Here is a throw back to last year. This story was written when I was feeling nostalgic about my eldest son’s birthday. I find I am feeling that way again and to perhaps a greater degree, since today, he is reaching that magical age of eighteen–the gateway between youth and adult.
This mucky, muddy little boy was the inspiration for this story. You see, when this picture was taken, he and his cousin had just captured a frog.
This story can also be found under the Tales from Pemberley tab in the menu.
Percival the Frog
Bennet scampered into the room. “Mama, Mama. Look at the frog, Mama!” He shoved a muddy, wiggling creature under his mother’s nose. “I found him near the pond. He was hard to catch.” His small face shone with triumph. Globs of mud dripped from his hands unto the floor. His feet were shoeless and a trail of muddy prints formed a trail from the door to the sitting room.
“Marie, there appears to be no need for the search party; the young master has found us. Please, instruct someone to draw a bath.” Elizabeth spoke to the nurse maid who stood at her side, mouth agape. “Bennet, do not move.” She gave him a stern stare. “Roger, a container with a lid, please.” The footman quickly fetched a small lidded crock. She pointed to the frog. “I believe, Bennet’s new friend would much rather be back at the pond with his family instead of in my house.” The footman carefully placed the crock under Bennet’s hands and the lid above. With a pout, Bennet released the frog, and Roger secured the lid before the frog could make an escape.
Continue reading Percival the Frog