played so hard early in the morning that they were tired. So there was
nobody and nothing to cool Grandfather Frog, and he just grew warmer and
warmer with every jump. He began to grow thirsty, and how he did long
for a plunge in the dear, cool Smiling Pool! But he was stubborn. He
wouldn't turn back, no matter how uncomfortable he felt. He _would_ see
the Great World if it killed him. So he kept right on, jump, jump, jump,
jump.

Grandfather Frog had been up the Laughing Brook and down the Laughing
Brook, where he could swim when he grew tired of traveling on the bank,
and where he could cool off whenever he became too warm, but never
before had he been very far away from water, and he found this a very
different matter. At first he had made great jumps, for that is what his
long legs were given him for; but the long grass bothered him, and after
a little the jumps grew shorter and shorter and shorter, and with every
jump he puffed and puffed and presently began to grunt. You see he never
before had made more than a few jumps at a time without resting, and his
legs grew tired in a very little while.

Now if Grandfather Frog had known as much about the Green Meadows as the
little people who live there all the time do, he would have taken the
Lone Little Path, where the going was easy. But he didn't. He just
started right out without knowing where he was going, and of course the
way was hard, very hard indeed. The grass was so tall that he couldn't
see over it, and the ground was so rough that it hurt his tender feet,
which were used to the soft, mossy bank of the Smiling Pool. He had gone
only a little way before he wished with all his might that he had never
thought of seeing the Great World. But he had said that he was going to
and he would, so he kept right on--jump, jump, rest, jump, jump, jump,
rest, jump, and then a long rest.