158 BIRD PARADISE 



the brook. I was almost sure that this was the 

 same bird, at least, I counted him the same. To 

 my delight he gave every indication that he knew 

 me. His warble was of the fellowship sort, and 

 every move he made was an epic of the days of 

 " Anld Lang Syne." What a sermon the little 

 fellow preached. Just a fine "send off" for the 

 parson, who was treasuring notes for a real ser- 

 mon. 



During our heated term I have listened with 

 the keenest pleasure to the voice of the frogs. 

 There is a sort of mouth-watering tone in the call 

 of one of the large frogs on a hot evening that is 

 most refreshing. Quite a little distance from the 

 rectory lies a small pond. In the evening, sit- 

 ting on my porch, I hear the gurgling strain of 

 the dwellers there and half fancy that it is a 

 breath of cooling influence from some grotto of 

 the wood. I strolled down to the pond the other 

 day and interviewed the residents there. I am 

 quite sure hearing them from a distance is more 

 satisfactory than a close inspection. A frog 

 pond in the summer is not even one remove from 

 what is commonly known as a mud-hole. There 

 may be frogs that enjoy the clear water and 



