“How’s the frog?” asked Wendell anxiously.
“An awful nuisance,” responded the Pixie frankly. “I think she’s thirsty but she won’t drink.”
“Oh, they can’t drink, you know,” explained Wendell. “They take it in through the skin. That mug is too small. Here, I’ll fill the basin and put her in.”
That seemed to content the frog. It sat and soaked and absorbed and goggled at Wendell, who regarded it moodily.
“If I can’t do anything more for you,” said the Pixie, “I’ll move on. Hope you guess the riddle.”
“Thanks, old fellow,” said Wendell soberly. He was very sleepy and discouraged. But the frog looked a bit cheerier.
Hardly was Wendell in bed when he dropped off to sleep, and five minutes later, blop! the frog leaped from the basin and landed on the boy’s face, all wet and soggy and cold. Wendell, half asleep, struck out in self-defense, and landed a whacking blow on the poor reptile, that sent it halfway across the room. He realized instantly what he had done, and much ashamed of himself, he turned on the light, located the panting frog, and tucked it under the down quilt at the foot of the bed. Bitterly he regretted that he had not made an appointment with the Kobold to return the creature the very next morning.
When he left for school, he hid the frog away again in his stocking, in a chiffonier drawer, but even his preoccupation with the Boston riddle did not entirely obliterate his uneasy fear that the frog might escape or be turned out of the house in his absence, and thus plunge him into some other awful rescuing problem.
He had hoped that the geography or history or literature lesson might enlighten him on the definition of Boston, and his attention to study was so strict that his teachers thought best to watch him even more closely than usual, to forestall whatever mischief must be brewing. But no ray of light came to him from any of his lessons. He went home despondently, assured himself that the frog was still safe, and went out to play with cheerful Sammy Davis and the other fellows. It seemed a long while since he, too, had been a care-free, whistling boy, with no greater anxiety than being kept after school for fractions, or being chased by Sammy’s cross janitor.