The Tale of Mr. Jeremy Fisher

Once upon a time there was a frog called Mr. Jeremy Fisher. He lived in a little damp house amongst the buttercups at the edge of a pond. The water was all slippy-sloppy in the larder and in the back passage. But Mr. Jeremy liked getting his feet wet — nobody ever scolded him, and he never caught a cold. One rainy morning, Mr. Jeremy sat by his fire and looked out of the window. The rain pattered upon the lily pads, making little circles upon the water. "I will get some worms and go fishing," said Mr. Jeremy Fisher. "If I catch more than five minnows, I shall invite my friends to dinner. I will ask Mr. Alderman Ptolemy Tortoise and Sir Isaac Newton."

Mr. Jeremy put on his mackintosh and a pair of shiny galoshes. He took his rod and his basket, and set off with enormous hops to the place where he kept his boat. The boat was round and green, and very like the other lily-pads. It was tied to a water-plant in the middle of the pond. Mr. Jeremy sat down in the middle of his boat and arranged his fishing tackle. He had the dearest little red float. His rod was a tough stalk of grass, and his line was a fine long white horse-hair. He dangled his feet in the water. The rain trickled down his back.

First, a large water-beetle came from underneath the lily pad and tweaked the toe of one of his galoshes. "Go away, you tiresome insect!" said Mr. Jeremy, crossly. Next, he caught his line in a water-plant and had to pull very hard to free it. Then he hooked a stickleback, but the stickleback was prickly and so disagreeable that Mr. Jeremy had to let it go. He put a fresh worm on his hook and dropped the line back into the water. He sat there for a long time, and the rain dripped off his mackintosh, and nothing happened. Not a single nibble.

And then, quite without warning, something tremendous seized the bait! The line ran out with a tremendous whirring noise. A great big enormous trout came up — ker-pflop-p-p-p! — with a splash that sent water flying in every direction. It seized Mr. Jeremy with a snap and dived to the bottom of the pond. Mr. Jeremy found himself inside the trout's mouth. It was very dark, and very damp, and very, very alarming.

But the trout was horribly disappointed with the taste of the mackintosh. It was waterproof and rubbery, and not at all the flavour of frog that a trout expects. The trout spat out Mr. Jeremy, and he shot to the surface like a cork from a bottle — PLOP! — and swam to the bank as fast as his little legs could paddle. He had lost his rod. He had lost his basket. His galoshes were somewhere at the bottom of the pond. His mackintosh was in tatters. But he was alive. "I have lost my rod and basket," said Mr. Jeremy Fisher, "but it does not much matter, for I am sure I should never have dared to go fishing again!"

He put sticking plaster on his fingers, and his friends came to dinner. Mr. Alderman Ptolemy Tortoise arrived first, walking slowly and carrying a string bag of salad. Then came Sir Isaac Newton, who wore a black and gold waistcoat and was a newt. They could not have minnows for dinner. But Mr. Jeremy Fisher had something else in his larder. They had roasted grasshopper with ladybird sauce. Mr. Jeremy said it was his own recipe. Mr. Alderman Ptolemy Tortoise brought a salad in a string bag. And Sir Isaac Newton said he found the grasshopper quite delicious. It was a very merry party indeed. And not a single word was said about fish. Which only proves that a bad day's fishing can still end with a good supper and fine friends. And that a mackintosh, though not very tasty, can save your life.