Knjigice
Fairy tale · Animal stories
The Tale of Mr. Jeremy Fisher
How a frog went fishing and was nearly eaten by a trout
Also in: Zgodba o žabcu Jeremiji (Slovenian) · Príbeh o žabiakovi Jeremiášovi (Slovak)
At the edge of a pond, among the yellow buttercups, stood a damp little house. In it lived Mr. Jeremy Fisher. Water slopped through the larder and along the passage, but Jeremy liked wet corridors: he never got his feet wet without wanting to. And nobody scolded him for bringing a little mud into the kitchen. "A splendid house," he would say. "None better in the world for a frog."
1
One morning he looked out of the window: big drops were falling into the pond, drip-drip-drip. "Splendid!" cried Jeremy. "Just the weather for fishing! I shall catch a basketful of minnows and invite my friends to dinner — Mr. Ptolemy Tortoise and Sir Isaac Newton." He put on his brown mackintosh, pulled on his shiny galoshes, took his rod and basket, and hopped off to where his boat was tied.
2
Jeremy's boat was round and green, exactly like a lily leaf — because a lily leaf is just what it was. It was tied to a water-plant in the middle of the pond. Jeremy took a long reed and poled himself along with it. "I know a deep place by the rushes," he said to himself, "simply swarming with minnows." The rain drummed on his coat, but the frog rather liked it.
3
He crossed his legs, cast his line and waited. Drops crept down his collar and his back, but for a whole hour he stared at his float without moving. Then all at once — nip! A great water-beetle tweaked the toe of one galosh from under the leaf. Jeremy quickly tucked his legs under his coat and sat nearer the middle. "I'd rather you left me alone," he grumbled.
4
Then the float gave a hop! Jeremy pulled with all his might — but it was no minnow, only a little fish all bristling with sharp spines. It pricked his fingers, thrashed about on the leaf and — flip! — slipped back into the water. And round the boat a whole crowd of little minnows put their heads out and laughed at Mr. Jeremy out loud.
5
Jeremy sat on the edge of the leaf licking his sore fingers. And then something far worse happened. SWISH! SPLASH! Up from the deep shot an enormous trout, seized the frog — snap! — and swallowed him whole, mackintosh and all. Then it turned with a splash and dived to the bottom of the pond.
6
But — ugh! The trout did not like the brown mackintosh one bit. So horrid was the taste that in half a minute it spat Jeremy out again, like a sour pickle. Like a cork the frog shot up through the silver bubbles and popped his head out of the water. His coat was in tatters, and his rod and basket were gone, nobody knows where.
7
Jeremy swam for the bank as fast as his fins — I mean, his legs — would carry him. He climbed out among the buttercups and sighed deeply. "What luck it was not a pike!" he said, wringing out his sleeves. "I'm not sorry about the rod and basket. But one thing is certain: never, never will I go fishing again!" Soaking wet, he plodded up the path to his damp house.
8
At home he changed into dry clothes, stuck plasters on his fingers and put the pot on. In the evening there came a knock. On the doorstep stood his friends: Mr. Ptolemy Tortoise, who had brought a salad in a string bag, and Sir Isaac Newton in his splendid black-and-gold waistcoat. "Come in, come in!" said Jeremy. "Only … about dinner, I must warn you of something."
9
For there were no minnows. Instead, Jeremy served a roasted grasshopper with ladybird sauce. The tortoise crunched his salad, the newt enjoyed the grasshopper, and Jeremy was glad to be sitting on dry land, far from any trout. Frogs say a roasted grasshopper is a real treat. But I think it must have been nasty.
10The End
