isappointed, limped away, and didn't eat the frog boy after all.

"But you must never try to jump over a steeple again," said Bawly's
mamma when he told her about it, after he got home with the lemons, and
found Bully there ahead of him with the sugar.

So Bawly promised that he wouldn't, and he never did. And now, if the
postman brings me a pink letter with a green stamp on from the playful
elephant in the circus, I'll tell you next about Bully and the basket of
chips.

STORY XV

BULLY AND THE BASKET OF CHIPS

One nice warm day, as Bully No-Tail, the frog boy, was hopping along
through the woods, he felt so very happy that he whistled a little tune
on a whistle he made from a willow stick. And the tune he whistled went
like this, when you sing it:

"I am a little froggie boy,
Without a bit of tail.
In fact I'm like a guinea pig,
Who eats out of a pail.

"I swim, I hop, I flip, I flop,
I also sing a tune,
And some day I am going to try
To hop up to the moon.

"Because you see the man up there
Must very lonesome be,
Without a little froggie boy,
Like Bawly or like me."

"Oh, ho! I wouldn't try that if I were you," suddenly exclaimed a voice.

"Try what?" asked Bully, before he thought.

"Try to jump up to the moon," went on the voice. "Don't you remember
what happened to your brother Bawly when he tried to jump over the
church steeple? Don't do it, I beg of you."

"Oh, I wasn't really going to jump to the moon," went on Bully. "I only
put that in the song to make it sound nice. But who are you, if you
please?" for the frog boy looked all around and he couldn't see any one.

"Here I am, over here," the voice said, and then out from behind a clump
of tall, waving cat-tail plants, that grew in a pond of water, there
stepped a long-legged bird, with a long, sharp bill like a pencil or a
penholder.

"Oh ho! So it's you, is it?" asked Bully, making ready to hop away, for
as soon as he saw that long-legged and sharp-billed bird, he knew right
away that he was in danger. For the bird was a heron, which is something
like a stork that lives on chimneys in a country called Holland. And the
heron bird eats frogs and mice and little animals like that.

"Yes, it is I," said the heron. "Won't you please sing that song on your
whistle again, Bully? I am very fond of music." And, as he said that,
the heron slyly took another step nearer to the frog