It was uneven going. Sometimes a stretch of sticky mud, sometimes the mazy reed-stems, and sometimes, where the bank was hollowed out, deep water.
The Natterjack was nimble on his feet, and scuttling, crawling, swimming, made good progress. Before he paused, the furze-bush rose above him. Once in the shade of this, he moved discreetly. He slid from stone to stone, and at each stone he rose to reconnoitre. At the fifth stone, a bulky slanting one, he sighted the French Frog. The French Frog sat absorbed in his own harmonies, his mouthpiece taut, to right and left of it two filmy bubble spheres, now swelling now collapsing.
"brek-ek-ek-ek-ek-ek-ek-ek-EX!"
"KO-ax! KO-ax! KO-ax!"
It sounded like a challenge.
The last notes struck the listener squarely. He too could sing. Had he not sung against the wood-pecker, yaffle for yaffle, note for note? He swelled himself to bursting point, shut both his eyes, strained to their uttermost the voice-chords underneath his tongue, and loosed one mighty "Yaup!" It cut the last "Ko-ax" in half, and as its rattle spent itself, he looked to see what came of it. He looked in vain. The French Frog was not there.
The Natterjack at first was jubilant (a signal victory this) but quiet reflection sobered him.
His mission was to bring the French Frog with him. Now there was no French Frog to bring. He searched five yards each way, then gloomily retraced his steps.
The French Frog Sat Absorbed in his own Harmonies, his Mouthpiece taut, to Right and Left of it, two Filmy Bubble Spheres, now Swelling, now Collapsing
He found the King Toad sleeping, and pausing at a prudent range, croaked nervously.
The King Toad made no sign.
He croaked again, and louder.
The King Toad moved uneasily. His eyebrows twitched, and one eye half revealed itself. Upper and under lids stayed fast, but, in their crescent interval, a third lid fluttered, a filmy, shadowy, cobweb thing, which brushed aside the dream-mists.
"I see a Natterjack," he said, "a Starveling, Mouse Legged Natterjack. I sent for a French Frog"
So in due order, decorously, to open round-eyed vision. The Natterjack was palpably distressed.
His mouth drooped dismally; he shuffled each squat foot in turn.
At last the King Toad spoke.
"I see a Natterjack," he said, "a starveling, mouse-legged Natterjack. I sent for a French Frog."
"Sire," said the Natterjack, his voice a-quiver, "I f-found him, but he v-vanished."
"Fetch him," thundered the King Toad.
The Natterjack fled headlong.
"I shall have to find him," he muttered to himself.
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.
"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.
The Green Toad slowly stretched himself. "That?" said he, "that's not French."
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."
"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."
She slid so neatly off her leaf that not a drop of water reached her back. Then she commenced to paddle, her feet alternate, her square tail trailing, her nose and face awash. Twin ripples spread on either side of her, and, in between them, though their distance widened, the Natterjack swam stoutly, using his squat hind-legs alone, short jerky thrusts of them, and losing at each stroke.
He reached the shore two yards behind, but yet in time to see the last of her, a fluttering wavy tail-tip, which skimmed the summit of a stone and disappeared behind it.
This was disheartening. The Natterjack had spent his strength, and quick pursuit was out of question. He paused and stretched each limb in turn, scratched his chin doubtfully, and looked about him. He looked first at the water, then at the stone to fix it in his memory, and lastly at the bank above. Here his eyes rested, expressionless at first, lack-lustrous, but presently, with quickened interest, sparkling.
It must be, yes it was, the self-same furze-bush. He stared intently. It was the self-same stone. Perhaps the French Frog still was close at hand; perhaps the Shrew-mouse knew his hiding-place.
He flung his tiredness off him, and started running jauntily.
He had not far to go. Two scurries brought him to the stone, two scrambles to its summit.
There was the Shrew-mouse just below.
She was too occupied to note his coming. She coursed along the water's edge, her head dropped low, her face almost submerged. At times she paused and sniffed the air, her nose upturned and crinkly, her bristles fan-shape. Then she would drop her head again and probe the water.
The Natterjack watched quietly for a while, but soon impatience mastered him. He crept down and addressed her timidly.
"You