THE TOAD 



tongue, she flicks into her jaws a fly or 

 bug. She only winks contentedly to 

 express complete satisfaction at her per- 

 formance and its result. 



Though summer's torrid heat cannot 

 warm her to any voice, springtime and 

 love make her tuneful, and every one 

 hears the softly trilled, monotonous song 

 jarring the mild air, but few know who 

 is the singer. The drumming grouse 

 is not shyer of exhibiting his perform- 

 ance. 



From a sun-warmed pool not fifty 

 yards away a full chorus of the rapidly 

 vibrant voices arises, and you imagine 

 that the performers are so absorbed with 

 their music that you may easily draw 

 near and observe them. But when you 

 come to the edge of the pool you see 

 only a half-dozen concentric circles of 

 wavelets, widening from central points, 

 where as many musicians have modestly 

 withdrawn beneath the transparent cur- 

 tain. 



Wait, silent and motionless, and they 



will reappear. A brown head is thrust 



above the surface, and presently your 



last summer's familiar of the garden 



49 



