The Ontario Readers | Page 7

"Each hair on his head is also connected with a nerve. Pull his hair, please!"
"Oh, don't!" said Bobby. "That hurts!"
Nobody listened to him. It did hurt, more than you would think, for tiny hands were pulling each hair separately. When the ordeal was over, Bobby heard a faint noise in the grass as if some very small creatures were scurrying away, but he could see nothing. He was winking his eyes desperately to keep from crying.
"The assistants may go now," said the professor; and the sound of little feet died away in the distance.
"How interesting this is!" murmured a plain-looking toad who had been watching the experiments attentively.
"I think it's mean," protested poor Bobby, "to keep a fellow fastened up like this, and then torment him."
"Does it hurt as much as being skinned, or having your legs cut off?" demanded the professor.
"Or should you prefer to be stepped on, or burned up in a rubbish pile?" asked Mrs. Bufo.
"How should you like to be stoned or kicked, for a change?" said another toad sharply.
"Perhaps you would choose a fish-hook in the corner of your mouth?" said a voice from the pond.
"Or one run the entire length of your body?" came a murmur from the ground under Bobby's head.
"Wait a minute," said the professor, more gently. "We will give you a chance to defend yourself. It is not customary to inquire into the moral character of specimens, but we do not wish to be unjust. Perhaps you can explain why you made a bonfire the very week after the toads came out of their winter-quarters. Dozens of lives were destroyed before that fire was put out."
"I forgot about the toads," began Bobby.
"Carelessness!" said the professor. "Now you may tell us why you like to throw stones at us."
"To see you jump," said Bobby, honestly.
"Thoughtlessness!" said the professor. "That's worse."
"Why do you kick us, instead of lifting us gently when we are in your way?" inquired a toad in a stern voice.
"Because you will give me warts if I touch you," said Bobby, pleased to think that he had a good reason at last.
"Ignorance!" cried the professor. "The toad is absolutely harmless. It has about it a liquid that might cause pain to a cut finger or a sensitive tissue like that of the mouth or eye, but the old story that a toad is poisonous is a silly fable."
"Will you tell me, please," asked a toad in a plaintive voice, "if you are the boy who, last year, carried home some of my babies in a tin pail and let them die?"
"I'm afraid I am," said Bobby, sorrowfully.
"Do explain why you dislike us!" said Mrs. Bufo in such a frank fashion that Bobby felt that he must tell the truth.
"I suppose it's your looks," said the boy, unable to frame his answer in more polite terms.
"Well, upon my word!" interrupted the professor. "I thought better of a boy than that. So you prefer boys with pretty faces and soft, curling hair, and nice clothes, to those who can climb and jump and who are not afraid of a day's tramp in the woods."
"Of course I don't," said indignant Bobby. "I hate boys who are always thinking about their clothes."
"Oh, you do!" said the frog. "Now answer me a few more questions. Have you ever stolen birds' eggs?"
"Yes," said truthful Bobby.
"Have you collected butterflies?"
"Yes," said Bobby.
"Have you taken nuts from the squirrels' cupboards?"
"Yes," said Bobby.
"Do you think we ought to have a very friendly feeling towards you?" went on the questioner.
"No," said Bobby; "I don't."
"We have shown that you are not only useless, but careless and thoughtless and ignorant," said the frog. "Is there any very good reason why we should let you go?"
Poor Bobby racked his brains to think of something that should appeal to his captors.
"I have a right to live, haven't I?" he said at last.
"Because you are so pretty?" suggested the professor, and Bobby's eyes fell with shame.
"Any better right than we have?" came a chorus of voices. Bobby was silent. He felt very helpless and insignificant. There was a long pause. Then the frog professor smiled broadly at Bobby.
"Come," he said; "I like you. You are not afraid to be honest, and that's something."
"If you will let me go," said Bobby, "I'll see that the boys don't hurt you any more."
"I felt pretty sure that we'd converted you," said the professor; "and I'm going to let you go back and preach to the heathen, as the grown people say. You can see for yourself how much harm a boy can do if he doesn't think."
Bobby felt that he was free, and scrambled to his feet, rubbing first one arm and then the other to take the prickly feeling out of them. The frogs had vanished; there was