Bufonldae 



sible from fright during the time that it " plays dead," the 

 resulting protection is the same, for, as a rule, animals that feed 

 upon living food associate motion with life so firmly that they 

 pay no attention to a motionless creature. 



One of the greatest protections afforded the toad is given 

 by his habit of burrowing. Under stone or board or shrubbery, 

 he makes his snug house all of soft earth — floor, walls and roof. 

 His method of making it is very unexpected. Perhaps it would 

 not be so if we remembered the appearance of his hind feet. They 

 are greatly hardened and thus especially fitted for digging and 

 each bears a conspicuous spur. (Fig. 44.) The toad makes his house 

 and enters it at the same time — a great advantage, it would seem. 

 But he must back in, which must have its disadvantages, 

 since he cannot be certain until he is thoroughly and snugly in 

 that he is going to have a house at all; he may bump against a 

 stone, or take a long tumble into a cellar, or, worse still, into a well. 



Each morning he backs into his old burrow, or perhaps kicks 

 into a new one; and rests with his nose and bright eyes at the open 

 doorway. If an'enemy comes, he shuts the door in the intruder's 

 face by forcibly backing his way farther in until the earth caves 

 down over his head. 



This is just what he does when cold autumn days come. And 

 here he lies, with his toes drawn under him and his head bent 

 downward, all secure in his closely shut house. He sleeps — and 

 the days grow colder — and winter is here. Still he sleeps, with 

 his house yet more protected, perhaps, by coverings of leaves and 

 snow. The winds blow, but he does not feel them. He is cold; 

 we should call him frozen perhaps, he is so stiff and cold. But if 

 the heart, the stronghold of his life, is not frozen, he wakes up 

 some warm spring day when the ferns are unrolling and the cold is 

 gone, and scarcely knows that he has slept more than a day. 



What a change in him ! The long sleep, the warm, moist air, 

 all the instincts of his being, tend to fill him with physical joy. It 

 is such a pleasure to eat; it is so delightful to move; it is such a 

 satisfaction to soak in the water of the spring rains. 



He is converted into a social creature and finds himself going 

 with many other toads to the pond where he spent his own early 

 days. And now at the pond and in the water (Fig. 63) he can con- 

 tain himself no longer, but bursts into that spring song, beautiful 

 to himself and to his companions. 



88 



