# A Forest Story/Frog's Golden Treasure

Translated from the Czech original Pohádka lesa (1923). Illustrated by Rudolf Mates.
Layout 2
FROG’S GOLDEN TREASURE.
Near the swamp there stood an old hollow willow tree, so broken by storms that the woodcutter came and carried off all but the stump. It was this very stump that began the trouble with the Frog family, for when Father Frog first climbed upon it he looked into the water and saw the treasure. Gold! One, two, three; ten, twenty, thirty; he could count no longer, but there they lay, millions of pieces of pure gold, and all his as they rested in the pond by the stump. The air was soft with spring and the sky thick with stars, and their reflections shone in the water with a golden flicker. It was this star-gold Frog counted as his, swelling with pride and croaking to himself over it, night after night when the weather was fine.
»No one is more rich than I, than I, than I,« he rumbled over and over. »Mother shall make me a bag, a bag, a bag, for my golden ducats.«
​Lady Frog sat in the deep mud and mourned her lost treasure. Her riches were not the gold of the starry pond, but the lost gold of her little daughter Tiny. She sat thinking of her splendid family, raised so carefully in the swamp, and now separated and scattered over the marshes. She remembered when they were only baby tadpoles, sunning themselves in the shallows. She smiled as she thought of their funny tadpole legs, and wept a little as she dreamed of the days when they were first real frogs and played about her. Twenty pretty frogs, and now but two remained with her in the swamp.
Crane had caught one when the youngsters had started their journey. Snake had fattened a bit on two, and Duck had helped herself to a share. That was the way of life. But Tiny! What had become of the little daughter with the golden spot on her chin, and the sweet voice? Mother grieved for her treasure as Father gloated over his.
Early one morning Mother Frog went out to call Father Frog from the stump, where he had sat all night counting gold. She looked at the water. Surely he must be mad!
»No gold, no gold, no gold!« she whispered. »The water’s going down and the swamp is drying up. Can’t you see that for yourself?«
Father Frog suddenly began to think. He swam through the waters. Sure enough, they were disappearing, and the golden stars were no longer safe. He would have to find a newer, clearer pool.
»Pack up, pack up, pack up,« he croaked. »We move to-night, to-night, to-night.«
Just then a merry voice sang across the marshes. It was Jumping Jack, the ​laziest, happiest, poorest Frog alive. He never had anything himself, and couldn’t give away on feast days so much as a mosquito’s ear. Yet somehow he always managed to point out food and shelter to all who came his way, and could tell anyone anything about the entire swamp.
»Oh, I suppose we’ll have to ask him, to ask him, to ask him,« grumbled Father. »We’ll move away at sunset.«
That twilight found the Frog family packed up and on its way across the swamp, Father wheeling the cart with all the household goods and Mother helping the two tiny sons who had not left home. The journey was long and dangerous, for Crane and Snake both lay in wait for them in the banks of bulrush and grass, and the shadows of juniper and fern. Frightened, unhappy, grieving, they moved on their way. Father mourned his lost treasure at every turn of the cart-wheels, and Mother worried lest Tiny return and not find them waiting in the old home.
Father Frog led them at last to Jumping Jack’s hut under the lily pads, and called the poor fellow out to question him.
»Prrrrr!« What was that? Mother Frog put her hand to her heart, as she remembered the little song Tiny used to sing.
»My good fellow,« said Father Frog, »we must have a good clear pool wherein I might count my treasure of golden stars.«
»Prrrrr! Prrrrr!«
»Oh, Sir,« cried Mother Frog, »that voice, that voice, that voice. Who sings like that through the swamps? Is it a water sprite, or a nightingale?«
»The pond about here is empty when it comes to gold,« answered the good-natured care-free Jumping Jack. »If you must have golden treasure, go back to the open swamp, for here the trees overhang the pool and we don’t know what gold is. But neither do we know the dangers of Duck and Crane and Snake, for they seldom seek us here.«
»Prrrrr. Prrrrr.« Mother Frog began to weep softly.
»Oh, my lost treasure, my treasure, my treasure,« she moaned. »There is no treasure left for me now.«
»Why, as to that, Lady,« answered Jumping Jack, »I’ve just one piece of gold here, and I’ll give that one piece to you if Father Frog will say it’s a better one than his whole pool of stars.«
»Impossible!« cried Father, but the Mother nodded to Jumping Jack, and he disappeared behind the lily stems.
»Prrr. Prrrr.« When he reappeared, there beside him was Tiny, their dainty Tiny, their own daughter Tiny. On her chin was that spot of gold more brilliant than marsh marigolds. Mother seized her and clung to her, laughing and crying, and Father Frog wiped his eyes.
Father Frog could be generous as well as proud. »Jumping Jack,« he said, »you have brought me to sense and reason. There is no treasure in the world can equal my long lost little daughter, Tiny.«
»You sound like a story-book, Father Frog,« laughed Jumping Jack. »We found Tiny, and knew that some day you would leave that old swamp and come to a less golden but more peaceful home under the lilies so we kept your sweet little singer safely for you.«
»My treasure,« whispered Mother Frog softly.
»No, OUR treasure, our treasure,« said Father. »For the first time, I can call myself a rich man, a rich man, a rich man.«