At last Black Pussy grew tired of playing, so catching up Grandfather Frog in her mouth, she started along the little path from the spring to the Long Lane.  Grandfather Frog didn’t even kick, which was just as well, because if he had, Black Pussy would have held him tighter, and that would have been very uncomfortable indeed.

“It’s all over, and this is the end,” moaned Grandfather Frog.  “I’m going to be eaten now.  Oh, why, why did I ever leave the Smiling Pool?”

Just as Black Pussy slipped into the Long Lane, Grandfather Frog heard a familiar sound.  It was a whistle, a merry whistle.  It was the whistle of Farmer Brown’s boy.  It was coming nearer and nearer.  A little bit of hope began to stir in the heart of Grandfather Frog.

He didn’t know just why, but it did.  Always he had been in the greatest fear of Farmer Brown’s boy, but now—­well, if Farmer Brown’s boy should take him, he might get away from him as he did before, but he was very sure that he never, never could get away from Black Pussy.

The whistle drew nearer.  Black Pussy stopped.  Then she began to make a queer whirring sound deep down in her throat.

“Hello, Black Pussy!  Have you been hunting?  Come here and show me what you’ve got,” cried a voice.

Black Pussy arched up her back and began to rub against the legs of Farmer Brown’s boy, and all the time the whir, ring sound in her throat grew louder and louder.  Farmer Brown’s boy stooped down to see what she had in her mouth.

“Why,” he exclaimed, “I do believe this is the very same old frog that got away from me!  You don’t want him, Puss.  I’ll just put him in my pocket and take him up to the house by and by.”

With that he took Grandfather Frog from Black Pussy and dropped him in his pocket.  He patted Black Pussy, called her a smart cat, and then started on his way, whistling merrily.  It was dark and rather close in that pocket, but Grandfather Frog didn’t mind this.  It was a lot better than feeling sharp teeth and claws all the time.  He wondered how soon they would reach the house and what would happen to him then.  After what seemed like a long, long time, he felt himself swung through the air, and then he landed on the ground with a thump that made him grunt.  Farmer Brown’s boy had taken off his coat and thrown it down.

The whistling stopped.  Everything was quiet.  Grandfather Frog waited and listened, but not a sound could he hear.  Then he saw a little ray of light creeping into his prison.  He squirmed and pushed, and all of a sudden he was out of the pocket.  The bright light made him blink.  As soon as he could see, he looked to see where he was.  Then he rubbed his eyes with both hands and looked again.  He wasn’t at Farmer Brown’s house at all.  Where do you think he was?  Why, right on the bank of the Smiling Pool, and a little way off was Farmer Brown’s boy fishing!

“Chugarum!” cried Grandfather Frog, and it was the loudest, gladdest chugarum that the Smiling Pool ever had heard.  “Chugarum!” he cried again, and with a great leap he dived with a splash into the dear old Smiling Pool, which smiled more than ever.