The Vicar and the Frog

”This is the true but lamentable story of a good, a holy, but truly unfortunate man and his incredible experiences on a summer night and morning. He was, and had been for the preceeding years, the vicar of a small parish in the village of Middle Wallop. His cherished wife of some 20 years had recently departed her corporeal envelope, leaving the vicar a very lonely man indeed.

”A year ago, on a summer night at dusk, the vicar was strolling, as had been his wont for some many years, in the woods near his beloved church. He was meditating on the relationship of man and his creator when he heard, ‘Vicar! Vicar!’

”Although hearing the words, the vicar completely ignored them as being auricularly irrelevant since these woods had always been his sanctuary, quite unmolested by interlopers of any sort.

”But, shortly, ‘Vicar! Vicar!’

”Finding it impossible to avoid this interruption further, he turned to ascertain the identity of this incivility. There, at his feet, was a small green frog looking directly up at him, and, quite inescapedly, the origin of these bewildering words. Fully cognizant that the Almighty functioned in mysterious ways, he accepted this phenomenon and directly inquired, ‘Who are you? What right have you to address me? A frog? This is preposterous!’

”But the diminutive amphibian was not to be rebuffed by this chllenge. ‘Vicar. Please listen. Hear my sad story and I know you won’t reject my plea.’

”Get on with it, frog,’ “said the exasperated vicar. ”Vicar, I have been the victim of a terrible and evil witch who cast a spell on me and transformed me from a simple and good choir boy living in the next village to this present form, a lowly frog. She did this merely to demonstrate her power over such as me, and there is only one way to undo this horrible act. You must help me, Vicar, because it is only you that can effect my release from this dreadful condition. My only hope is for you to let me spend one whole night in your bed, close to your goodness and holiness. That, if done, will break the spell and free me from the witch’s influence. Please, please help me, Vicar. My life is in your hands.’

”Most reluctantly, the vicar acceded to this fervent, if odd, supplication. He escorted the frog, cupped securely in his hands, back to the vicarage, placed him beside him in his bed, and promptly fell off into a fitful sleep.

”At the breaking of the dawn the next morning the vicar turned over in his bed and saw there, lying snugly beside him, a blue-eyed, curly-locked choir boy deep in slumber. At this exact moment, the vicar’s housemaid entered the bedroom with the vicar’s morning tea.”