by Gloria Repp
“Another wonderful tale of adventure and friendship that young children will enjoy.” ~Book Moms
Contents
Chapter 1. Where's Leeper?
Chapter 2. Tell-tale Sand
Chapter 3. Mischief?
Chapter 4. Pink Ears
Chapter 5. The Shortcut
Chapter 6. Need a Plan
Chapter 7. Crazy Black Dog
Chapter 8. Zip
Chapter 9. Pulley Question
Chapter 10. Best Ever
Map of Friendship Bog
Frog Photos
Chapter 1
Where’s Leeper?
Four days had passed. Too many days! What could have happened to Leeper?
Maybe he’d stopped to visit their old friend.
Pibbin climbed up the side of Gaffer’s tree and knocked on the door.
Skitter opened it. The perky brown lizard held a broom in one paw, and that didn’t surprise him. She was always cleaning —except when she was making good things to eat.
He sniffed. Cookies!
“Come in, come in,” she said. “I just spilled redbugs all over the kitchen floor, and the mess is driving me crazy.”
She hurried up a steep staircase, and Pibbin hopped after her.
“It would be so nice if you could sweep up those bugs for me,” she said. “I’ve got cookies to finish.”
The whole kitchen smelled good. Trays of cookies stood on the table. Bowls of spicy spider dip, plates of mushroom chips, and three kinds of muffins waited on the counter.
The dried redbugs on the floor looked like tiny dark pebbles. Skitter handed him the broom, and he began to sweep.
“Have you seen Leeper?” he said.
He had asked her the same thing yesterday. And the day before. She didn’t seem to mind.
“No.” Skitter gave him a kind glance. “If I had a big strong friend like that, I’d miss him too.”
She mixed chopped redbugs into the cookies she was making. “Did he go over to Wild Bog to see one of his uncles?”
“Yes. Uncle Zee needed some help. I just thought he’d be done by now.”
Pibbin swept the redbugs into a pile and picked them up. They looked good, but he’d wait for the cookies.
“It’s such a long way to Wild Bog,” Skitter said. “I hope he gets back in time.”
“Is Gaffer excited about the party?”
“It’s hard to tell. He’s been quiet today. He’s working on the presents.”
In Friendship Bog, a birthday party was the time to give presents to all your friends.
Zip, the squirrel, had given jars of pine-seed butter. Uncle Hud, the jumping mouse, had given baskets made of tiny sticks and lined with soft, dried grass. Ma Chipmunk had given boxes of acorn pancake mix.
“I hope I can get everything ready in time,” Skitter said. “I’m trying out an apple-and-cheese pie for the mice.”
Pibbin saw the fried termites, and he smiled. “Looks like we’ll have plenty.”
Lots of people would come to the party. No wonder! Gaffer’s friends lived at Friendship Bog, and all along the Toop River, and far away in Wild Bog.
They liked to gaze at the beautiful story shell and listen to Gaffer. “His stories warm the heart,” they always said.
“Is Gaffer here?” Pibbin asked.
Skitter reached for a cookie sheet. “He’s up in the green room.”
Pibbin hopped up another set of stairs.
Gaffer’s rooms were stacked one above the other, all the way up the inside of the tree. It seemed just right for a treefrog’s house.
Gaffer sat in the middle of the room. All around him were piles of sticks, and frames made of sticks, and pieces of bark.
Some of the bark was brown. Some was smooth and grayish-white. Some was so dark that it looked black.
He must be giving picture frames trimmed with bark.
Pibbin liked the cedar bark best. He picked up one of the reddish-brown strips and lightly touched its pale green streaks.
“These are going to be nice,” he said.
Gaffer looked up and smiled his gentle smile. “The other day, Uncle Hud showed me a picture that his oldest boy had drawn. I thought it would look good in a frame.”
He held out a square frame that was almost ready for its bark covering.
“Great idea,” Pibbin said. It was just like Gaffer to think about what his friends could use.
He left the old treefrog to his work and went back to help Skitter.
Maybe, just maybe, Leeper would show up soon.
“Still waiting for your friend?” Skitter put a tray of cookies into the oven. “I polished the story shell this morning,” she said. “I’m going to run down and dry it off. Then maybe the two of us could push it back inside.”
She paused beside a rack of crisp brown cookies. “Here, try these. You’ll like the pill-bugs. Take some for your backpack if you want.”
Yes, indeed! Pibbin took one bite after another. Crunchy!
He put three of them into his pack and started down the stairs.
A shriek came from outside.
“Oh, no! The story shell!”
Chapter 2
Tell-Tale Sand
Skitter stood on Gaffer’s deck.
Her eyes were wide. Her back was arched. Her tail twitched. She looked as if she would start crying at any minute.
Pibbin didn’t bother with questions. The shell should have been here, but it wasn’t.
He hopped toward the ferns at the base of Gaffer’s tree and looked into the hollow spot behind them.
Empty.
He frowned. Everyone knew about Story Night. How many of them knew about the shell’s hiding place?
Story Night happened each month, on a night when the moon was full. Friends would help Gaffer pull the shell out onto the deck, and he’d sit down next to it. After a few minutes, he’d begin one of his famous stories.
Pibbin turned back to the deck. Skitter was watching him. She twisted the cloth in her hands round and round.
“You said you polished it this morning?” Pibbin asked.
“Yes. I wanted it to be nice and clean for the party.”
Pibbin studied the deck. It was a wide, flat stone, big enough for a gathering of frogs or other small animals. Gaffer liked to say that it was a very old stone.
Sometimes the deck had footprints on it from friends who came to visit, but Skitter had scrubbed it clean.
“Oh, no!” Skitter stepped to the front of the deck. “More sand!”
Pibbin hopped over to see.
This was more than a sprinkle of sand.
Something deep inside him began to worry. Had someone . . . ?
Skitter swished her cloth through the sand. “Now I’ll have to sweep the deck again before tonight. Sand! It gets everywhere! I just can’t keep up with it.”
Pibbin looked at the ground under the trees. Pine needles and sand. And more sand.
He hopped off the deck. What about these tracks in the sand? They weren’t very clear, but they were sure big. Bigger than Skitter’s tracks would be, and much bigger than frog tracks.
He couldn’t find any tracks in the pine needles, but the ones in the sand seemed to be going toward the bog.
He tried not to think about someone quite large who had stood on Gaffer’s deck. Had that someone stolen the shell?
Do something!
He hopped behind the tree and found more tracks coming through the woods.
He listened to the peeper frogs who sang in the dangleberry bushes. If they had seen a thief, they weren’t saying.
He shook his head. When Leeper got here, he’d know what t
o do.
Skitter ran over to him. “I just thought of something. What about tonight?” Her face wrinkled. “Gaffer won’t be able to tell the story! Not if his story shell is gone.”
Pibbin stared at her. Gaffer’s presents were nice, but his story would be even better. It would be long and exciting, the peepers said. And it would be true.
Gaffer was going to tell about Friendship Bog, and everyone who built it, and how they had to fight to keep it safe.
He glanced again at the tracks in the sand. The shell was important to Gaffer, and the story was important to everyone.
Maybe . . .
He took a deep breath. “Don’t you think someone should look for Gaffer’s shell?”
“Oh, I hope so!” Skitter said. “That story was going to be his special gift to his friends.”
Pibbin thought about Gaffer’s warm smile and his mighty deeds of kindness.
Gaffer’s friends had plenty to say about the old treefrog.
Need someone to listen when you’re lonely or scared? —Talk to Gaffer.
Need someone to help when a fox digs up your home? —Talk to Gaffer.
Need a bite to eat when it’s freezing cold and you’re hungry? —Talk to Gaffer.
Didn’t he deserve to have a really happy birthday?
“I wonder . . .” Pibbin said.
“Go, go, go!” called the peepers.
Silly peepers! They always thought they knew everything.
He should wait for Leeper.
If he were smart, he’d wait for Leeper.
“Maybe a coon took it,” Skitter said. “Or a skunk. Or maybe one of those rats down at the bog. Somebody needs to find out.”
Her voice grew soft. “But not you, Pib. You’re kind of small. You know what I mean?”
Pibbin looked away from her. Too small?
The morning was almost gone, and the party was tonight.
Maybe he’d go down to the bog and check around. Maybe Leeper would be here soon.
He put on his backpack.
“If you see Leeper, please tell him to meet me at Woodpecker Log.”
Chapter 3
Mischief?
Pibbin hopped along the shore of Friendship Bog. It must be as big as an ocean, because it stretched as far as he could see. The water lay smooth, without even a ripple around the lily pads.
Maybe Miss Green had seen something. He looked into tufts of grass and searched through bushes.
She didn’t seem to be anywhere around. That didn’t mean much. She was good at blending in with the grass and leaves.
Did he really want to ask any questions? Those tracks were big. Whoever had taken the shell wouldn’t want to give it back.
Scared? Without Leeper, yes.
He had a bitter taste in his mouth, like the first time he’d eaten a ladybug.
Maybe he should wait a while. He could stop off at Woodpecker Log and sit in the sun.
Oh, no! Carpenter was already there.
Pibbin snapped up a sawfly and looked again. Carpenter seemed to be taking a nap, so he would just tiptoe past.
He wasn’t much smaller than Carpenter, but something about the smart brown frog made him feel young and silly.
Carpenter had a wonderful click-etty voice. He was a whiz with tools, and he could build almost anything.
Pibbin had always wanted to be as smart as Carpenter, but he was no good with tools. He kept dropping them.
Carpenter opened one eye. “Hello, kiddo.”
He opened the other eye. “Just out for a walk, are you? Or lookin’ for mischief?”
Pibbin shrugged. “Oh, I’m just checking around.”
“For what?”
Pibbin saw a fat spider, leaned over to snap it up, and missed.
“The story shell,” he said.
“Did old Gaff forget where he put it?”
“I don’t think so.”
Carpenter closed his eyes. “Too bad. Maybe it’ll turn up.”
Pibbin kept going. He caught a glimmer of something green in a clump of grass.
A slender body uncoiled, and a dainty green head lifted toward him.
“Good day to you, Pibbin.” Miss Green’s voice had a tinkling sound to it. “Isn’t the bog lovely this morning?”
He nodded.
Her bright black eyes didn’t miss a thing. “You look upset,” she said.
Miss Green wasn’t as frightening as the bigger snakes, and she gave him good advice. Sometimes, she seemed to read his mind.
He sat beside her. “Gaffer’s story shell is missing,” he said. “Leeper hasn’t come back yet. And Skitter . . .”
No. He wasn’t going to tell her what Skitter had said.
Miss Green dipped her head. “I’m sorry to hear about the shell. You really want to find it, don’t you? And now, I guess you’re feeling kind of small?”
“Yes.”
Sometimes he felt so small that he could hardly move or even think.
Like the time a fox came slipping up beside them. He should have just hopped into the water, but he didn’t think of that.
If Leeper hadn’t done one of his zig-zag jumps in front of the fox, Pibbin would have been fox-lunch for sure.
Miss Green said, “I can’t imagine Gaffer without his story shell. Isn’t his birthday party tonight?”
“Yes.”
She swayed so close that he could have counted the gleaming green scales on her back.
“You’ve got a big heart, Pibbin, and a quick mind,” she said.
“I’m not very brave.”
“Brave is when you’re scared, and you do it anyway.”
She paused. “Now, let’s think.”
He always felt better when she said that.
“I saw the shell this morning, on his deck.” She coiled herself into three shining loops. “Did you take a good look in the woods around Gaffer’s tree?”
He told her about the sand and the tracks.
“I knew you’d pick up some clues! You said they were big tracks. Do you mean wide or long?”
“Kind of wide and kind of long. With smaller tracks, too.”
“A rabbit,” she said. “I did see one of Mrs. Rabbit’s little girls coming down the path from Gaffer’s house. You might want to check over in Ticklegrass Field.”
And he might want to wait for Leeper.
But Miss Green was smiling at him, and just for a minute, he felt as bold as a bullfrog.
He set off for Ticklegrass Field
Chapter 4
Pink Ears
The grass in Ticklegrass Field was so thick and so tall that it seemed like a forest. He hopped along a mouse-path and kept an eye on the tips of the grass.
Soon he could tell that he was getting close to the rabbit. She must be eating, because the grass trembled with each bite she took.
His legs trembled, too.
He slipped quietly between the grassy clumps until he stood behind her.
What was her name? He couldn’t remember. Mrs. Rabbit had such a big family!
Even though this was one of the smaller rabbit sisters, she was about five times bigger than he was. Would she even talk to him?
He hopped closer, and she jerked her head around. “What’s a treefrog doing out here?”
Her dark eyes looked worried, as if she thought he might be carrying a knife in his pack.
“I came to ask you about the shell,” he said.
“Shell?” She ripped through another stalk of grass, and he wished for a nice safe bush to climb into.
Her whiskers were twitching.
Did they always twitch? Or did she know something? He should make it sound important.
“Gaffer the Gray Treefrog owns a shell that we value highly,” he said. “It is missing.”
“Why me?” The rabbit swung away from him, and all he could see was her back. It looked like a furry gray mountain.
But what about her ears? The tips of them were turning pink.
He hopped aro
und to face her. “Miss Green saw you coming down the path from Gaffer’s house.”
“So what?”
Pibbin tried to think what else he could say. If Leeper were here, he’d jump on her back or something. Then she’d talk.
“I have to find that shell,” he said.
“Kinda cute, aren’t you? I love that purple stripe of yours.” She nibbled on a blade of grass. “I’d help if I could.”
He waited.
“Okay, okay. The shell was on his deck. Skitter always said that Gaffer kept his stories in it. So I stopped to take a look. I was going to just put a paw on it, but then I thought I’d borrow it.”
“Why?”
“Because at night, we all sit around telling stories, and I never have one that’s any good.”
Her ears turned pink again. “I wanted to use one of Gaffer’s stories. But I rolled that shell all around, and nothing came out.”
Pibbin stared. She must think stories were like acorns that you could keep in a hollow tree.
“Where is the shell now?” he asked.
“Gone.”
This was taking much too long. “Gone where?”
“I was taking it back, and a fox started chasing me. I had to let go of it.”
Her ears quivered. “Then I went to look for it, and it was gone.”
“Someone must have picked it up,” Pibbin said slowly. “Shells don’t have feet.”
It wasn’t a very clever thing to say, but he wasn’t feeling the least bit clever right now. If Leeper were here, what would he do next?
“Why don’t you ask Chewink?” She sat up to look across the tops of the grass. “He’s over in that tree. Hear him?”
“Che-wink! Che-wink! Che-wink!” The towhee’s cheerful voice rang out across the bog.
A good idea. The little bird flew all over, and he saw many things.
Perhaps this wouldn’t be so hard, after all.
“Thanks,” Pibbin said, and he hopped through the grass as quickly as he could.
By the time he got there, Chewink was down on the ground, scratching under a bush for bugs.