104 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 
hailed him as the only other backboned friend 
who shared the root-world with me, and then 
listened to a high, sweet tone, which came forth 
in swinging rhythm. It took some time for my 
eyes to become accustomed to the semi-darkness, 
and then I saw what the gecko saw—a big yel- 
low-bodied fly humming in this cavern, and 
swinging in a small orbit as she sang. Now and 
then she dashed out past me and hovered in mid- 
air, when her note sank to a low, dull hum. Back 
again, and the sound rose and fell, and gained 
ten times in volume from the echo or reverbera- 
tions. Each time she passed, the little lizard 
licked his chops and swallowed—a sort of vica- 
rious expression of faith or desire; or was he in 
a Christian Science frame of mind, saying, “My, 
how good that fly tasted!” each time the dipteron 
passed? The fly was just as inexplicable, brav- 
ing danger and darkness time after time, to 
leave the sunshine and vibrate in the dusk to the _ 
enormously magnified song of its wings. 
With eyes that had forgotten the outside light, 
I leaned close to the opening and rested my fore- 
head against the lichens of the wall of wood. 
The fly was frightened away, the gecko slipped 
lower, seemingly without effort, and in a hol- 
