Frank the Heron 
swims within reach of that terrible beak. 
There is a sudden flash, the coiled neck 
drives the sharp beak like a thrown 
javelin with unerring aim, and the fish 
is pierced through and through. No 
more, little fish, will you sport about in 
the shallow water and bask in the sun- 
shine on the golden gravel. Frank’s head 
is thrown back, the fish is jerked up- 
wards and disappears head-first down 
the gaping gullet, whence there is no 
return. 
Sometimes he catches an eel. Frank 
is very fond of eels, but ¢#ey are not so 
easily disposed of. Once upon a day, long 
ago, I watched Master Frank catch an 
eel. He didn’t know I was anywhere 
near, or looking at him, or he wouldn’t 
have stopped; for, to tell the truth, 
Frank’s disposition is most modest 
163 
