"Oh, Taddy, and you have your green suit!" "So have you, Pollie." "Why, I shouldn't be surprised at anything now, not even if we could sing. Let's try," and both little frogs lifted up their voices and sang. "Che-weep, che-weep, che-weep." They looked so droll, and sang with such a funny chirp, that Father Frog fell off the bank splash into the water with laughter. Taddy and Pollie didn't mind this in the least, for they were sure that Che-weep was the most beautiful song in the world. And this is the way Taddypole and Pollywog lost their tails, and gained their voices in time for the July concert. ORIGIN OF BULLFROGS Once upon a time in a mountain valley there was a group of Indian lodges where the people dwelt very happily. It was an excellent place for a village. In the thick forests which covered the mountain slopes there was abundance of game, and through the valley flowed a sparkling clear brook fed by a full torrent and many slender rills which leaped down the wild mountain sides. So pure and delicious was the water from this stream that the Indians felt sure it was a gift to them from the Great Spirit. Each day it was the custom for the Indian maidens to take their kettles to the brook and fill them with water. They were much surprised one summer morning to note that the stream was not so deep as usual. "Is it because we have had little rain lately?" they asked each other. They reported what they had noticed to the villagers who said, "Our brook will not fail us. The weather has been very dry of late; but soon we shall have plenty of rain which will swell the waters of our precious stream." But, strange to say, the rain did not deepen the brook and when the Indians saw that the water was becoming shallower each day they were very much alarmed. One morning they found that the brook and the waters which fed it had entirely disappeared. With sad hearts they gazed at the bed of shining pebbles which marked the course of their beloved stream. "Is the Great Spirit angry with us?" they whispered. "What have we done to make him take away our life-giving water?" The chief called the men to the council lodge in order to determine the best thing to do. Now it happened that the people of the happy village had often heard rumors of another group of Indians who lived higher up on the mountain. After much deliberation a wise man rose in the council lodge and said, "Let us send one of our fleet-footed braves on a journey to discover this village which we have heard about but whose people we know not. Perhaps they can tell him what has stopped the flow of waters. Let the runner follow the bed of the mountain stream which leaped most willingly to our precious brook."