"Cut-a-ka-chunk, cut-a-ka-chunk," croaked a big green frog down in the pond.
"I wish you'd keep still," growled Mr. Thompson.
"He's-goin'-to-sleep, he's-goin'-to-sleep," answered the frog, in a deep bass voice.
"Just-hear-him-snore, just-hear-him-snore," piped a little green fellow, sitting on a lily pad.
Mr. Thompson was getting angry. "I'm not asleep," he shouted.
"Don't-you-get-mad, don't-you-get-mad," urged the old frog.
This was too much. Mr. Thompson sat up and looked around. Directly in front of him, in the edge of the pond, sat a great bull-frog, dressed in a green coat, a canary-colored vest, and dark brown knee-breeches. He winked at Mr. Thompson sociably, and remarked, "How-do-you-do? how-do-you-do? how-do-you-do?"
"Pretty well," answered Mr. Thompson; "but I'm very sleepy."
"Come-take-a-swim," advised the frog, laconically.
"I would," said Mr. Thompson, hesitating, "only I'm afraid I'd get wet, and spoil my clothes."