“You’ll never get to Heaven unless you mend your ways,” the vicar’s wife chewed me out, all because I hid Fergus, my pet frog, in my pocket and snook him into Sunday school.
“Croak,” he ribbited noisily during prayers.
Mum gave me Fergus for my sixth birthday, before she went to Heaven to be an angel, and he was my best friend.
Don’t think I’ll ever be an angel, but I could try to behave, then I might get to see Mum again.
“It’s a holy croak,” I tried to win over the vicar’s wife.
“Croak,” he ribbited noisily during prayers.
Mum gave me Fergus for my sixth birthday, before she went to Heaven to be an angel, and he was my best friend.
Don’t think I’ll ever be an angel, but I could try to behave, then I might get to see Mum again.
“It’s a holy croak,” I tried to win over the vicar’s wife.
