All fear of the hawk is passed, and the lizards 

 come out into the light again. Presently one 

 leaves the rails, runs over my foot, and dashes by 

 short stages into the field. He is after a nest of 

 ants, or is chasing a long-legged spider. It is 

 worth while to follow them when they take to 

 the fields, for they may let you into a secret, as 

 they once did me. 



About a hundred feet into the melon-patch 

 stands an old and very terrible scarecrow. It 

 is quite without terrors for the swifts, however. 

 Around this monster's feet the soil is bare and 

 open to the sun. One day I discovered a lizard 

 making her way thither, and I followed. She 

 did not stop for ants or spiders, but whisked 

 under the vines and hastened on as if bound on 

 some urgent business. And so she was. 



When she reached the warm, open sand at 

 the scarecrow's feet, she dug out a little hollow, 

 and, to my utter amazement, deposited therein 

 seven tough, yellowish, pea-like eggs, covered 

 them with sand, and raced back to the rail-pile. 

 That was all. Her maternal duties were done, 

 her cares over. She had been a faithful mother 

 to the last degree,— even to the covering up of 

 [89] 



