“Hello, old Mr. Sobersides! Where are you bound for?” As he spoke, Tommy thrust a foot in front of old Mr. Toad and laughed as Mr. Toad hopped up on it and then off, quite as if he were accustomed to having big feet thrust in his way. Not that Tommy had especially big feet. They simply were big in comparison with Mr. Toad. “Never saw you in a hurry before,” continued Tommy. “What’s it all about? You are going as if you were bound for somewhere in particular, and as if you had something special on your mind. What is it, anyway?”

Now of course old Mr. Toad didn’t make any reply. At least he didn’t make any that Tommy heard. If he had, Tommy wouldn’t have understood it. The fact is, it did look, for all the world, as if it was just as Tommy had said. If ever any one had an important engagement to keep and meant to keep it, Mr. Toad did, if looks counted anything. Hoppity-hop-hop-hop, hoppity-hop-hop-hop, he went straight down toward the Green Meadows, and he didn’t pay any attention to anybody or anything.

Tommy was interested. He had known old Mr. Toad ever since he could remember, and he couldn’t recall ever having seen him go anywhere in particular. Whenever Tommy had noticed him, he had seemed to be hopping about in the most aimless sort of way, and never took more than a half dozen hops without sitting down to think it over. So it was very surprising to see him traveling along in this determined fashion, and, having nothing better to do, Tommy decided to follow him and find out what he could.

So down the Lone Little Path traveled old Mr. Toad, hoppity-hop-hop-hop, hoppity-hop-hop-hop, and behind him strolled Tommy. And while old Mr. Toad seemed to be going very fast, and was, for him, Tommy was having hard work to go slow enough to stay behind. And this shows what a difference mere size may make.

When they reached the wishing-stone, Mr. Toad was tired from having hurried so, and Tommy was equally tired from the effort of going slow, so both were glad to sit down for a rest. Old Mr. Toad crept in under the edge of the wishing-stone on the shady side, and Tommy, still thinking of old Mr. Toad, sat down on the wishing-stone itself.

“I wonder,” he chuckled, “if he has come down here to wish. Perhaps he’ll wish himself into something beautiful, as they do in fairy stories. I should think he’d want to. Goodness knows, he’s homely enough! It’s bad enough to be freckled, but to be covered with warts—ugh! There isn’t a single beautiful thing about him.”

As he said this, Tommy leaned over that he might better look at old Mr. Toad, and Mr. Toad looked up at Tommy quite as if he understood what Tommy had said, so that Tommy looked straight into Mr. Toad’s eyes.

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.

At last, Tommy reached the Smiling Pool, and with a last long hop landed in the shallow water on the edge. How good the cool water felt to his dry skin! At the very first touch, the great longing left Tommy and a great content took its place. He had reached home, and he knew it.

It was the same way with old Mr. Toad and with the other toads that kept coming and coming from all directions. And the very first thing that many of them did as soon as they had rested a bit was—what do you think? Why, each one began to sing. Yes, sir, a great many of those toads began to sing! If Tommy had been his true self instead of a toad, he probably would have been more surprised than he was when he discovered that old Mr. Toad had beautiful eyes. But he wasn’t surprised now, for the very good reason that he was singing himself.

Tommy could no more help singing than he could help breathing. Just as he had to fill his lungs with air, so he had to give expression to the joy that filled him. He just had to. And, as the most natural expression of joy is in song, Tommy added his voice to the great chorus of the Smiling Pool.

In his throat was a pouch for which he had not been aware that he had any particular use; now he found out what it was for. He filled it with air, and it swelled and swelled like a little balloon, until it was actually larger than his head; and, though he wasn’t aware of it, he filled it in a very interesting way. He drew the air in through his nostrils and then forced it through two little slits in the floor of his mouth. All the time he kept his mouth tightly closed.

That little balloon was for the purpose of increasing the sound of his voice. Later he discovered that he could sing when wholly under water, with mouth and nostrils tightly closed, by passing the air back and forth between his lungs and that throat-pouch.

It was the same way with all the other toads, and on all sides Tommy saw them sitting upright in the shallow water with their funny swelled-out throats, and singing with all their might. In all the Great World, there was no more joyous place than the Smiling Pool in those beautiful spring days. It seemed as if everybody sang—Redwing the Blackbird in the bulrushes, Little Friend the Song-sparrow in the bushes along the edge of the Laughing Brook, Bubbling Bob the Bobolink in the top of the nearest tree on the Green Meadows, and the toads and frogs in every part of the Smiling Pool. But of all those songs there was none sweeter or more expressive of perfect happiness than that of Tommy and his neighbor, homely, almost ugly-looking, old Mr. Toad.

But it was not quite true that everybody sang. Tommy found it out in a way that put an end to his own singing for a little while. Jolly, round, bright Mr. Sun was shining his brightest, and the singers of the Smiling Pool were doing their very best, when suddenly old Mr. Toad cut his song short right in the middle. So did other toads and frogs on both sides of him. Tommy stopped too, just because the others did. There was something fearsome in that sudden ending of glad song.

Tommy sat perfectly still with a queer feeling that something dreadful was happening. He didn’t move, but he rolled his eyes this way and that way until he saw something moving on the edge of the shore. It was Mr. Blacksnake, just starting to crawl away, and from his mouth two long legs were feebly kicking. One of the sweet singers would sing no more. After that, no matter how glad and happy he felt as he sang, he kept a sharp watch all the time for Mr. Snake, for he had learned that there was danger even in the midst of joy.

But when the dusk of evening came, he knew that Mr. Snake was no longer to be feared, and he sang in perfect peace and contentment until there came an evening when again that mighty chorus stopped abruptly. A shadow passed over him. Looking up, he saw a great bird with soundless wings, and hanging from its claws one of the sweet singers whose voice was stilled forever. Hooty the Owl had caught his supper.

So Tommy learned that not all folk sing their joy in spring, and that those who do not, such as Mr. Blacksnake and Hooty the Owl, were to be watched out for.

“Too bad, too bad!” whispered old Mr. Toad as they waited for some one to start the chorus again. “That fellow was careless. He didn’t watch out. He forgot. Bad business, forgetting; bad business. Doesn’t do at all. Now I’ve lived a great many years, and I expect to live a great many more. I never forget to watch out. We toads haven’t very many enemies, and if we watch out for the few we have, there isn’t much to worry about. It’s safe to start that chorus again, so here goes.”

He swelled his throat out and began to sing. In five minutes it was as if nothing had happened at the Smiling Pool.

So the glad spring passed, and Tommy saw many things of interest. He saw thousands of tiny eggs hatch into funny little tadpoles, and for a while it was hard to tell at first glance the toad tadpoles from their cousins, the frog tadpoles. But the little toad babies grew fast, and it was almost no time at all before they were not tadpoles at all, but tiny little toads with tails. Day by day the tails grew shorter, until there were no tails at all, each baby a perfect little toad no bigger than a good-sized cricket, but big enough to consider that he had outgrown his nursery, and to be eager to leave the Smiling Pool and go out into the Great World.

“Foolish! Foolish! Much better off here. Got a lot to learn before they can take care of themselves in the Great World,” grumbled old Mr. Toad. Then he chuckled. “Know just how they feel, though,” said he. “Felt the same way myself at their age. Suppose you did, too.”

Of course, Tommy, never having been little like that, for he had wished himself into a full-grown toad, had no such memory. But old Mr. Toad didn’t seem to expect a reply, for he went right on: “Took care of myself, and I guess those little rascals can do the same thing. By the way, this water is getting uncomfortably warm. Besides, I’ve got business to attend to. Can’t sing all the time. Holidays are over. Think I’ll start along back to-night. Are you going my way?”

Now Tommy hadn’t thought anything about the matter. He had noticed that a great many toads were leaving the Smiling Pool, and that he himself didn’t care so much about singing. Then, too, he longed for a good meal, for he had eaten little since coming to the Smiling Pool. So when old Mr. Toad asked if he was going his way, Tommy suddenly decided that he was.

“Good!” replied old Mr. Toad. “We’ll start as soon as it begins to grow dark. It’s safer then. Besides, I never could travel in bright, hot weather. It’s bad for the health.”

So when the Black Shadows began to creep across the Green Meadows, old Mr. Toad and Tommy turned their backs on the Smiling Pool and started up the Lone Little Path. They were not in a hurry now, as they had been when they came down the Lone Little Path, and they hopped along slowly, stopping to hunt bugs and slugs and worms, for they were very, very hungry. Old Mr. Toad fixed his eyes on a fly which had just lighted on the ground two inches in front of him. He sat perfectly still, but there was a lightning-like flash of something pink from his mouth, and the fly was gone. Mr. Toad smacked his lips.

“I don’t see how some people get along with their tongues fastened ’way back in their throats,” he remarked. “The proper place for a tongue to be fastened is the way ours are—by the front end. Then you can shoot it out its whole length and get your meal every time. See that spider over there? If I tried to get any nearer, he’d be gone at the first move. He’s a goner anyway. Watch!” There was that little pink flash again, and, sure enough, the spider had disappeared. Once more old Mr. Toad smacked his lips. “Didn’t I tell you he was a goner?” said he, chuckling over his own joke.

Tommy quite agreed with old Mr. Toad. That arrangement of his tongue certainly was most convenient. Any insect he liked to eat that came within two inches of his nose was as good as caught. All he had to do was to shoot out his tongue, which was sticky, and when he drew it back, it brought the bug with it and carried it well down his throat to a comfortable point to swallow. Yes, it certainly was convenient.

It took so much time to fill their stomachs that they did not travel far that night. The next day they spent under an old barrel, where they buried themselves in the soft earth by digging holes with their stout hind feet and backing in at the same time until just their noses and eyes showed at the doorways, ready to snap up any foolish bugs or worms who might seek shelter in their hiding-place. It was such a comfortable place that they stayed several days, going out nights to hunt, and returning at daylight.

It was while they were there that old Mr. Toad complained that his skin was getting too tight and uncomfortable, and announced that he was going to change it. And he did. It was a pretty tiresome process, and required a lot of wriggling and kicking, but little by little the old skin split in places and Mr. Toad worked it off, getting his hind legs free first, and later his hands, using the latter to pull the last of it from the top of his head over his eyes. And, as fast as he worked it loose, he swallowed it!

“Now I feel better,” said he, as with a final gulp he swallowed the last of his old suit. Tommy wasn’t sure that he looked any better, for the new skin looked very much like the old one; but he didn’t say so.

Tommy found that he needed four good meals a day, and filling his stomach took most of his time when he wasn’t resting. Cutworms he found especially to his liking, and it was astonishing how many he could eat in a night. Caterpillars of many kinds helped out, and it was great fun to sit beside an ant-hill and snap up the busy workers as they came out.

But, besides their daily foraging, there was plenty of excitement, as when a rustling warned them that a snake was near, or a shadow on the grass told them that a hawk was sailing overhead. At those times they simply sat perfectly still, and looked so much like little lumps of earth that they were not seen at all, or, if they were, they were not recognized. Instead of drinking, they soaked water in through the skin. To have a dry skin was to be terribly uncomfortable, and that is why they always sought shelter during the sunny hours.

At last came a rainy day. “Toad weather! Perfect toad weather!” exclaimed old Mr. Toad. “This is the day to travel.”

So once more they took up their journey in a leisurely way. A little past noon, the clouds cleared away and the sun came out bright. “Time to get under cover,” grunted old Mr. Toad, and led the way to a great gray rock beside the Lone Little Path and crawled under the edge of it. Tommy was just going to follow—when something happened! He wasn’t a toad at all—just a freckle-faced boy sitting on the wishing-stone.

He pinched himself to make sure. Then he looked under the edge of the wishing-stone for old Mr. Toad. He wasn’t there. Gradually he remembered that he had seen old Mr. Toad disappearing around a turn in the Lone Little Path, going hoppity-hop-hop-hop, as if he had something on his mind.

“And I thought that there was nothing interesting about a toad!” muttered Tommy. “I wonder if it’s all true. I believe I’ll run down to the Smiling Pool and just see if that is where Mr. Toad really was going. He must have about reached there by this time.”

He jumped to his feet and ran down the Lone Little Path. As he drew near the Smiling Pool, he stopped to listen to the joyous chorus rising from it. He had always thought of the singers as just “peepers,” or frogs. Now, for the first time, he noticed that there were different voices. Just ahead of him he saw something moving. It was old Mr. Toad. Softly, very softly, Tommy followed and saw him jump into the shallow water. Carefully he tiptoed nearer and watched. Presently old Mr. Toad’s throat began to swell and swell, until it was bigger than his head. Then he began to sing. It was only a couple of notes, tremulous and wonderfully sweet, and so expressive of joy and gladness that Tommy felt his own heart swell with happiness.

“It is true!” he cried. “And all the rest must be true. And I said there was nothing beautiful about a toad, when all the time he has the most wonderful eyes and the sweetest voice I’ve ever heard. It must be true about that queer tongue, and the way he sheds his skin. I’m going to watch and see for myself. Why, I’ve known old Mr. Toad all my life, and thought him just a common fellow, when all the time he is just wonderful! I’m glad I’ve been a toad. Of course there is nothing like being a boy, but I’d rather be a toad than some other things I’ve been on the old wishing-stone. I’m going to get all the toads I can to live in my garden this summer.”

And that is just what Tommy did, with the result that he had one of the best gardens anywhere around. And nobody knew why but Tommy—and his friends, the toads.

Tommy had no intention of doing any more wishing on that old stone, but he did. He just couldn’t keep away from it. If you want to know what his wishes were and what more he learned you will find it in the next volume, Tommy’s Wishes Come True.

TOMMY’S WISHES COME TRUE