As Freckles leaned, handling the
feather and staring at it, then into the depths of the pool, he once
more gave voice to his old query: "I wonder what it is!"
Straight across from him, couched in the mosses of a soggy old log, a
big green bullfrog, with palpitant throat and batting eyes, lifted his
head and bellowed in answer. "FIN' DOUT! FIN' DOUT!"
"Wha--what's that?" stammered Freckles, almost too much bewildered to
speak. "I--I know you are only a bullfrog, but, be jabbers, that sounded
mightily like speech. Wouldn't you please to be saying it over?"
The bullfrog cuddled contentedly in the ooze. Then suddenly he lifted
his voice, and, as an imperative drumbeat, rolled it again: "FIN' DOUT!
FIN' DOUT! FIN DOUT!"
Freckles had the answer. Something seemed to snap in his brain. There
was a wavering flame before his eyes. Then his mind cleared. His
head lifted in a new poise, his shoulders squared, while his spine
straightened. The agony was over. His soul floated free. Freckles came
into his birthright.
"Before God, I will!" He uttered the oath so impressively that the
recording angel never winced as he posted it in the prayer column.
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