The Ontario Readers | Page 7

hasn't made you very wise, has it? Well, the toads are insect
destroyers. That's their business. If the State only knew enough to make
use of them, millions of dollars might be saved every year. Does it
seem to you that the human animal is so clever as it might be, when it
allows such numbers of toads to be destroyed?"
"It's a shame!" chimed in a voice from the front seats. "We keep out of

the way as much as we can; we eat every kind of troublesome worm
and insect,--the cutworm, canker-worm, tent caterpillar, army-worm,
rose-beetle, and the common house-fly; we ask for no wages or food or
care,--and what do we get in return? Not even protection and common
kindness. If we had places where we could live in safety, who could tell
the amount of good we might do? Yet I would not have this poor boy
hurt if a word of mine could prevent it."
"This is a scientific meeting," observed the professor; "and benevolent
sentiments are quite out of place. We will now proceed to notice the
delicate nervous system of the creature. Stand closer, my friends, if you
please."
"Nervous system, indeed!" said Bobby. "Boys don't have such silly
things as nerves!"
Suddenly Bobby felt a multitude of tiny pin pricks over the entire
surface of his body. The suffering was not intense, but the irritation
made him squirm and wince. He could not discover the cause of his
discomfort, but at the professor's command it suddenly ceased.
"That will do," said the frog. "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