HOPKINS'S POND. 



ECHO hiding up among the rocks 

 quietly reproved the boy who 

 yelled too loudly when he pulled the 

 croaking bullhead out of the warm pond 

 water, and with a low, forbearing voice 

 showed with nice modulation how the 

 sound of joy ought to be made next time. 

 It was a quiet pond, without a single 

 bad trait, excepting that it smelled rather 

 pondy in summer when the water was low, 

 but that is nothing to a boy. Its tran- 

 quillity was in keeping with the tranquil 

 farms that extended part way around it, 

 but it nevertheless had certain subdued 

 sounds of its own, for in the spring the 

 honest toad sat in a leaky bog and trilled 

 a serenade to his love who was largely 

 immersed in the cool water below. Little 

 frogs chuckled and big frogs rumbled in 



