"I invite you," said Father Frog, "to the July concert three weeks from to-day. Your dress suits will be ready, and as far as breathing is concerned it's all practice. Would you believe it?" he said in a hoarse whisper, "I couldn't stay out of the water very well myself at one time, but I practised breathing every day, until now it is the easiest thing in the world. But speaking of practice making perfect reminds me I must rehearse my song for the concert.
"Come along, come along,
Come along!"
"Let's go down in the sand," whispered Pollie. "I can always think better down there; and, really, this is all so surprising I must think it over. Oh, Taddy, do you think we could truly go to the concert?"
Taddy swished his tail and dived down without answering, feeling this to be too much of a problem for a tadpole to decide.
"It's very strange," said Taddy a few days later; "it certainly seems as if we were getting legs—what use have tadpoles for them? We only need our strong tails for swimming."
"Taddy," cried Pollie, "there's something still stranger. Our tails are shrinking. If they don't stop they will disappear, and then what could we do?"
"Grr-nm, grr-nm!" sounded Father Frog's hoarse voice. "Getting ready for the concert, I see! Well, when you lose those ridiculous tails you will look much better."
"Lose them!" exclaimed the tadpoles; "and what do you think we could do without them?" But Father Frog had disappeared, leaving only the echo of his "Come along."
"I feel as if something strange were about to happen," said Pollie. "I'm tired of tag and hide-and-seek; let's think of some new game."