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THE TOAD'S STORY

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Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Sep 25, 1901

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 27, No. 39.

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THE TOAD'S STORY.

By Susan T. Perry

[Susan T. Perry, in N. Y. Observer.]
One day I was passing along a country road, and I saw some boys trying to stone a toad that was hopping across the road; when a few words of remonstrance were spoken to them, the largest looked up and said, “Toads h’aint good for nothin’.”
It was such a pretty bit of wayside that the persecuted toad had hopped into for protection. There were little moss-covered rocks, all around whose base the bright golden-rod was blooming, and red tops of the “queen of the meadow.” The boys were trying to find a stick to poke about with, so they could drive the toad out of its hiding-place. A lecture on cruelty to animals given in a direct manner might be lost on those boys, but a story would not.
“It’s a hot day, boys, and you all look tired,” said the writer. “Don’t you want to sit down here on the rocks under these willow trees and rest yourselves while you listen to a story about toads?”
The boy who evidently had the characteristics that go to make up a leader, said, “Well, if it’s a right down good, funny story, I don’t care if we do.” So, when he sat down, all the rest sat down. You know boys are something like sheep; when the leader jumps over a fence, the rest of the flock are pretty sure to follow. When they were all seated, the story was told, and this is what it was:—
On an island near the coast of Massachusetts a lady lived who wrote beautiful poetry; her name was Celia Thaxter. She had a fine garden, or would have had, were it not for the slugs that got up early in the morning and destroyed many of the plants, and then hid themselves, like sneak thieves, as soon as the sun came up, so no one could find out what had done the mischief and where they were secreted. There were no toads on this little island, for some reason; perhaps they do not like living so near the sea. A gentleman who was a naturalist came to see this lady, and when he found she was having so much trouble with the slugs, he said: “Why, where are your toads, and why are they not attending to business? Toads always take care that the slugs don’t make much headway with their destructive tendencies.” The lady said she had never seen a toad on that island.
“Why don’t you import some?” he asked.
It was a new thought and a good one. Mrs. Thaxter immediately sent word to an inland friend that she wanted some toads. In a few days a box came by express, directed to her. She opened it, and on the top of some dry earth there were three as miserable, homesick, travel-tired toads as you can imagine.
“Ha! Ha! Ha!” laughed the boys. “Sendin’ toads by express! Did you ever hear tell of such a thing?”
The lady immediately turned the hose on to this box, and out of the baked dry earth one toad lifted its head, and then another; and when she had turned the box into the middle of the garden, out jumped ninety toads!
They went right to work to hunt out the slugs for their breakfast. And the lady wrote to the friend who sent the toads: “If there is one thing I adore more than another, it is the toad.” In France they make a business of catching toads and selling them to gardeners.
The boys had given close attention to the story. The leader said, “Well, now, that was a funny story; but tain’t really true, is it, lady?”
“Yes, every word of it is true.”
It was quite evident, as one boy looked at another, and they fanned themselves with their torn hats, that the toad story had made a hit in the audience.
“We won’t stone ’em no more, lady. They’ve riz right up, them toads have, to be things of consequence. Come, boys, we’ve got ter get back to the holler before supper. Good-by, lady.”
“Good-by, boys. I hope you will never be cruel to any of God’s dumb creatures after this.”
They waved their hats in the air, and in a few moments were out of sight.