was a little boy," whispered Felix.

"They can hardly be the SAME frogs," I objected doubtfully, not
feeling very certain about the possible longevity of frogs.
"It's twenty years since father left home."

"Well, they're the descendants of the frogs he heard," said
Felix, "and they're singing in the same swamp. That's near
enough."

Our door was open and in their room across the narrow hall the
girls were preparing for bed, and talking rather more loudly than
they might have done had they realized how far their sweet,
shrill voices carried.

"What do you think of the boys?" asked Cecily.

"Beverley is handsome, but Felix is too fat," answered Felicity
promptly.

Felix twitched the quilt rather viciously and grunted. But I
began to think I would like Felicity. It might not be altogether
her fault that she was vain. How could she help it when she
looked in the mirror?

"I think they're both nice and nice looking," said Cecily.

Dear little soul!

"I wonder what the Story Girl will think of them," said Felicity,