit?
No; they said, "Hear the frogs singing!"
Musing thus on the black injustice of things, I circled the pond and came again to the haunt of the original Lucky-bug. There he was, or his twin, skimming about as before. I approached, stooped over, reached out my hand, and grabbed.
I had him!
He was instantly in the fruit-jar, where he seemed perfectly contented, sailing and diving as if he were on the pond.
I walked home triumphant. Did my luck change? Can you ask the question? I do not want to make the case too strong, for my attitude is that of the scientific investigator. So I will mention only two of the events that followed the capture of that Lucky-bug.
And mind, please, that both of them occurred on that same Thursday.
On my way home, I found the works of an old alarm clock which somebody had abandoned. The cover, face, and bell were gone; but you could still wind it up and make a delightful whirring sound, calculated to distract all grown-ups.
That was not all.