132 FOOTING IT IN FRANCON1A 



it is to vibrations above a certain pitch of 

 fineness. What ethereal music it would be, 

 an echo of toad trills from the grand sound- 

 ing-board of Eagle Cliff ! In the density 

 of my ignorance I am surprised to find such 

 numbers of these humble, half-domesticated, 

 garden-loving batrachians congregated here 

 in the wilderness. If the day were less mid- 

 summery, and were not already mortgaged 

 to other plans, I would go down to Profile 

 Lake to see whether the same thing is going 

 on there. I should have looked upon these 

 lovely sheets of mountain water as spawning- 

 places for trout. But toads ! that seems 

 another matter. If I am surprised at their 

 presence, however, they seem equally so at 

 mine. And who knows ? They were here 

 first. Perhaps I am the intruder. I wish 

 them no harm in any case. If black flies 

 form any considerable part of their diet, 

 they could not multiply too rapidly, though 

 every note of every trill were good for a pol- 

 liwog, and every polliwog should grow into 

 the portliest of toads. 



