The Story Shell: A Tale of Friendship Bog by Gloria Repp, Tim Davis Page B

peepers.
    Silly peepers! They always thought they knew everything.
    He should wait for Leeper.
    If he were smart , he’d wait for Leeper.
    “Maybe a coon took it,” Skitter said. “Or a skunk. Or maybe one of those rats down at the bog. Somebody needs to find out.”
    Her voice grew soft. “But not you, Pib. You’re kind of small. You know what I mean?”
    Pibbin looked away from her. Too small?
    The morning was almost gone, and the party was tonight.
    Maybe he’d go down to the bog and check around. Maybe Leeper would be here soon.
    He put on his backpack.
    “If you see Leeper, please tell him to meet me at Woodpecker Log.”

 

     

Chapter 3
Mischief?
     
    Pibbin hopped along the shore of Friendship Bog. It must be as big as an ocean, because it stretched as far as he could see. The water lay smooth, without even a ripple around the lily pads.
    Maybe Miss Green had seen something. He looked into tufts of grass and searched through bushes.
    She didn’t seem to be anywhere around. That didn’t mean much. She was good at blending in with the grass and leaves.
    Did he really want to ask any questions? Those tracks were big. Whoever had taken the shell wouldn’t want to give it back.
    Scared? Without Leeper, yes.
    He had a bitter taste in his mouth, like the first time he’d eaten a ladybug.
    Maybe he should wait a while. He could stop off at Woodpecker Log and sit in the sun.
    Oh, no! Carpenter was already there.
    Pibbin snapped up a sawfly and looked again. Carpenter seemed to be taking a nap, so he would just tiptoe past.
    He wasn’t much smaller than Carpenter, but something about the smart brown frog made him feel young and silly.
    Carpenter had a wonderful click-etty voice. He was a whiz with tools, and he could build almost anything.
    Pibbin had always wanted to be as smart as Carpenter, but he was no good with tools. He kept dropping them.
    Carpenter opened one eye. “Hello, kiddo.”
    He opened the other eye. “Just out for a walk, are you? Or lookin’ for mischief?”
     

     
    Pibbin shrugged. “Oh, I’m just checking around.”
    “For what?”
    Pibbin saw a fat spider, leaned over to snap it up, and missed.
    “The story shell,” he said.
    “Did old Gaff forget where he put it?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    Carpenter closed his eyes. “Too bad. Maybe it’ll turn up.”
    Pibbin kept going. He caught a glimmer of something green in a clump of grass.
    A slender body uncoiled, and a dainty green head lifted toward him.
    “Good day to you, Pibbin.” Miss Green’s voice had a tinkling sound to it. “Isn’t the bog lovely this morning?”
     

     
    He nodded.
    Her bright black eyes didn’t miss a thing. “You look upset,” she said.
    Miss Green wasn’t as frightening as the bigger snakes, and she gave him good advice. Sometimes, she seemed to read his mind.
    He sat beside her. “Gaffer’s story shell is missing,” he said. “Leeper hasn’t come back yet. And Skitter . . .”
    No. He wasn’t going to tell her what Skitter had said.
    Miss Green dipped her head. “I’m sorry to hear about the shell. You really want to find it, don’t you? And now, I guess you’re feeling kind of small?”
    “Yes.”
    Sometimes he felt so small that he could hardly move or even think.
    Like the time a fox came slipping up beside them. He should have just hopped into the water, but he didn’t think of that.
    If Leeper hadn’t done one of his zig-zag jumps in front of the fox, Pibbin would have been fox-lunch for sure.
    Miss Green said, “I can’t imagine Gaffer without his story shell. Isn’t his birthday party tonight?”
    “Yes.”
    She swayed so close that he could have counted the gleaming green scales on her back.
    “You’ve got a big heart, Pibbin, and a quick mind,” she said.
    “I’m not very brave.”
    “Brave is when you’re scared, and you do it anyway.”
    She paused. “Now, let’s think.”
    He always felt better when she said that.
    “I saw the shell this morning, on his