“Now, now, don’t get angry,” begged Feather Flop, “I want to hear about that! I want to find out, Hoppy, how you are more beneficial to the garden than I am.”
“Well,” answered the hop toad, blinking his eyes with a satisfied smile, “it’s this way: suppose I begin with the baby toads——”
“A crow told me they taste very good,” interrupted Feather Flop.
“For shame!” whispered Mary Frances. “Isn’t that awful of Feather Flop!”
The rooster must have heard her, for he suddenly bowed his head, saying, “Oh, I beg your pardon, Hoppy—really I do! Please excuse me!”
“I suppose you don’t know any better manners,” answered the hop toad, “so I’ll have to excuse you, and I’ll tell you—if you don’t interrupt—
The Story of the Hop Toad
My mother told me that one lovely day early in May she awoke from her winter’s nap. Oh, yes, that’s what we do in winter—sleep in the ground.
Well, my mother awoke, and went happily hopping down to the meadow pond to lay some eggs. Perhaps you don’t know them when you see them—toads’ eggs. They look like tiny black pills in strings of transparent jelly. This jelly either drops to the bottom of the pond or fastens to water weeds.