ad
landed upon his feet. "It sounded like thunder; but there's not a cloud
in the sky."

"It was my head," Mr. Frog explained. "It hit the ceiling, you know."

"Oh!" said Mr. Crow. "It made a very hollow sound. But I am not
surprised. I have already learned that your head is quite empty."

"It's certainly not solid," Mr. Frog agreed pleasantly. No matter what
happened, he never lost his temper.

But Mr. Crow was different. _He_ was angry.

"You've got me into a pretty fix!" said he. "And now you must get me out
of it."

"I suppose you want more buttons," Mr. Prog observed. "I noticed as you
came in that you had lost every one."

"No!" Mr. Crow told him. "What I want is to get out of this coat. I've
decided to spend the winter in the South, after all. And here you've been
and gone and sewed the coat on me, and left me no way at all to slip out
of it."

"I beg your pardon," the tailor replied politely. "Pardon _me_--but I
think you are mistaken. I left four openings through which anyone could
crawl out."

Old Mr. Crow looked puzzled.

"I should like to know where they are," he said.

"The neck, the skirts, and the two sleeves!" Mr. Frog told him.

At that Mr. Crow looked at him severely.

"How could you expect me to slip through any of those places?" he asked.

"Why--" said the tailor--"I thought it would be easy for you. I've always
heard you were a very slippery customer."

When he said that, Mr. Crow made some queer noises in his throat, much as
if he were choking.

"Are you ill?" the tailor cried.

"Just a frog in my throat!" Mr. Crow answered.

As he said that. Mr. Frog leaped toward the door. He was a jumpy sort of
person. When anything startled him you could never tell in what direction
he might spring. And he was now about to rush out of his shop when Mr.
Crow caught him and dragged him back.

"You can't go," he shouted, "until you've taken the stitches out of the
back of my coat."

"Oh, certainly!" Mr. Frog quavered. And he set to work at once to open
the back seam of Mr. Crow's coat.

He was a spry worker--was Mr. Frog. In less time than it takes to tell it
he had ripped the back of the coat from collar to hem.

And old Mr. Crow was no less spry in pulling the coat off and flinging it
into a corner.

"There!" Mr. Crow cried. "There's your coat with the thirteen spots on
it! I certainly don't want it, for it has caused me no end of trouble."
Then he turned and hurried out of the sho