“oh, grandpa, will you please tell us a story?” begged bully and bawly no-tail one evening after supper, when they sat beside the old gentleman frog, who was reading a newspaper. “do tell us a story about a giant.”
“ha! hum!” exclaimed grandpa croaker. “i’m afraid i don’t know any giant stories, but i’ll tell you one about how i once went hunting and was nearly caught myself.”
“oh, that will be fine!” cried the two frog boys, so their grandpa took one of them up on each knee, and in his deepest, bass, rumbling, stumbling, bumbling voice he told them the story.
it was a very good story, and some day perhaps i may tell it to you. it was about how, when grandpa was a young frog, he started out to hunt blackberries, and got caught in a briar bush and couldn’t get loose for ever so long, and the mosquitoes bit him very hard, all over.
“and after that i never went hunting blackberries without taking a mosquito netting along,” said the old frog gentleman, as he finished his story.
“my but that was an adventure!” cried bully.
“that’s what!” agreed his brother. “you were very brave, grandpa, to go off hunting blackberries all alone.”
“yes, i was considered quite brave and handsome when i was young,” admitted the old gentleman frog, in his bass voice. “but now, boys, run off to bed, and i’ll finish reading the paper.”
the next morning when bully got up he saw bawly at the side of the bed, putting some beans in a bag, and taking his bean shooter out from the bureau drawer where he kept it.
“what are you going to do, bawly?” asked bully.
“i’m going hunting, as grandpa did,” said his brother.
“but blackberries aren’t ripe yet. they’re not ripe until june or july,” objected bully.
“i know it, but i’m going to hunt mosquitoes, not blackberries. i’m going to kill all i can with my bean shooter, and then there won’t be so many to bite the dear little babies this summer. don’t you want to come along?” asked bawly.
“i would if i had a bean shooter,” answered bully. “perhaps i’ll go some other time. to-day i promised peetie and jackie bow wow i’d come over and play ball with them.”
so bully went to play ball, with the puppy dogs, and bawly went hunting, after his mamma had said that he might, and had told him to be careful.
“i’ll put up a little lunch for you,” she said, “so you won’t get hungry hunting mosquitoes in the woods.”
off bawly hopped, with his lunch in a little basket on one leg and carrying his bean shooter, and plenty of beans. he knew a deep, dark, dismal stretch of woodland where there were so many mosquitoes that they wouldn’t have been afraid to bite even an elephant, if one had happened along. you see there were so many of the mosquitoes that they were bold and savage, like bears or lions.
“but just wait until i get at them with my bean shooter,” said bawly bravely. “then they’ll be so frightened that they’ll fly away, and never come back to bother people any more.”
on and on he hopped and pretty soon he could hear a funny buzzing noise.
“those are the mosquitoes,” said the frog boy. “i am almost at the deep, dark, dismal woods. now i must be brave, as my grandpa was when he hunted blackberries; and, so that i may be very strong, to kill all the mosquitoes, i’ll eat part of my lunch now.”
so bawly sat down under a toadstool, for it was very hot, and he ate part of his lunch. he could hear the mosquitoes buzzing louder and louder, and he knew there must be many of them; thousands and thousands.
“well, here i go!” exclaimed the frog boy at length, as he wrapped up in a paper what was left of his lunch, and got his bean shooter all ready. “now for the battle. charge! forward, march! bang-bang! bung-bung!” and he made a noise like a fife and drum going up hill.
“well, i wonder what that can be coming into our woods?” asked one mosquito of another as he stopped buzzing his wings a moment.
“it looks like a frog boy,” was the reply of a lady mosquito.
“it is,” spoke a third mosquito, sharpening his biting bill on a stone. “let’s sting him so he’ll never come here again.”
“yes, let’s do it!” they all agreed.
so they all got ready with their stingers, and bawly hopped nearer and nearer. they were just going to pounce on him and bite him to pieces when he suddenly shot a lot of beans at them, hitting quite a number of mosquitoes and killing a few.
“my! what’s this? what’s this?” cried the mosquitoes that weren’t killed. “what is happening?” and they were very much surprised, not to say startled.
“this must be a war!” said some others. “this frog boy is fighting us!”
“that’s just what i’m doing!” cried bawly bravely. “i’m punishing you for what you did to grandfather croaker! bang-bang! bung-bung! shoot! fire! aim! forward, march!” and with that he shot some more beans at the mosquitoes, killing hundreds of them so they could never more bite little babies or boys and girls, to say nothing of papas and mammas and aunts and uncles.
oh, how brave bawly was with his bean shooter! he made those mosquitoes dance around like humming birds, and they were very much frightened. then bawly took a rest and ate some more of his lunch, laying his bean shooter down on top of a stump.
“now the battle will go on again!” he cried, when he had eaten the last crumb and felt very strong. but, would you believe me, while he was eating, those mosquitoes had sneaked up and taken away his bean shooter.
“oh, this is terrible!” cried bawly, as he saw that his tin shooter was gone. “now i can’t fight them any more.”
then the mosquitoes knew that the frog boy didn’t have his bean-gun with him, for they had hid it, and they stung him, so much that maybe, they would have stung him to death if it hadn’t happened that dickie and nellie chip-chip, the sparrows, flew along just then. into the swarm of mosquitoes the birds flew, and they caught hundreds of them in their bills and killed them, and the rest were so frightened that they flew away, and in that manner bawly was saved.
so that’s how he went hunting all alone, and when he got home his grandpa croaker and all the folks thought him very brave. now, in case i see a red poodle dog, with yellow legs, standing on his nose while he wags his tail at the pussy cat, i’ll tell you next about papa no-tail and the giant.
