Hylidae 



sprawling legs, our tree frog climbs the smooth glass, to snuggle 

 in the corner of a window-pane, his toes tucked well under him 

 and pressed closely against the glass. The moist under surface 

 of his body seems also to do its share of the work of holding him 

 securely in this upright position. Now he awakes and wildly 

 dashes^for a fly, but^only'bangs his nose, because the fly is on the 

 other side of the glass. If we catch the fly and carry it out to him, 

 he takes it from our fingers into his cavernous pink mouth. 



In August, we look for ripening grapes on the vine that covers 

 the low stone smoke-house. On the mossy ledge of the roof, in the 

 shade of a leaf, is a clump of grey lichen that comes to life when 

 touched. Again it is our tree frog. He takes a flying leap, 

 catches a slender stem by one sticky front foot and hangs swing- 

 ing in air with outstretched legs. We are certain he will fall. 

 Instead, he deliberately draws himself up to the swaying sup- 

 port and from it makes a second spring to a place of concealment. 



We stand at the old-fashioned gate, and on the top of one of 

 the white-painted posts there is something that looks like a 

 flattened mass of smooth green wax. Even on looking closely, it 

 is hard to distinguish the folds of the legs, so successfully are the 

 adjoining skin surfaces blended. It is our sleepy tree frog, who 

 may be slow to awake until we take him into our hands. Even 

 then he clings confidingly to our finger, perfectly willing to remain 

 on so comfortable a perch. In fact, it is not easy to get rid of 

 his cool sticky toes. If we reverse the position of our finger so 

 that his head is down, he turns clumsily until his head is upper- 

 most again. His bright eyes, his confiding way, all his diminutive 

 self, make a genuine appeal to our liking. 



In September, when we climb the apple tree to get more per- 

 fect apples than those which have fallen to the ground, we put our 

 hand on a lichen-covered branch only to find it soft and alive 

 under our touch. We go hazel-nutting along the country road, 

 and the first cluster of nuts that we pull from under its umbrella 

 of leaves has a green tree frog on it. 



And so we know this tree frog well. We learn to expect him 

 in the orchard and about the house in early summer and to miss 

 him again early in September, when he disappears for his long 

 winter's sleep in some cozy hollow among tree roots or in a tree 

 trunk. 



We know his voice also, though perhaps we have never actu- 



ii8 



