Ferdinand Frog always looked so cheerful that no one ever suspected that he had a secret sorrow. But it is true, nevertheless, that something troubled him, though he took great pains not to let a single one of his neighbors know that anything grieved him.  
His trouble was simply this: he had never been invited to attend the singing-parties which the Frog family held almost every evening in Cedar¹ Swamp.
 
Now, Ferdinand Frog loved to sing at night.
 
Indeed, he liked nothing better than to go to the lake not far from the Beaver² dam and practice his songs among the lily pads near the shore. He had a deep, powerful bass³ voice, which one could hear a mile or more across the water on a still evening.
 
Often he dressed himself with the greatest care and went to the lake alone, where he stayed half the night and sang so loudly that a good many of the wild folk who lived in the neighborhood thought him a great nuisance. Not caring for music, they objected to being forced to listen to Ferdinand Frog's favorite songs.
 
"Why don't you go over to Cedar Swamp, if you want to make a noise?" one of the Beaver family who was known as Tired Tim asked Mr. Frog one evening. "You have come here for nine nights running; and your racket has upset me so that I haven't done a stroke of work in all this time."
 
Mr. Frog had puffed⁴ himself up and had just opened his mouth to begin a new song. But upon being spoken to so rudely he closed his mouth quickly and swallowed several times. For just a second or two he was speechless, he was so surprised. And then presently he began to giggle⁵.
 
"I believe you," he said. "I believe that you haven't done a stroke of work for ninety nights." He knew—as did everybody else—that Tired Tim was the laziest person for miles around.
 
"I said nine—not ninety," Tired Tim corrected him.
 
"Oh! My mistake!" Mr. Frog replied.
 
"You haven't answered my question," Tired Tim reminded him with a wide yawn. "I asked you why you didn't attend the singing-parties over in Cedar Swamp. You could croak⁶ your head off there and no one would stop you."
 
But Mr. Frog shook his head. And at the same time, he sighed.
 
"No!" he said. "I'd rather sing here on the border of the lake. The trouble is, I sing too well for those fellows over in Cedar Swamp."
 
"Why don't you join them and teach them how to sing, if you know so much about it?" Tired Tim persisted.
 
"Oh, I've no time for that," Ferdinand Frog answered.
 
And then it was his companion's turn to snicker.
 
"You appear to have plenty of time to waste here," he observed. "It's my opinion that there's just one reason why you don't go to the Cedar Swamp singing parties."
 
"What's that?" Mr. Frog inquired with a slight trace of uneasiness.
 
"They haven't invited you."
 
"How did you guess that?" Ferdinand Frog asked him.
 
He wished, the next moment, that he had not put that question to Tired Tim. For he saw at once that he had given his sad secret away.