104 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 



hailed him as the only other backboned friend 

 who shared the root-world with me, and then 

 listened to a high, sweet tone, which came forth 

 in swinging rhythm. It took some time for my 

 eyes to become accustomed to the semi-darkness, 

 and then I saw what the gecko saw — a big yel- 

 low-bodied fly humming in this cavern, and 

 swinging in a small orbit as she sang. Now and 

 then she dashed out past me and hovered in mid- 

 air, when her note sank to a low, dull hum. Back 

 again, and the sound rose and fell, and gained 

 ten times in volume from the echo or reverbera- 

 tions. Each time she passed, the little lizard 

 licked his chops and swallowed — a sort of vica- 

 rious expression of faith or desire; or was he in 

 a Christian Science frame of mind, saying, "My, 

 how good that fly tasted !" each time the dipteron 

 passed? The fly was just as inexplicable, brav- 

 ing danger and darkness time after time, to 

 leave the sunshine and vibrate in the dusk to the 

 enormously magnified song of its wings. 



With eyes that had forgotten the outside light, 

 I leaned close to the opening and rested my fore- 

 head against the lichens of the wall of wood. 

 The fly was frightened away, the gecko slipped 

 lower, seemingly without effort, and in a hoi- 



