It was a long way to Farmer Green's from the Beaver¹ pond where Ferdinand Frog made his home. But he felt that he simply must see that picture which Mr. Crow said looked like him. So he started out just before sunset.  
One thing, at least, about his journey pleased him: he could make the trip by water—and he certainly did hate travelling on land.
 
Luckily the stream that trickled² its way below the Beaver dam led straight to Swift River. And everybody who knew anything was aware that Swift River ran right under the bridge not far from the farmhouse³.
 
So Mr. Frog leaped spryly into the brook⁴ and struck out downstream.
 
He was a famous swimmer, having been used to the water from the time he was a tadpole⁵. And now he swam so fast, with the help of the current, that he reached the river by the time the moon was up.
 
As he looked up at the sky Ferdinand Frog was both glad and sorry that there was a moon that night. The moon would be a good thing, provided he reached the end of his journey, for it would give him a fine clear view of the picture on the barn, which he so much wanted to see. On the other hand, he would have preferred a dark night for a swim in Swift River. There were fish there—pickerel—which would rather swallow him than not. And he knew that they were sure to be feeding by the light of the moon.
 
If Mr. Frog hadn't always looked on the bright side of life no doubt he would have waited a week or two, until there was no moon at all. But he remarked to himself with a grin, as he hurried along, that he had never yet seen the pickerel that was quick enough to catch him, and furthermore, he never expected to.
 
But those words were hardly out of Ferdinand Frog's mouth when he turned and made for the bank as fast as he could go. He had caught sight of a dark, long-nosed fish lying among some weeds. And he decided⁶ suddenly that he would finish his journey by land.
 
"It would be a shame——" he told himself, as he flopped⁷ up the steep bank——"it would be a shame for so handsome a person as I am to be eaten by a fish."
 
"But you wouldn't object to a bird, would you?" said a voice right in Ferdinand Frog's ear—or so it seemed to him.
 
He made no answer—not even stopping to bow, or say good evening—but turned a somersault backward and hid himself under the overhanging bank.
 
It was Solomon Owl⁸ who had spoken to him. There was no mistaking the loud, mocking laughter that followed Mr. Frog's hasty retreat.
 
"Solomon Owl is a great joker," Mr. Frog murmured with a smile. "He was only teasing me. . . . Still, he might be a bit hungry. So I'll stay here out of harm's way for a while, for it would be a shame for so handsome a person as I am to be eaten by an old, rascally⁹ bird like Solomon Owl."
 
One can judge, just by that remark, that Ferdinand Frog was not quite so polite as his neighbors supposed—when there was no one to hear what he said.