“Don’t be afraid,” said the fox, “I won’t bite you. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, little frog,” and then the fox came slowly from behind the stone, and Bawly saw that both the sly creature’s front feet were lame from the rheumatism, like Uncle Wiggily’s, so the fox couldn’t run at all. Bawly knew he could easily hop away from him, as the sly animal couldn’t go any faster than a snail.
“Oh, I guess the reason you won’t hurt me, is because you can’t catch me,” said Bawly, slow and careful-like.
“Oh, I wouldn’t hurt you, anyhow,” went on the fox, trying not to show how hungry he was, for really, you know, he wanted to eat Bawly, but he knew he couldn’t catch him, with his sore feet, so he was trying to think of another way to get hold of him. “I just love frogs,” said the fox.
“I guess you do,” thought Bawly. “You like them too much. I’ll keep well away from you.”
“But what I want to know,” continued the fox, “is whether you are a good jumper, Bawly.”
“Yes, I am—pretty good,” said the frog boy.
“Could you jump over this stone?” asked the fox, slyly, pointing to a little one.
“Easily,” said Bawly, and he did it, lemons and all.
“Could you jump over that stump?” asked the fox, pointing to a big one.
“Easily,” answered Bawly, and he did it, lemons and all.