"I'd rather have the frog than the lily," answered Don.

"Yes, but you can't get him, you know," said Joyce. "Will you help me
to get to the lily?"

Don nodded, and came out from behind the willows where he had been
crouching. Instantly there was another splash, and Mr. Froggie was gone.
In a moment there was not a frog to be seen anywhere.

To get the lily, the children had to cross the creek and then step out
on an old log. The creek was so shallow that they knew there was no
danger of drowning, even if they should fall into the water; so Joyce
steadied the log with her hands, while Don stood on it and reached for
the lily. It took him some time to get it, for it had a tough stem which
was very hard to break. But Joyce was so pleased when he handed her the
beautiful lily, that he felt repaid for all his trouble.

About three o'clock the children found some empty spools and went to the
corner of the orchard, and sat down in the cool shade of the lilac bush.
Soon they were blowing many-colored bubbles and flying them in the air.

Tabby, Grandma's pretty Maltese cat, lay curled up in the shade. One of
Don's bubbles lit on her back, and then burst. By and by another lit on
her nose, and burst immediately. The old cat jumped to her feet and began
to sneeze. Then she sat down and washed her face with her paw, as if to
say, "Thank you, I'd rather wash my face without any soap."

That evening, as they sat on the porch, Joyce said a little sadly, "It
will not be long now before we shall hear the noisy street cars again,