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Abraham Lincoln

Author: John T Morse, Jr.; Oliver Wendell Holmes Collection (Library of Congress)
Publisher: Boston : Houghton, Mifflin, 1893.
Series: American statesmen.
Edition/Format:   Print book : Biography : EnglishView all editions and formats

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Genre/Form: Biography
Additional Physical Format: Online version:
Morse, John Torrey, 1840-1937.
Abraham Lincoln.
Boston ; New York : Houghton, Mifflin and Co., ©1893
Online version:
Morse, John Torrey, 1840-1937.
Abraham Lincoln.
Boston ; New York : Houghton, Mifflin and Co., ©1893
Named Person: Abraham Lincoln; Abraham Lincoln
Material Type: Biography
Document Type: Book
All Authors / Contributors: John T Morse, Jr.; Oliver Wendell Holmes Collection (Library of Congress)
OCLC Number: 370866
Description: 2 volumes : portrait ; 18 cm.
Series Title: American statesmen.
Responsibility: by John T. Morse, Jr.


by mikeplayer7 (WorldCat user on 2008-06-08)

Toad rage I “Uncle Bart,” said Limpy.” Why do humans hate us?” Uncle Bart looked down at Lumpy and smiled fondly. “Stack me, Lumpy”, he chuckled, “you are an idiot”. Lumpy felt his warts prick with indignation as Uncle Bart hopped onto the read after a bull ant. No wonder I’ve never heard any other cane toad ask that question, thought lumpy, if that’s the reply you get. Limpy was glad the grass at the edge of the highway was taller than he was. At least the millions of insects flying around the railway crossing light couldn’t see who Uncle Bart was calling an idiot. “Humans don’t hate us”, Uncle Bart was saying, his mouth full of bull ant and grasshopper ant and grasshopper. What are you on about? Stack me, some of the dopey ideas Stack me, some of the dopey ideas you youngsters come up with… Limpy trembled in the grass while the truck thundered past in a cloud of diesel fumes and flying grit. Then he hopped onto the road and looked down at what was of Uncle Bart. The light overhead was very bright because it had a whole railway crossing to illuminate, and Limpy was able to see very clearly that Uncle Bart wasn’t his fastest uncle anymore. Flattest, more like, he thought sadly. “See”, he said quietly to Uncle Bart. “That’s what I’m on about.’ Har har har,” chortled a nearby grasshopper.” Your uncle’s a place mat. Serves him right.” Limpy ignored the grasshopper and turned to watch the truck speeding away into the farness. From the movement of its taillight he cold tells it was weaving from side to side. Each time it weaved, he heard the distant “pop” of another relative being run over. “Yay,” shouted the grasshopper.” More place mats.” Limpy sighed. He decided not to eat the grasshopper. Mum was always warning him he’d get a bellyache if ate when he was upset or angry. To take his mind off Uncle Bart, Limpy crossed the road to have a look at uncle Roly. Uncle Roly was extremely flat too, but at least he was smiling. Which is what you’d expect, thought Limpy sadly, from your kindest uncle, even when he has been dead for two nights. Limpy reached forward and gently prodded uncle Roly. He was dry and stiff. The hot Queensland sun had done its job. Limpy remembered how uncle Roly had never been dry and stiff when he was alive. He’d always had a warm smile for everyone, even the family of holidaymakers two evenings ago who’d purposely aimed their car straight for him down the wrong side of the road. “Oh, uncle Roly”, whispered Limpy.” Couldn’t you see the way they were looking at you?” Limpy shuddered as he remembered the the scary expressions on the holidaymakers’ face of the same look of hatred that had been on the face of the truck driver who’d tried to kill Limpy when he was little when he was little. I was lucky, thought Limpy sadly. When it happened to me, I’d only just finished being a tadpole. I had a pair of brand –new legs and I cold hop almost completely out of the way. I only got one leg a bit squashed. Poor old uncle Roly was completely flat before he knew what hit him. Limpy felt his crook leg start to ache, as it often did when he was sad and stressed. He gazed down at uncle Roly’s very wide smile and felt his throat sac start wobble. Why? Why would a carload of humans purposely kill an uncle who had such a good heart that he was still smiling two night after being run over by a station wagon and caravan? I don’t get thought Limpy. I can understand why grasshoppers and other insects don’t like us. It’s because we eat them. But we don’t eat humans. We can’t fit them into our mouths. So why do they hate us. Limpy felt his warts tingle with determination. One day, he thought, I’ll go to a human place and find out why and try to do something about it, even if I end up dry and stiff and flat myself. The thought made him feel weak and sick. “Time to go home, uncle Roly”, he said. Limpy picked uncle Roly up, heaved him onto his shoulders, and hopped slowly back across the road to Uncle Bart. “Bye, Uncle Bart”, said Limpy to the damp layer of pressed skin and flat warts on the tarmac. “I’ll be back for when you’ve dried out.” He wondered if he’d find the courage to visit the humans before he saw Uncle Bart again. I need to get braver, he thought. But how? “Rack off, place mat,” yelled the grasshopper. Ignoring all thought of bellyache, Limpy ate him. Practice, thought Limpy as he chewed, that’s how. II “Oh no, Limpy,” said Mum in exasperation. “You haven’t brought home another dead relative.” Limpy was too puffed to answer. Although the swamp where he lived wasn’t very far from the high-way, it was still a long haul for a skinny toad with a crook leg and a dead uncle on his back. “Well, jusssst don’t leave him lying around in your room,” said Mum. “That room’s a pigsty. I’m sick of tidying up dead relatives in there.” “Mum gave a big sigh and leaned against the leaf she’d been preparing dinner on. She put down the ants she’d been stuffing slugs with and closed her eyes. When she opened them, Limpy could see her throat sac was trembling. “Oh, Limpy ,” she said quietly. ”Of course I care. But I’ll be a nervous wreck.” Limpy felt a hand grip his shoulder. He jumped. For a second he thought uncle Roly had come back to life and was desperate for a drink of water. Then he realized it was dad. “Mum’s right , son,” said dad. “You’ve got to accept the facts of life. Highway lights attract flying insects, so that’s where we’ve got to go for a feed.”


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