The Pixie certainly was surprised. Wendell handed him the stocking and told him to feel inside, and when the Pixie’s hand came in contact with the cold smooth skin of the frog, it gave the Pixie his first shock. He got his second when Froggy, catching a glimpse of light through the opening, leaped violently out, almost in the Pixie’s face.
“Well, I suppose that’s settled,” said the Pixie, when the frog had finally come to rest in a corner of the room. “You really found it in the Frog Pond?”
“Yes, I did,” said Wendell, “really and truly. So now I’ve finished the tasks, I’m glad to say.”
“Well, I must say it’s a great relief to me,” returned the Pixie. “I never do know what to do with boys when I find them belonging to me. It’s a great responsibility. I’m glad I’m not a mother.”
In spite of his relief, the Pixie continued to look gloomy and to fiddle uneasily with a pencil on Wendell’s desk. At last he broke out:
“Of course, I’m not doubting your word, but you know and I know that you couldn’t find a frog in the Frog Pond because there aren’t any.”
“But this one really was,” said Wendell, distressed to see that the Pixie was not quite convinced that he spoke the truth. “I saw him jump in myself, and Izzy Icklebaum fished him out.”
“Well, it’s very fishy! I can’t account for it,” said the Pixie.
He remained in a brown study for several seconds; then a bright thought illumined his little old face.
“I have it. I bet I have it. Which side did the frog jump in from?”