"Hi! hi! Dr. Whiskers!" came a cry from the Lake.

Grand-daddy ran to the water's edge. There sat Grandpa Bull Frog groaning
miserably.

"Hello! a fish hook!" exclaimed Dr. Whiskers. "Let's see if I can extract
it."

He took a sharp instrument from his bag.

"I'll be as careful as possible, Grandpa Bull Frog, but it is bound to
hurt you considerable," he explained. "Now open your mouth wide."

Dr. Whiskers twisted and pulled upon the hook. At last, out flew the ugly
thing.

"How did it happen?" he asked, wrapping the instrument carefully.

"I've been hoarse for years," croaked Grandpa Bull Frog as he wiped away
the tears. "Squire Cricket told me that red flannel cured his throat, so
when I saw some red flannel dangling from a line right over this log, I
grabbed it. I got it easily, and this cruel hook beside. The Giant boy has
gone away. I thank you kindly, Dr. Whiskers. Ahem! You might tell Mr.
Squeaky that I say his band played very fine music last evening."

"Better leave fish-hooks alone, hereafter, Grandpa Bull Frog," chuckled
Dr. Whiskers. "When you need red flannel, hop over to Wild Rose Cottage.
Granny fetched a good supply from Mrs. Giant's trunk."