He called three little boys, who played
Near by, beneath a pear-tree's shade,
And sternly asked, "What cruel play
Is this you've been about to-day?"

"'Tis very hard we should be blamed,
I'm sure!" poor little James exclaimed:
"We only killed the toad because
An ugly-looking thing he was,--
So very ugly, that we knew
He surely would some mischief do.
He had great warts upon his back,
And curious blotches, greenish black,
And darting tongue, and strange flat head"--
"And how he sprawled his legs!" cried Fred.
"His mouth," said Martin, "was so wide,
It reached far round on either side;
And queer winks with his eyes he'd give:
We did not dare to let him live.
We had to kill that toad because
An ugly-looking thing he was."

The gardener gravely shook his head;
"It was a heartless act," he said;
"And, more than that, you may depend
Upon my word, you've killed a friend;
For often, at my work, I've found
This same toad near me, hopping round,
And, watching him, I've learned that he
My constant helper used to be,--