One crisp spring morning when the cherry blossoms were just beginning to appear, Princess Dorinda was distracted by her latest plaything, a golden ball. She tossed it up as she wandered between the exotic and botanical species in the regal conservatory, where her father found a haven from his royal cares.
Eying with trepidation the glass windows surrounding them, King Morton suggested, “Why don’t you toss that ball out in the garden?”
Dorinda’s reputation for clumsiness was no palace secret.
“Awesome,” Princess Dorinda answered, not noticing her father’s grimace. “It’s nice enough outside, you know. I was, like, too warm in here.”
“Precisely.” How else could she respond to such twaddle?
Beyond the imperial patio, Princess Dorinda meandered aimlessly through the stately gardens, tossing her ball up and down and catching it with slick confidence. At the corner of the well, however, a most regrettable event transpired. Carelessly she tossed her golden ball too high, and down it fell with a splash. The heavy orb sunk to the bottom of the well. Tears flowed copiously. Huge drops splashed her golden dress.
“Oh, my golden baaall!” Dorinda wailed. “If only I could have my ball back. I would bestow a handsome reward on my benefactor!”
“If you would permit me, madam, I should be honored to rescue your plaything,” a throaty voice offered.
Dorinda’s tears dried instantly as she looked for the person belonging to the voice.
A little flustered when she sighted no one, Dorinda inquired, “Pray tell, who has tendered such a thoughtful offer?” Groomed in courtly speech, she could talk like a princess when convenient.
Peculiarly, a blinking, well-fed amphibian hopped toward her on the rim of the well and croaked, “It was I.”
At this, Dorinda let loose a spine-tingling shriek and started to run. In a moment, however, her inquisitiveness got the better of her, and she turned to the frog.
“How is it that you can talk, Mr. Frog?”
“It’s a dull story, but maybe I’ll tell it to you one day. For the present, would you like me to salvage your ball?”
“Oh, yes, benevolent frog!”
Notice that characters in fairy tales don’t have a great curiosity about such oddities as talking frogs—or maybe Dorinda was too self-centered for anyone to affect her deeply.
“I’ll gladly do so—but with one stipulation”, the frog responded.
“Anything! My dad will kill me if I lose that ball, which cost him a royal fortune, you know.”
“Well, I don’t know anything of that sort, but I do think I can retrieve it with tolerable dexterity. Here are my terms: I’ll bring you the ball if you’ll treat me at your table in the castle, let me dine from your own plate, and allow me to dwell one night in the palace.”
“Well, like, sure,” Dorinda responded hastily, perhaps a little too curtly.
With that, the frog hopped back into the water, disappeared for a few moments, and then returned with the ball, panting as only frogs can pant.
“You didn’t tell me it was solid gold,” he wheezed.
Princess Dorinda didn’t hear him. She had already skipped back to the palace, tickled with the return of her treasure.
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