“You’ll grow into a fat one, won’t you, froggy?” she said with a dry cackle. “I’m sorry I missed that big guy beside you, but there are others. There are always others.” She snorted and a thin smile cracked across her face. “Ha ha ha ha.” She tossed Jimmy over her shoulder into a wooden bucket. Then she slammed the lid on the bucket.

  “Jimmy’s a goner,” I said. “Here you went and made me uv him, I mean love him, and he’s gone.” I bobbed around under the lily pad.

  Pin swam back and forth in front of me, in a worried frenzy. His useless swimming only made things worse.

  “Oh, Pin, you are a wretched frog, after all. I thought you had brought me such wonderful things in life. Such odd and new things. And now all you’ve done is make me sad, and a frog is never supposed to be sad. Oh me, oh me, oh me, oh me.”

  Pin stopped swimming suddenly. “Don’t tawk,” he said.

  “I can talk all I want,” I said. “I’m tired of you making me do things. I listened to you about our mating hole and we almost doomed a thousand tadpoles. And then you had me carrying them in my mouth. And then we fed them—who ever heard of a frog feeding tadpoles? And then we carried the few left on our backs. Oh, you’ve led me into crazy ways. And all because I did what you said. But I won’t do it now. I’ll shout if I want. I’ll scream. Aaaaaa!”

  “Don’t tawk,” said Pin. “I can’t ink if you tawk.”

  “Ink! That does it. I’m tired of the stupid way you talk. You had me liking it. But it’s just plain stupid. And you blame it on your tongue. You have a perfectly normal froggy tongue. You eat good with it, why can’t you talk good with it?”

  “Don’t tawk,” said Pin. “I’m inking.”

  “You can’t ink,” I screamed. “Frogs don’t ink. Squids do.”

  “Ink,” said Pin. “I’m inking about Jimmy.”

  “Poor little Jimmy,” I said.

  “Pead don’t tawk,” said Pin.

  “Please, the word is please, not pead. You know, I never told you this, but the wood frog told me not to trust you.”

  Pin looked at me.

  “She said that my curiosity would ruin me. And I know it’s true. I’ve always been too interested in new and different things. Oh me, oh me, oh me, oh me. The wood frog was right.”

  “I hate wood fawg,” said Pin. “Wood fawg bad.”

  “Wood frogs aren’t bad at all. I like this one. How dare you insult her?”

  “Wood fawg hide eye,” said Pin. “Wood fawg dief.”

  “You’re such a fool. She’s not a thief. She just looks like she has a brown mask across her eyes. But it’s her coloring, that’s all.” I looked around. “I wish I could find something to fling across your eyes,” I screamed. “I wish I could bang you on the head. I wish I could punch you in the nose!”

  “I’ve got an idea!” shouted Pin. “We get Jimmy.”

  I stared at him. “We will?”

  “Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy,” shouted a chorus of froglets.

  I was so surprised, I gulped water. Pin and I looked around at all the little frogs who had silently surrounded us while we were arguing. I counted. One dozen. Two dozen. Three dozen. Four dozen. And one left over. Forty-nine froglets.

  “Who you?” said Pin.

  “We’re fawgs,” they said together.

  “They’re our children,” I said, amazed. “They have to be. These are the froglets we kept safe in the mating hole. I can’t believe it.” I looked across their happy little faces. “They’ve all stayed together, ever since we carried them here. Like a family. Like one huge frog family.” I thought about it. “It’s unfroglike.”

  “It good,” said Pin.

  “Good, good, good,” said the froglets.

  “They’re all your children,” I said. “They think like you.”

  “We’re fawgs,” screamed the froglets. “We want Jimmy.”

  “Don’t tawk,” said Pin. “I tawk. I have an idea.” He stared at the froglets. They stared back. Then he turned to me. “I take hag away. You knock de bucket. De bucket faw. Jimmy get out.”

  “Hurrah!” shouted the froglets. “The bucket will fall over. Jimmy will be free. Hurrah!”

  “How can I knock over that big, heavy bucket?” I said.

  “Get de wood fawg to hep you.”

  “Frogs don’t help each other,” I said.

  “Get de wood fawg. Go!”

  “But how will you take the hag away?”

  “I’ve got an idea. Go,” said Pin. He turned to the froglets. “You act good now. Hide in de weed. Don’t get eaten.”

  “Lot of good that’ll do,” I said. “Froglets never obey.”

  Pin looked back at me. “Go!”

  I hesitated. I had lost my sweet son Jimmy and now maybe I was about to lose my husband. I couldn’t bear the thought. “Be careful,” I whispered.

  Pin nodded. “Good-bye, Jade.”

  I swam to the mud far behind the hag and looked around for the wood frog. I hopped in and out of the undergrowth. But she was nowhere to be found. I sighed. It didn’t really matter, though. If I had asked the wood frog to help me, she’d have thought I was crazy.

  Pin swam in the other direction, right toward where the hag had been. I could see his eyes and nose bobbing in the water. He looked every which way for her. But the hag wasn’t standing on the muddy bank anymore. Her net was still there—but she was gone.

  Pin came out onto the mud and sat very still. I knew he was trying to sense her motions through vibrations in the mud.

  I leaped toward the bucket, which was now halfway between us. If Pin and I were fast enough, we could free Jimmy before the hag reappeared.

  A sharp ray of amber light caught my eye. It was the sun reflecting off the hag’s crystal ring as she came flying out of the overhanging willow branches. She landed with a thud, scooping me up in her bare hand with one swift grab. I knew I was a dead frog.

  “Croak!” shouted Pin. “Croak, croak, croak!”

  The hag spun around and saw Pin do a flip in the air. “Aha! The big guy again. That juicy, fat, oversize guy.” She crept toward the bucket. “Let me just drop this froggy into the bucket and then you’re next, big guy.”

  “Croak!” shouted Pin. He leaped right toward the hag. “Croak! Croak!”

  The hag cackled. “Well, look at that. A froggy that croaks with only one vocal sac. A sick froggy. Probably can’t hop too far. Ha ha ha ha. An easy froggy to catch.”

  “Croak!” shouted Pin. He leaped toward her again. Then he suddenly turned and leaped away quickly. “Croak, croak, croak.”

  “Hey, wait a minute, big guy.” The hag looked from me to Pin. “He’s worth three of you!” She dropped me on the mud and picked up her net.

  Pin stopped hopping.

  I had to get to Jimmy right away. I tried to leap and fell flat on my belly. I couldn’t move my hind legs, the hag had squeezed them so hard. Helpless, I watched Pin and the hag.

  The hag crept toward Pin slowly. She swung her net. She had aimed perfectly.

  Pin leaped backward at the last second. I’d never seen a frog leap backward! The net slapped down on the mud in front of Pin.

  “Croak,” said Pin.

  “You hopped backward,” said the hag, with as much surprise as I felt. “Frogs can’t do that!” Then her voice rose in anger. “Think I can’t get you, is that it? Well, I’ll get you, my amphibious morsel. I’ll get you.” She lifted her net slowly.

  I forced my right hind leg out in a stretch. And yes, oh yes, it was working now. I tried my left. It stayed cramped. Panic clutched me. I stared at Pin and the hag.

  This time the net came down about five inches behind where Pin had been sitting. But Pin leaped at the last minute—to the side.

  “A sideways leap!” The hag leaned over and stuck her bumpy chin out at Pin. She snorted. “An acrobat frog, is that what you think you are? Well, I can handle that!” She looked around.

  She marched right past me to a clump of chamomile growing on the bank beside the wooden bucket that held our Jimmy prisoner. She plucked the chamomile. “A little herbal boost will make my net big. I’ll catch you in an instant.” She stuck the plant in her mouth and chewed like a cow. Then she held the net in front of her and spit a huge gob of muck onto it. The net immediately grew three times bigger.

  The hag raised it over her head and swung hard. The net caught on a hawthorn branch and ripped.

  “Beastly thing,” she shouted. She left the net dangling from the branch and clenched her fists. She rubbed her crystal ring and thought for a moment. “All right, froggy, no more fooling around. It’s time for serious magic.”

  She walked toward Pin very slowly, holding her glowing amber crystal at chest level, pointed right at him. She rubbed the crystal with a circular motion. “Ice, froggy. What do you think of that? Nice ice to make your cold blood slow to a stop. Ha ha ha ha.”

  And suddenly a glistening wall of ice rose up behind Pin. “It’s so high, you can’t jump over it. It’s so slippery, you can’t climb it. Ha ha ha ha. It’s behind you, froggy. You can’t jump backward. Ha ha ha ha.” She rubbed her ring again. “It’s on both sides of you, froggy. You can’t jump sideways. Ha ha ha ha.” And the ice wall rose up on both sides of Pin. The hag put her hand on her ring to rub again. “It’s—”

  But before she could say it, Pin leaped and landed right on the hag’s face, grabbing hold of her nose.

  “Owwww!” screamed the hag. The air was a blur of hag fingers and frog legs. Suddenly the hag’s crystal ring went flying off her finger and into the mud.

  “Get Jimmy,” Pin shouted to me.

  “Who’s Jimmy?” screamed the hag as she snorted and flailed around. She pulled fiercely at Pin. But he held on to her nose just like he held on to my belly when we mated. The strength of his grip was astounding.

  I stretched my left thigh in desperation. It finally worked again! I leaped to the bucket and jumped against it.

  It rocked a little and then came to a halt.

  “High,” shouted Pin. “Hit it high.”

  I jumped high and smashed into the bucket a few inches under the rim.

  It rocked on its bottom edge, then slammed to a halt again.

  “High, high, high,” shouted Pin.

  “High?” screamed the hag. “What do you mean, you infernal frog?” She was holding him by both hind legs and pulling as hard as she could. Her snorts were now as loud as the bugle of a moose.

  I looked at that heavy wooden bucket and felt defeated. It was enormous, and I was but one little green frog. But Jimmy was inside. I could hear him leaping about. I jumped with all the strength I had left and slammed against the rim of the bucket. At the same moment that I slammed against it, forty-nine little froglets came slamming up against it, too.

  It crashed over on its side, and the lid rolled away.

  “Jimmy,” I called.

  A crowd of froglets went leaping past me and splashed into the water. I leaped in after them, grateful for the notorious disobedience of froglets that had made them not stay hidden in the weeds as Pin had ordered.

  Jimmy and I and the forty-nine little froglets sat on the bottom of the pond. We closed our nostrils and waited. Our goggle-like eyelids kept out the water but still let us see the underwater world.

  The protozoa streaked the water with green and red. The brown and white hydras floated around us, dangling their tentacles. The bristle worms crawled over our toes, nibbling up the debris off the bottom. A great diving beetle plunged down near Jimmy, snapped up a hydra, then darted away. The life of the pond went on as if things were normal. But nothing was normal for us anymore. Pin was gone.

  A bullfrog swam near and eyed us.

  “We belong to Pin,” I shouted.

  The bullfrog came closer.

  “Pin,” I shouted, “the giant green frog that baffles snapping turtles and zaps water snakes. This is De Fawg Pin’s family.”

  The bullfrog hesitated.

  “You don’t want to know what De Fawg Pin can do to bullfrogs,” I said in a steely voice.

  The bullfrog muttered, “Frog family? Who ever heard of a frog family?” He swam on by.

  We waited for hours. The water darkened. I stayed attentive, but I knew the sun’s rays were going down. I knew it soon would be too dark to see predators. The children and I would be forced to go up to the surface. It was time to face the fact that Pin was gone forever. “Children,” I said, working to keep my voice from cracking with sadness, “children, I have bad news.”

  “About Daddy?” said Jimmy.

  Daddy. The word pierced my heart. Pin had taught Jimmy to call him Daddy. “Yes.” I stayed silent for a long moment. Then I looked around at all their expectant faces. “The hag got Daddy.”

  “I don’t believe it,” said Jimmy. “Daddy’s too smart.”

  “Sometimes even smart frogs get caught.”

  “Daddy’s not a frog, he’s a fawg,” said Jimmy.

  “We’re all fawgs,” said the froglets. “No hag can hurt a fawg.”

  “Last time I saw him,” I said, “the hag was holding on to him by both hind legs.”

  “No,” said Jimmy. “De Fawg Pin lives. I know it.”

  “De Fawg Pin lives,” screamed the froglets.

  “De Fawg Pin,” I said slowly. “Poor lost Pin.”

  The same bullfrog that had bothered us three or four hours ago came swimming back. “Oh, that Pin,” he said. “What a frog. Oh boy, do I love what happened tonight! Yeah, that was good. Heh heh heh.”

  Oh me, oh me, oh me, oh me. Pin was dead for sure. Now there was nothing to threaten the bullfrog with. I tensed for the fight.

  “Guess what I ate for supper,” said the bullfrog. “Go on, guess.”

  I thought of what must remain of Pin after the hag pulled his legs off. For a moment I cursed the fatal strength of a healthy frog’s mating grip. Then I sighed. Such is the way of the world. My Pin had been ripped apart and some of him was now in the belly of this hideous bullfrog.

  “Want a hint?” said the bullfrog. “Cold blood and mucky mucus. Heh heh heh.”

  I thought of Pin’s lovely shiny skin, so slick from his mucus glands. “A pox on you,” I shouted at the bullfrog.

  “Heh heh,” said the bullfrog. “Very fitting. Want another hint?” He snickered. “Strange noises.”

  I thought of Pin’s funny way of talking. I would never hear the word uv again. My whole being ached. “You cannibal,” I said with cold hatred. “You despicable cannibal.”

  The bullfrog bobbed around us. The froglets huddled together. “Drippy and delicious,” said the bullfrog in his raspy voice. “Zingy. A real treat for my froggy palate.”

  “You’re not a frog,” shouted Jimmy, “you’re a toad. You’re a big old toad disguised as a stupid old bullfrog.”

  Calling a frog a toad was the worst insult imaginable. I was astounded at Jimmy’s courage. He was Pin’s son, all right.

  “Heh heh heh.” The bullfrog opened his mouth and swallowed a swarm of protozoa. “Don’t panic, froglet. I didn’t steal it. Pin threw it away.”

  “What?” I said.

  “What, what, what?” chorused the froglets.

  The bullfrog swam right up to me. He swayed back and forth. “He kept screaming jade. What’s that mean, jade?”

  “Jade,” I said softly.

  The bullfrog hiccuped. A stream of bubbles went up from his mouth. “You know, for a frog that can rip the nose right off a witch, that Pin doesn’t know squat.” He shut his eyes and said dreamily, “It was succulent, too.” Then he opened his eyes wide and thrust his face in mine. “Pin doesn’t even know that frogs can sit underwater and breathe through their skins. He didn’t know this is where you’d be, when anyone knows a frog goes straight to the bottom and waits when there’s danger.”

  The bullfrog gulped in another swarm of protozoa. “He’s been hopping around frantically, looking for you like a mother bird or a mammal or something. Oh, that maniac Pin. I’ve been laughing for hours.” The bullfrog belched.

  “Where is he now?” I asked.

  The bullfrog stared at me. “You want to find him as much as he wants to find you, don’t you?” He looked around at the froglets. “You all want to, don’t you? What’s going on? Since when do frogs care what happens to other frogs?”

  “Where is he?” I said.

  The bullfrog’s look of amazement was replaced quickly by a sly look. “What’ll you give me if I tell you?”

  “Go eat a witch’s nose,” shouted Jimmy. “Let’s go find him, Mamma.” He shot up through the water. All the froglets followed.

  I climbed up onto our granite rock, leaving the froglets suspended in the water, their bulging eyes taking in everything. There sat Pin, in the middle of the rock, his back to us, croaking sadly with his left vocal sac.

  “Pin,” I said.

  Pin jumped around. “Jade, my Jade.” His mouth dropped open, and his tongue flopped onto the rock. I scooped it up and gently put it back in his mouth. “Jimmy?” he said.

  “He’s here,” I said. “They’re all here. All fifty of them.”

  He looked around at the froglets, and his eyes showed peace and happiness.

  The froglets climbed onto the surrounding lily pads. “Night, Daddy. Night, Mamma,” they said.

  Pin and I sat on the warm rock, with Jimmy between us, and watched the moon grow gibbous in that wonderful sky.

  The sun was out in full glare. The children were leaping for their breakfast here and there. I had just swallowed a big horsefly. The morning seemed off to a terrific start, when Pin made his announcement.

  “Back,” said Pin. “We go back.”

  “Back?” I said. Then I brightened. “Back to our old pond?”

  “No,” said Pin. “Back to de . . . de . . . oh, I can’t day it.”

  “You can’t say it. All right. Does it have rrrr or ssss or thhhh in it?”

 

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