They climbed over some of the huge legs and walked
around others. Soon they had left the creature
far behind. “Aren’t you rather slow?”
asked the frog when once more they came up to him.
“It isn’t that,” said Trot.
“You are rather swift, I guess.” The
frog chuckled and leaped again. They noticed that
the fog had caught a soft rose tint and was lighter
and less dense than before, for which reason the sailor
remarked that they must be getting near to the Pink
Country.
On this jump they saw nothing but a monstrous turtle,
which lay asleep with its head and legs drawn into
its shell. It was not in their way, so they hurried
on and rejoined the frog, which said to them, “I’m
sorry, but I’m due at the King’s Court
in a few minutes, and I can’t wait for your
short, weak legs to make the journey to the Pink Country.
But if you will climb upon my back, I think I can
carry you to the border in one more leap.”
“I’m tired,” said Trot, “an’
this awful fog’s beginnin’ to choke me.
Let’s ride on the frog, Cap’n.”
“Right you are, mate,” he replied, and
although he shook a bit with fear, the old man at
once began to climb to the frog’s back.
Trot seated herself on one side of him and Button-bright
on the other, and the sailor put his arms around them
both to hold them tight together.
“Are you ready?” asked the frog.
“Ding-dong!” cried the parrot.
“All aboard, let ’er go!
Jump the best jump that you know.”
“Don’t—don’t! Jump
sort o’ easy, please,” begged Cap’n
Bill.
But the frog was unable to obey his request.
Its powerful hind legs straightened like steel springs
and shot the big body, with its passengers, through
the fog like an arrow launched from a bow. They
gasped for breath and tried to hang on, and then suddenly
the frog landed just at the edge of the Fog Bank,
stopping so abruptly that his three riders left his
back and shot far ahead of him. They felt the
fog melt away and found themselves bathed in glorious
rays of sunshine, but they had no time to consider
this change because they were still shooting through
the air, and presently—before they could
think of anything at all—all three were
rolling heels over head on the soft grass of a meadow.
When the travelers could collect their senses and
sit up, they stared about them in bewilderment, for
the transition from the sticky, damp fog to this brilliant
scene was so abrupt as to daze them at first.
It was a Pink Country indeed. The grass was a
soft pink, the trees were pink, all the fences and
buildings which they saw in the near distance were
pink—even the gravel in the pretty paths
was pink. Many shades of color were there, of
course, grading from a faint blush rose to deep pink
verging on red, but no other color was visible.
In the sky hung a pink glow, with rosy clouds floating
here and there, and the sun was not silvery white,
as we see it from the Earth, but a distinct pink.
