Then he smacked his lips (for he knew no better).
"Those were the finest gingersnaps I ever tasted," he remarked. "It's a
pity there weren't a baker's dozen of them, instead of only ten."
Old Mr. Crow nearly fell over, he was so surprised. He had never dreamed
that those big brown buttons, which Mr. Frog had sewed upon his coat,
were nothing but gingersnaps.
"If I'd known that I would have eaten them myself!" he exclaimed. "But I
don't care. Now that I can get out of this heavy coat, I'm satisfied."
But to Mr. Crow's dismay, the coat clung round him as tightly as ever. He
couldn't throw it open at all. And he turned the least bit pale.
"This is strange!" he murmured. "What can be the matter, I wonder!"
Fatty Coon looked at the coat again. And then he laughed.
"The trouble--" he said--"the trouble is, there are no buttonholes! Your
coat doesn't open in front. And it doesn't open anywhere else, either.
It's _sewed on you_, Mr. Crow."
Poor Mr. Crow began to feel faint. He leaned against a tree and did not
speak for some time. But he was thinking deeply. And all at once he
understood what had happened.
"It's all the fault of that silly tailor, Mr.
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