64 A SPORTING PARADISE 



approached so near to me that I could have hit 

 them with a stone, and then, as though disgusted, 

 they all flew off chattering. Then a large hand- 

 some kingfisher about the size of a pigeon, crossed 

 and recrossed the swamp, giving me an easy shot 

 and a desire to add his gorgeous plumage to my 

 collection of birds. The presence of this bird 

 appeared to create some stir and animation in the 

 dark waters of the swamp. Innumerable little 

 heads popped up, and now and then a heavy 

 splash startled me. Suddenly there arose a 

 hideous bellowing, started by a deep guttural 

 voice and chorused by thousands, until I realised 

 the fact that a deer might pass me during the 

 din. They were huge bull-frogs, but what the 

 bird had done to cause their wrath or alarm I 

 could not conceive, until it occurred to me that 

 they had only just recovered from the noise of 

 our party. Bull-frogs are considered excellent 

 eating. Both Mac and I pretended we liked 

 frogs* legs, both even deceived each other by 

 boasting we had often eaten them, both became 

 most enthusiastic over the cooking, but drew a 

 sigh of relief when we perceived the skinning 

 and killing process had already been attended to. 

 Then came the new odour of frying. Mac 



