THE FROGS. 119 



stamps to some window, and at evening went abroad in 

 search of food, leaping from one perilous position to 

 another about the railings of the verandah. 



On the particular evening above-mentioned I was sitting 

 in the garden, trying to finish a very interesting chapter in 

 a book before it got too dark to read at least, I imagine 

 that was my occupation, but my memory about that period 

 is almost a blank. Within a few feet of me there was a 

 projecting sunshade, and on it clung an enterprising tree- 

 frog. To him my head loomed like some forest-clad moun- 

 tain against the grey sky, and he guessed there might be 

 game up there. So he wound up his leaping springs, took 

 good aim, allowed for the wind, and fired ! I do not know 

 exactly where he aimed, but he hit just behind my right 

 ear, and, of course, stuck. Now, I hold that half the art of 

 telling a story, as of preaching a sermon, lies in knowing 

 when to stop, so I will stop ; suffice it to say, that since 

 that evening I have admitted no exception to the general 

 feeling of utter aversion with which I regard the whole 

 race of frogs. 



To proceed to the so-called frog, which comes into the 

 house and out-generals " Sarus " in his attempts to evict it, 

 I know it well. It is not a frog at all, but a toad. The 



