The frogs had gone back to their swamp, and the only light in the room was the faint glow of dawn showing through the window. She sat up in bed, clutching the quilt about her neck. For the first time she could remember, Polly was deep-down scared. Twice yesterday, the only sound she had been able to make was a bullfrog’s deep jug-a-rum. Even now she was afraid to open her mouth for fear that the frog sound would come out. What made it happen? It wasn’t any disease she’d ever heard of. And she didn’t think she was going crazy. “What a terrible thing,” she said softly. Then she breathed a sigh of relief. At least for now, she had the power of speech. But she couldn’t go on like this for the rest of her life, making jug-a-rum sounds every now and then and who-knew-when. There had to be some reason for it. And if she could think of the reason, she might be able to do something about it. So Polly made it a point to say “hello” to everyone she met on the way to school that morning.
