Bufonidas 



It is the first of May, late in the afternoon. 

 We stand at the edge of a pond, under a maple 

 brilliant with its fringes of red keys. A marshy 

 place at our left is yellow with "cowslips." 

 Farther back from the water are the broad 

 spreading leaves of the skunk cabbage and the 

 unrolling fronds of the cinnamon fern. Every- 

 where about the margin of the pond the green 

 arrowhead leaves are just thrusting their pointed 

 ends above the water; the new red leaves of the 

 yellow pond-Hies are resting on the surface or 

 struggling up to it. 



Suddenly out in the centre of the pond hun- 

 dreds of small fish leap from the water to escape 

 some enemy below, and drop back, making over- 

 lapping circles of motion that widen and spread 

 until all is placid again. There is no silence; all 

 is life. The red wings are indulging in a lively 

 conversation in the marsh near at hand. The 

 ever-present green frogs are croaking from the 

 ooze and immersed brown leaves just in front of 

 us. They are so near that we can see their yellow 

 throats and green sides expand again and again 

 as the explosive calls are repeated. 



What is the new sound? Very near at hand, 

 there is a sweet tremulous call that continues for 

 several seconds, then stops abruptly. There it is again, but from 

 another direction, and slightly different in pitch. Now it comes 

 from all quarters many voices answering and blending into 

 harmony. 



It is not difficult to locate the singers. They are toads, with 

 throats distended into conspicuous light-coloured sacs astonishingly 

 larger than their heads. They are quite unconscious of our 

 presence as they sit erect in shallow water, showing their bright 

 eyes and their enlarged throats. (Figs. 31 and 83.) 



The sounds are of such quality that they influence us to loiter. 



We sit down on the dry exposed roots of the maple to watch, and 



to listen to these creatures expressing the glad life within them. 



The simplicity and quiet joyousness of it all take hold upon us. 



Suddenly there is a slight commotion in the shallow water 



64 



The unrolling fronds 



of the Cinnamon 



Fern. 



