MORE ABOUT THIS BOOK
After supper, Owen took Tooley up to his bedroom and set him in the middle of the bed.
Tooley did a little half jump, then settled down in the folds of the quilted bedspread.
Owen inspected Tooley's froggy skin.
He rubbed his finger along Tooley's yellow throat.
He examined Tooley's big webbed feet.
He lifted Tooley and peered into his eyes.
Then he put the bullfrog into the tub in the closet and sat on the bed and worried.
Maybe Viola was right.
Maybe he should have used water from the pond in the tub instead of water from the hose.
Owen sat still and listened. The rain pattered against the window. Thunder rumbled in the distance. But inside the bedroom, it was quiet.
When he had first brought Tooley home, the frog had croaked all night long. That deep r-u-u-u-m-m-m sound that bullfrogs make.
But now he was quiet.
A flash of lightning lit up Owen's room. The rain beat harder against the window.
Tomorrow, Owen thought . . .
Tomorrow he had to do two things:
1. Get the frog cage into the pond so Tooley could move in and be happy.
2. Find the thing that had fallen off the train.