that kind."

"Oh! I know the conceited little plum-stealer; he's poisonous, like you
are."

"Pooh!" said the toad, "poisonous! I'm not poisonous. I'm not even
ill-tempered, so as to poison people's minds, much more poison their
bodies. That's an old woman's tale; they say I spit poison, because
they've seen me catch flies; and are stupid enough, like you, to think
me ugly, just as if that made any difference. I creep about here and
catch my flies, and enjoy myself well enough."

"But you can't fly," said the wagtail vainly; "I can."

"Pooh! I know," said the toad; "and you can't swim. I can."

"But you can't run and catch flies," said the other, getting cross.

"No, but I can sit down and catch them," said the toad, "and that's
easier."

"Boo! old bark-back; where's your tail?" said the wagtail, now quite
cross to find that the ugly old toad was quite as clever as he, and a
deal better-tempered.

"Tail," said the other contemptuously; "what's the use of a tail only to
wag? Do you want me to pull it?" And then he made believe that he was
going to get hold of the wagtail's long feathers, but the bird flew off
in a fright, thoroughly vexed and disappointed, because the nasty,
black-looking, rough toad could beat him in everything he said.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

OGREBONES.

Away went the wagtail--flit-flit-flit--down to the pond where the
water-lilies grew, and began running about over them to catch the gnats
that were dancing over the glassy water; and there again he had a
fright, for he saw close to his feet, by the edge of a large leaf, a
green nose, just the shape of the toad's. However, he had presence of
mind to say, "Who are you?"

"Croak," said the green nose, and dived under the water; and then the
wagtail saw that it was a light-green thing, with longer legs than the
toad, and that it swam to the bottom and stopped.

Just then old Ogrebones, the kingfisher, came skimming along like a blue
flash over the pond, and he settled on a twig near his hole in the bank.

"Morning, neighbour," said he to the wagtail. "How are flies this
morning?"

"Scarce, very scarce," said the wagtail. "There was a poacher out on my
place catching the poor things with a machine, which he shot at them.
One of the lowest-looking, rough customers you ever saw. He said his
name was Brown Toad, and quite insulted me about my figure,--an ugly,
pumpkin--shaped, pod-nosed thing."

"Oh! I know him," said the kingfi