BOG BOGLES 



hear others. It may have been the puk- 

 wudgies playing ventriloquial tricks on 

 me from the shade of the swamp cedars 

 just beyond, and laughing in their beaded 

 sleeves at the joke ; but if it was not they, 

 I am convinced that my turtles sang, and 

 that Solomon not only knew what he was 

 talking about but meant exactly what he 

 said. 



While I was listening to the two turtles 

 and wondering about them, I kept hearing 

 over among the white cedars raucous pro- 

 fanity of the most outrageous sort. Bad 

 words snarled in throaty squawks came 

 oftener and oftener, till by the time the 

 turtles had gone down into oblivion be- 

 neath the bog roots the most villainous 

 language from at least two squawkers 

 gave evidence that a low-bred row was 

 going on. I could distinguish accusation 



and recrimination till it sounded like a 

 209 



