“I am traveling in search of a jeweled gold dishpan, my good woman,” he replied, with an air of great dignity.

“You won’t find it here, then,” said she. “Our dishpans are tin, and they’re good enough for anybody. So go back to your pond and leave me alone.”

She spoke rather crossly and with a lack of respect that greatly annoyed the Frogman.

“Allow me to tell you, madam,” he said, “that although I am a frog I am the Greatest and Wisest Frog in all the world. I may add that I possess much more wisdom than any Winkie—man or woman—in this land. Wherever I go, people fall on their knees before me and render homage to the Great Frogman! No one else knows so much as I; no one else is so grand—so magnificent!”

“If you know so much,” she retorted, “why don’t you know where your dishpan is, instead of chasing around the country after it?”

“Presently,” he answered, “I am going where it is; but just now I am traveling and have had no breakfast. Therefore I honor you by asking you for something to eat.”

“Oho! the Great Frogman is hungry as any tramp, is he? Then pick up these sticks and help me to build the fire,” said the woman contemptuously.

“Me! The Great Frogman pick up sticks?” he exclaimed in horror. “In the Yip Country, where I am more honored and powerful than any King could be, people weep with joy when I ask them to feed me.”

“Then that’s the place to go for your breakfast,” declared the woman.

“I fear you do not realize my importance,” urged the Frogman. “Exceeding wisdom renders me superior to menial duties.”

“It’s a great wonder to me,” remarked the woman, carrying her sticks to the house, “that your wisdom doesn’t inform you that you’ll get no breakfast here,” and she went in and slammed the door behind her.

The Frogman felt he had been insulted, so he gave a loud croak of indignation and turned away. After going a short distance he came upon a faint path which led across a meadow in the direction of a grove of pretty trees, and thinking this circle of evergreens must surround a house—where perhaps he would be kindly received—he decided to follow the path. And by and by he came to the trees, which were set close together, and pushing aside some branches he found no house inside the circle, but instead a very beautiful pond of clear water.

Now the Frogman, although he was so big and so well educated and now aped the ways and customs of human beings, was still a frog. As he gazed at this solitary, deserted pond, his love for water returned to him with irresistible force.