WOODLAND PATHS 



seemed to garb itself in green as I looked. 

 Under water, too, were all kinds of succu- 

 lent young herbs just coming up, like the 

 water-parsnip, whose root leaves start in 

 the pond bottom, but which, with the re- 

 ceding waters of summer, will grow rank 

 in the mud of the margin. 



A leopard frog sounded his call from 

 the roots of last year's reeds, a gentle 

 drawl which has been compared to the 

 sound produced by tearing stout cotton 

 cloth, and perhaps that is as near as one 

 can come to characterizing it, though the 

 sound is a far more mellow and soothing 

 rattle than that. The hylas have ceased 

 their peeping and the wood frogs no 

 longer croak. They have laid their eggs 

 in the warming waters and gone up into 

 the woods. Hitched to a twig a foot be- 

 neath the surface I found a jelly-like mass 



as big as my two fists, which contained a 

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