the rail, his legs hanging, eyes half shut, every 

 possible scale exposed to the blistering rays, and 

 his bud of a tail twitching with the small spasms 

 of exquisite comfort that shoot to the very ends 

 of his being. 



The little Caliban ! How he loves the sun ! 

 It cannot shine too hot nor too long upon him. 

 He stiffens and has aches when it is cold, so he 

 is a late riser, and appears not at all on dark, 

 drizzly days. 



His nose is resting upon the rail like a drowsy 

 scholar's y upon the desk ; but he is not asleep : 

 he sees every wasp and yellow-jacket that lights 

 upon the luring flowers. He has learned some 

 things about the wasp tribe ; and if any of them 

 want honey from his butterfly-weed, they may 

 have it. These come and go with the butterflies 

 and hard-backed bugs, no notice being taken. 

 But I hear the booming of a bluebottle-fly. 

 Sceloporus hears him, too, and gathers his legs 

 under him, alert. The fly has settled upon one 

 of the flower-clusters. He fumbles among the 

 blossoms, and pretty soon blunders upon those 

 watched by the swift. Fatal blunder ! There 

 is a quick scratching on the rail, a flash of brown 

 [86] 



