He stumbled on the Salamander. The Salamander, after working for an hour, had partially concealed himself. His smiling face alone was visible, framed by the grass-stems. "Have--you--seen--the--French--Frog?" said the Natterjack, as loudly and as plainly as he could. [Illustration: "FETCH HIM," THUNDERED THE KING TOAD. THE NATTERJACK FLED HEADLONG] The Salamander turned his face away and smiled across his shoulder. "Have--you--seen--the--French--Frog?" the Natterjack repeated. The Salamander's face came slowly round again, still smiling. It was too much; no longer could the Natterjack contain himself. He ducked his head and pranced, his legs flung round him anyhow. So for a mad five minutes; at last he got his answer, suave tones across the intervening grass: "Have I seen what?" The Natterjack plunged straight into the pond. His nerves were over-wrought, his heart was racing. But for this cooling dive he must have burst. He rose among the lily leaves, and, clutching one, hung slantwise. Slowly the madness left him. Then he commenced to paddle circumspectly. [Illustration: The Green Toad slowly stretched himself. "THAT?" said he, "that's not French."] [Illustration: At the fifth stone--a bulky slanting one, he sighted the French Frog.] He steered a zig-zag course, and, scanning every leaf in turn, came to the outskirts of the cluster. Here he sank slowly down, until his nose alone was visible. The leaf on his right hand was moving. A ripple ran the length of it; then, close beside its stalk, appeared a snout, a quivering trembling snout; then two bead eyes; then a trim velvet body. The Natterjack brought up his head again. No danger here, only a water Shrew-mouse. The Shrew-mouse took no heed of him. She swam the circuit of her leaf three times, dived once or twice, then climbed upon its surface. Here she performed her toilet. The goggle-eyes in no way disconcerted her. At length the Natterjack found words: "Can you tell me," he said, politely, "where the French Frog has got to?" The Shrew-mouse gave a little jump. She had been combing out her tail, which was important. "The French Frog?" she said; "the French Frog? I'm sick of the French Frog. What between him and the Water Rat--and the queer thing is that neither of them seems to know that the other----" "Of course, he's very fond of me," she added. "Every day he sings _at_ me, and so, of course, when he comes my way, I have to _ask_ him to sing; and the worst of it is, when I _ask_ him to sing, he _does_ sing." [Illustration] "I think that might be cured," said the Natterjack, "if you can tell me where he is." "Where did you see him last?" said the Shrew-mouse. "Under the furze-bush," said the Natterjack. "Under the furze-bush?" echoed the Shrew-mouse; "perhaps then I can find him. Swim behind me."