w! how tired he must be!"

When my father came in, he gave it as his opinion that the frog had
been carried up by a waterspout, from a lake about twenty miles
distant, kept up and borne along by currents of air. At all events, he
was a hero and an adventurer, and I resolved to keep him as a
curiosity. So I put him in a large rain-water trough, at the back of
the house, where he lived in apparent content, the monarch of all he
surveyed. During dry times, I kept him well supplied with fresh water
from the well, and I frequently threw in broad dock-leaves, for him to
take shelter under from the heat. He soon grew to know me, and would
actually come at my call from the farthest end of the trough. He was
very shy of others, and I was not sorry, for I wanted all his
affection, and was proud of his discernment. This was thought so
singular that I was often sent out with visitors, to show off my pet.
I don't believe that the keeper of the hippopotamus can be prouder of
his mud-loving monster than I was of my lively little friend.

My brother Will built for him a neat little ship, on which he sailed
about, being captain, crew, cabin-boy, and all. One morning, while I
was playing with him, he hopped down the hatchway. I shut him into the
little cabin, and was careless enough to forget to let him out before
going to school. When I came home, I found him lying on the cabin
floor, still and lifeless! He had been suffocated in the close, hot
air. I am not ashamed to own that I cried heartily over the poor limp
little body. I wrapped it tenderly in a plantain-leaf, and laid it
beside my last lost kitty.

In the evening, when I told my father of my loss, he by no means made
light of it, knowing my pet was no common frog.

"Poor fellow!" he said, "it was as bad for him as the 'Black Hole of
Calcutta.'" I did n't know what that meant then; I know now, but
haven't time to tell you. Besides it is n't a pleasant story. Then
papa added, "Perhaps, after all, it is only a case of suspended
animation. Your little frog may have only been in a swoon. If you
open his grave in the morning, you may find that he has come to."

That was a pleasant hope to go to bed on, and you may believe I rose
bright and early in the morning, to run with my shingle-spade to the
cemetery of all my dead pets. With an anxious heart, I removed the
earth, and unfolded the plantain-leaf. Sure enough, there was my pet,
"alive and kicking!" He hoppe