It was the first time in all his life that Tommy had ever looked into a toad’s eyes. Whoever would think of looking at the eyes of a hop-toad? Certainly not Tommy. Eyes were eyes, and a toad had two of them. Wasn’t that enough to know? Why under the sun should a fellow bother about the color of them, or anything like that? What difference did it make? Well, it made just the difference between knowing and not knowing; between knowledge and ignorance; between justice and injustice.
Tommy suddenly realized this as he looked straight into the eyes of old Mr. Toad, and it gave him a funny feeling inside. It was something like that feeling you have when you speak to some one you think is an old friend and find him to be a total stranger. “I—I beg your pardon, Mr. Toad,” said he. “I take it all back. You have something beautiful—the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. If I had eyes as beautiful as yours, I wouldn’t care how many freckles I had. Why haven’t I ever seen them before?”
Old Mr. Toad slowly blinked, as much as to say, “That’s up to you, young man. They’re the same two eyes I’ve always had. If you haven’t learned to use your own eyes, that is no fault and no business of mine. If I made as little use of my eyes as you do of yours, I shouldn’t last long.”
It never before had occurred to Tommy that there was anything particularly interesting about old Mr. Toad. But those beautiful eyes—for a toad’s eyes are truly beautiful, so beautiful that they are the cause of the old legend that a toad carries jewels in his head—set him to thinking. The more he thought, the more he realized how very little he knew about this homely, common neighbor of the garden.
“All I know about him is that he eats bugs,” muttered Tommy, “and on that account is a pretty good fellow to have around. My, but he has got beautiful eyes! I wonder if there is anything else interesting about him. I wonder if I should wish to be a toad just to learn about him, if I could be one. I guess some of the wishes I’ve made on this old stone have been sort of foolish, because every time I’ve been discontented or envious, and I guess the wishes have come true just to teach me a lesson. I’m not discontented now. I should say not! A fellow would be pretty poor stuff to be discontented on a beautiful spring day like this! And I don’t envy old Mr. Toad, not a bit, unless it’s for his beautiful eyes, and I guess that doesn’t count. I don’t see how he can have a very interesting life, but I almost want to wish just to see if it will come true.”
At that moment, old Mr. Toad came out from under the wishing-stone and started on down the Lone Little Path. Just as before, he seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere, and to have something on his mind. Tommy had to smile as he watched his awkward hops.
“I may as well let him get a good start, because he goes so very slow,” thought Tommy, and dreamily watched until old Mr. Toad was just going out of sight around a turn in the Lone Little Path. Then, instead of getting up and following, Tommy suddenly made up his mind to test the old wishing-stone. “I wish,” said he right out aloud, “I wish I could be a toad!”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he was hurrying down the Lone Little Path after old Mr. Toad, hop-hop-hoppity-hop, a toad himself. He knew now just where old Mr. Toad was bound for, and he was in a hurry, a tremendous hurry, to get there himself. It was the Smiling Pool. He didn’t know why he wanted to get there, but he did. It seemed to him that he couldn’t get there quick enough. It was spring, and the joy of spring made him tingle all over from the tip of his nose to the tips of his toes; but with it was a great longing—a longing for the Smiling Pool. It was a longing very much like homesickness. He felt that he couldn’t be really happy until he got there, and that nothing could or should keep him away from there.
He couldn’t even stop to eat. He knew, too, that that was just the way old Mr. Toad was feeling, and it didn’t surprise him as he hurried along, hop-hop-hoppity-hop, to find other toads all headed in the same direction, and all in just as much of a hurry as he was.
Suddenly he heard a sound that made him hurry faster than ever, or at least try to. It was a clear sweet peep, peep, peep. “It’s my cousin Stickytoes the Tree-toad, and he’s got there before me,” thought Tommy, and tried to hop faster. That single peep grew into a great chorus of peeps, and now he heard other voices, the voices of his other cousins, the frogs. He began to feel that he must sing too, but he couldn’t stop for that.