# In the Reign of Coyote/The Frog in the Moon

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THE FROG IN THE MOON
HE next morning Antonio said: "I'm going to ask Klayukat about the moon and cheese. Perhaps he can tell us the truth. Come; let 's go now."
They found Klayukat repairing a saddle. "Is the moon made of green cheese?" he repeated slowly. "I never heard it. I never heard of cheese in my country. You white people have many things that my tribe know nothing about. You do not see the same as we do, either."
"Don't see as you do? Why, we see with our eyes, just as you do"; and Antonio's big black eyes opened wide.
"Yes, you see with your eyes, but things do not look the same to you as they do to us. Now I have heard the white people say that there is a man in the moon, while I can see, as plainly as I see this saddle here, that there is a frog in the moon."
​"A frog in the moon?" the children's voices chimed.
"Yes, a frog in the moon. I see it plainly. Besides, my people know the story of how the frog got in the moon."
Klayukat threaded his needle slowly. He started his line of stitches carefully, and then as he sewed he told this story.
In the days of the ancients the frog was very proud of his voice. He practiced singing all day and sometimes all night. When he heard a bird's song, he tried to sing the same notes.
Most of the birds just laughed at his attempts. They would call out, "Good there, Brother Frog! Now try this." Then they would sing higher, and trill and twist their notes in a sweet confusion.
Poor old Frog would try to follow their songs. He would stand on his tiptoes, but with all his trying he never could make musical sounds. Still he never was discouraged. He kept on singing day and night.
Now Whip-poor-will was not always good-natured. She liked to be alone, and she did not care to hear others sing. She thought that no one understood music as she did.
One night, after the other animals were asleep, she stole out alone into the dusk and began singing a ​soft tale of her sorrows. Suddenly, from the spring's bank she heard a grating voice trying to imitate her song. She listened. The voice was hushed. She sang a few more notes, and again the voice tried to repeat them. She flew in anger down to the spring. There sat little green Frog in his shining white vest.
"So it 's you, you twanging Frog, is it?" demanded Whip-poor-will. "Well, if you like night singing so much, you can serve as a light for me to see by." And she seized him by one foot and threw him into the sky. There he fell with his legs all spread out and his shining white vest turned toward the earth. There you may see him yet, still furnishing light for Whip-poor-will to see by.
"Oh, the poor frog!" sympathized Juanita. "The birds up north seem so—"
"What kind of a bird is the whip-poor-will, Klayukat?" interrupted Antonio, seeing the old man look offended. "Does it sing like our lark?"
"I do not know, young Antonio. You must not expect an Indian to know things."
"Oh, but you do know things," insisted both children. "You know beautiful stories."
"I was only thinking about the blue jay's cutting the rope, and now this whip-poor-will," explained ​Juanita. "But I suppose at other times these birds are good."
"Just like children, Juanita. Sometimes children obey their parents, and sometimes they wade in the creek."
Juanita hung her head at this reminder. Then she raised it and laughed. "Well, the blue jay 's a pretty color anyway."
"Yes, a pretty color. But I can tell you why he is not prettier. No, not now," as the children looked expectant. "You have not done your morning lessons yet. That Tecla will be coming here for you. Run away now and come another time."