Settling this comfortably in his mind, he glanced about again, as a traveller takes a farewell look at a strange land he is about leaving. But now he made the additional discovery that a grove just before him was the "forest," as he believed it, he had seen many times in the distance while sitting on the banks of the pool.
Gazing into its dark recesses, he became suddenly aware of two great yellow-rimmed eyes peering out of its sombre depths. Cold chills ran over him. His thirst for knowledge, which his mother, in her croaking way, called idle curiosity, got the better of his fears, however, as he became satisfied that he himself was not the object of those eyes' attention, if indeed anything in particular was, and he began again his usual wise speculations. "What an eye!" said he. "I remember once, while lying at the bottom of the pool, to have seen the full moon rising, while a round leaf upon the brink intervening, darkened the centre, leaving a yellowish rim; that eye reminds me of it. To whom or what can it belong, I wonder? Let me see: surrounded by feathers?—yes, feathers! Well, feathers are only worn by birds, therefore the owner of that eye must be a bird, that's clear; and that's pretty good logic, too, I flatter myself."
He was right; the owner of the eye was a bird—an owl; and scarcely had he "flattered" himself, when he became conscious that now he was the object of attention by those terrible eyes. Losing no time, he turned toward the rock, made several desperate leaps in quick succession before he felt the shadow of the great wings, though he heard no sound, for the flight of owls is as noiseless almost as that of thistle-down.
Fortunately, again (he was a lucky frog), it was a sunny afternoon, and the light rather strong for the owls' eyes (by this time another had joined her mate); so, dodging here and there, he managed to elude them, always making toward home, however, followed blindly by the owls. Nor was this all: the tall birds, attracted by the commotion, seeing him dodging through the grass, joined in the pursuit. The snake he had seen also made bold to follow with wide-open jaws to devour him, and creatures of every kind—ducks, more cranes, even a pelican—came from all quarters, and pursued him to the very brink of the pool.
So numerous were they, indeed, that they obstructed each other's way. Meantime the little frog was making the best use of the time, lessening the distance at every bound. But even a race for life must have an end, either in disaster to the pursued or disappointment to the pursuers, and just at the moment when the wide-open beak of the admired white crane was about to close upon him, with all the other eager open jaws close following, our adventurous student splashed into the waters of the pond.
As he settled, exhausted, in the soft mud at the bottom of the pond, stirring up a cloud, as it were, his little brothers and sisters, still in the polliwig state, wriggled around him with anxious inquiry, and staid old croakers, in coats of green and brown, and mottled trousers, looked with amazement from him to the bank, where still lingered the excited throng of his hungry pursuers.
Not a word to the many questions asked could he reply, but stared out from his muddy security in dazed speechlessness upon the horrid throng of snapping beaks and jaws he had just escaped. He experienced a feeling of pleasure upon seeing a disappointed owl pick up a disappointed snake, and wing his noiseless way back toward the copse, followed by his mate. Then the disappointed crane fastened upon another snake, and arose like a white cloud, with his squirming victim in his strong beak. After considerable quacking, snapping, and hissing, one after another of his ferocious foes rose upon the wing, and went his way; the bank was cleared, peace and quiet reigned again.
Our traveller was again asked for an account of his adventures. When he came to speak of the "strange plant," a laugh from under the yellow vest of "Old Spots" greeted his ear. And "Old Spots" (they called him "Spots" on account of his strongly mottled green coat) curtly observed that a little sharp experience seemed to simplify matters much, and a prick in the nose to help an inquiring mind to a speedy conclusion. "But," said he, more seriously, "a closer scrutiny would hardly have failed to reveal to the eye so important a feature as prickers on a thistle, without the necessity of thrusting them into one's very nose."
The story of the boy and the brick was allowed to pass without remark from the older inhabitants of the pool, probably because the little frog, in this instance, had managed the case as well as any one could have done.
When he spoke of the tall bird in plumage of shining white, the comment was, "The white crane! one of the deadliest foes of our race!" The brown bird, he was informed, was the bittern, commonly called "stake-driver," "fly-up-the-creek," etc., also a mortal foe.