THE FROG RENDEZVOUS 



golden heads nodding along on the little 

 waves of the cove all summer. 



These are the patricians of the con- 

 cert. There is a great tuning of in- 

 struments going on already and a try- 

 ing out of voices, yet for some reason 

 there is delay. Then comes the queen 

 herself. The golden shimmer on the 

 eastern shore has faded and dusk dances 

 up from the undergrowth on the west. 

 It is time, and out from among the 

 birches she sails gracefully, a veritable 

 queen of the fairies, clad in ostrich 

 plumes and softest of white velvet, with 

 the most beautiful trailing and undulat- 

 ing opera cloak of softest, delicate green, 

 trimmed with brown and white. You 

 may call her a luna moth if you will. 

 The thing which somewhat resembles 

 her, stuck on a pin in your collection, 

 may be that, but this graceful, soaring 



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