“It isn’t my fault that people can’t understand,” finished Mr. Rana, swallowing very fast.
“I wanted to understand,” declared Ruth meekly. “I was sure you could tell me such a lot of interesting things, and that nice fat toad in the garden too. He is so——”
“You’d better talk to the fat toad, then,” said Mr. Rana, looking very cross.
“Oh, dear,” sighed Ruth, “I didn’t mean I’d rather talk to him. I do want you to tell me things. All about yourself, please.”
“Now you are showing your good sense,” said Mr. Rana, as Ruth settled herself with a ready-to-listen air. “Nothing can be more interesting than my story; but excuse me one second. I see Mrs. Mosquito. This morning I ate her husband, and now——”
His sentence was not finished, but Mrs. Mosquito was; and Mr. Rana folded his hands across his fat stomach and looked at Ruth, while a big smile played about his broad mouth.
“THAT NICE FAT TOAD IN THE GARDEN”
“She’s gone,” said Ruth, in a slightly awed tone, “and I know you’ve swallowed her, but I wish you would tell me how you did it. I didn’t see you move.”
