Grandfather Frog sat on his bog green lily-pad dreaming of the days when the world was young. His hands were clasped across his white and yellow waistcoat and he looked the picture of contentment. Presently out of the corner of one big goggly eye he caught sight of something moving. It wasn't a foolish green fly. No, it didn't act like a fly. What could it be? Grandfather Frog changed his position so that he could see it better. |






