Mr. Frog always swam out to a cypress knee that rose a few inches above the water. It was broad and flat and he seemed to like to lie on it. Mrs. Frog used to sit on a log near by and all the Baby Frogs crowded around her and tried to cuddle up to her. There was not room for all, but the tiniest Baby Frog used to hop up on her back and lie there until it was time to go home. One of the Baby Frogs never mingled with the rest but hid himself away in a tuft of grass. They said he was “odd.” Why he preferred the grass I cannot say. He was morose and taciturn and probably wanted to be by himself. On dark nights the concert did not begin early. Mr. and Mrs. Frog and all the Baby Frogs remained quiet and watched Will-o’-the-Wisp flash his lamp about; or they listened to the cry of the witch-dog far out in the marsh. But my story deals with the moonlight nights, and on moonlight nights the singing began early and lasted until midnight. Some people will tell you that frogs sing all night and they sometimes do; but only sometimes. These same people tell you that frogs croak, but I say they sing and you can understand and enjoy their music quite as much as some of the grand operas. Mr. Frog usually began. He had a deep bass voice of which he was very proud and when he flung out a rich tremolo, every one else hushed. You could hear him ever so far up the lakeside, and Mr. Peckerwood said he heard him on the other side of the lake. Mrs. Frog once had a well-trained contralto voice of which she was a trifle proud; but of late years she had so many babies to croon for that she got out of practice and could not sing as she once could. She knew how to sing and she knew she couldn’t sing. And this night she sang worse than usual—she seemed out of sorts. The “odd” Frog who went away to himself sang whenever he wanted to and in the funniest way. He did not try to make music but just rattled like an alarm clock. They let him alone because he was “odd.” Another little Frog tried to sing, but he couldn’t. You would have laughed, I am sure, to have heard him try. His voice sounded like a piccolo into which someone was blowing who did not know how to play. Another Baby Frog had a splendid tenor voice, but he was always trying to sing as his papa sang. The result was that he injured his tenor voice without ever learning to sing bass. People very often harm themselves by trying to do what they cannot do and by leaving undone that which they can do. The other singer was a Baby Frog with a beautiful soprano voice. And she sang, and sang her very best, whenever she was called on. Her singing was the talk of the whole neighborhood and, at night, when all the Baby Frogs were asleep, Mr. and Mrs. Frog used to talk of putting by something with which to send her abroad and have her voice cultivated. Whether they ever did so or not I cannot say.