“And if you should ever stray Near a slimy pool some day, And along its grassy margin chance to loiter. Do not pass it idly by, For it is the spot where I Was born a lively tadpole in the water. “I’m a homely, harmless thing; I catch insects on the wing, And in this I serve you all; it is my duty. And now tell me which is best, To be useless and well dressed, Or useful, even though I am no beauty?” Mr. Bufo had scarcely finished, when his mate hopped out from some nearby bushes. “I’d be ashamed,” she said, in a very puffy voice, “to sit there repeating that lovely poetry, with such shabby clothes as yours are. How many more times must I tell you to change them?” “It doesn’t matter about his clothes,” said Ruth. “I think it is so lovely to hear him talk.” “You haven’t heard him as often as I have,” puffed Mrs. Bufo, hopping almost into Ruth’s lap. “Besides, his clothes are a disgrace. They are not only faded and dull, but they are actually beginning to split up the back.” “Are they?” croaked Mr. Bufo meekly. Then he drew a film over his eyes and pretended to be asleep. “Now look here,” said Mrs. Bufo, “you can’t deceive me. That is only your third eyelid. You are not asleep. Now do get off those old clothes.” “Well, if I must, I must,” croaked Mr. Bufo, hopping away. “There, I’ve made him do it at last,” puffed Mrs. Bufo, swallowing a passing fly. “It’s a hard job, and I don’t blame him for getting out of it as long as possible. He has to twist and turn, and use first one leg and then another, until he is quite free from his old suit, and then, tired as he is, he must eat it.” “Eat it?” repeated Ruth, screwing up her face. “Yes, eat it, and not a tooth to chew with either. I can’t see why we haven’t teeth like those horrid frogs, though, to tell the truth, theirs are no good for chewing. They only have them in their upper jaws, and they point backward, too, like fish teeth. I can’t see that they help much in chewing, but they do help to hold what the frog wishes to swallow, and, after all, we toads and frogs are swallowers rather than chewers.” As she spoke, several flies went to prove her words. “Yes,” she added with a big puff, which Ruth took for a sigh, “we have our troubles and worries from early Spring, when we leave our holes, where we sleep all Winter, to the time when frost drives us into our holes again, and no one seems to think about the work we do. The garden couldn’t have a better friend, for the bugs and harmful insects we eat can’t be counted. Well, there’s no use talking this way. I must go to Mr. Bufo. He’ll need some cheering up, I’m sure. One good thing, he won’t have to make his new suit. He’ll find it all ready under his old one.” “Well, she does think of him, anyhow,” thought Ruth as Mrs. Bufo hopped away. “I hope she will talk to me again some day.”