Free Frogged by Vivian Vande Velde

“Princess . . . ? Your name is Princess . . . ?”
    Imogene just looked at her.
    Obviously hoping she could outsmart a frog, Luella said, “Is your name Polly? Does Polly want a cracker?”
    A mosquito came in close to investigate, and Imogene shot her tongue out and ate it.
    Ned sighed. Loudly. He told Bertie, “Fine woman you’ve found for yourself there, Bert. A most suitable match for you.” He shook his head and walked away.
    â€œMaybe she’s tired,” Luella said.
    â€œPerhaps,” Bertie agreed.
    Luella told Imogene, “Nighty-night. Nighty-night, Princess Imogene.” She refastened the scarf, destroying Imogene’s hope that during the night, unobserved, she might have been able to work her way out the opening Bertie had uncovered.
    Drat!
Imogene thought.
    She spent the next few hours jumping against the scarf, trying to dislodge it, until finally, exhausted, she fell asleep on her rock. The only good thing—the absolutely
only
good thing—was that it was just in Imogene’s dreams that the rock grew legs and chased her around the bucket.
    Â 
    The next morning, when Luella once more pulled back a corner of the scarf, Imogene fought back the only way she could, by promptly greeting her with another, “Rrrr-bittt!”
    â€œBertie!” Luella complained. “She won’t talk.”
    â€œMaybe she’s hungry,” Bertie suggested.
    â€œWhat do frogs eat?”
    â€œI don’t know. Flies, I imagine. Bugs and beetles and so forth.”
    â€œOoo,” Luella said. “I think I saw a fly in the corner of the cart.” She left Imogene in Bertie’s safekeeping but promptly came back and tossed a crusty dead fly into the bucket.
    Despite the fact that Imogene was very hungry, this fly looked even more unappetizing to her than the others she had eaten so far. Still, she forced her tongue out of her mouth, and she picked up the fly. She closed her mouth. She tried to swallow. She gagged, and the fly shot out of her mouth.
    One of the other actors—Imogene saw there were three men, besides Bertie and Ned—had stopped to watch. He said, “I think they only eat live bugs.”
    Oh,
Imogene thought. She hadn’t realized that, but her frog body had.
    â€œOh,” Luella said. Wearing a sad expression, she covered the bucket.
    The man said, “I hope you feed
us
better than that.”
    â€œWhat?” Luella asked.
    â€œBreakfast,” the man said. “What tasty treat were you planning on preparing for us to give us the strength and stamina we need for a day on the road?”
    â€œI wasn’t planning on preparing you anything,” Luella snapped.
    â€œAw, come on, please,” the man wheedled. “You’re the only woman here, and the men, if I do say so myself, we’re all terrible cooks.”
    â€œI suppose,” Luella grumbled. “This once. But I didn’t join up to cook for you. I’m going to be an actor.”
    The man barked out a laugh, but Bertie stepped in before the man could say any more. Bertie said, “Come, my love, let us do this together. We shall be a cooking ensemble. A duet of dining.”
    Hmm,
Imogene thought. She’d seen several groups of professional actors, and they were always men.
All
men. If the play called for a woman, that part was played by a young man dressed like a woman. Some of them were very convincing. But Imogene, as princess, always got a front row seat, whether in the castle or in the town square, so she could see their Adam’s apples and sometimes their beard stubble. Had Bertie failed to explain to Luella that women simply did not appear on the stage?
    Throughout the day, Luella would open the bucket to throw in a leaf with an ant on it, or a ladybug, or a caterpillar. It was enough to sustain Imogene. Just barely.
    In the evening, the group stopped at a small village. By the sounds, Imogene could