134 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 
poles, and an intolerant pollywog offers worthy 
research for the naturalist. Straiming their me- 
dium of its opacity, I drew off the clayey liquid 
and replaced it with the clearer brown, wallaba- 
stained water of the Mazaruni; and thereafter all 
their doings, all their intimacies, were at my 
mercy. I felt as must have felt the first aviator 
who flew unheralded over an oriental city, with 
its patios and house-roofs spread naked beneath 
him. 
It was on one of the early days of observation 
that an astounding thought came to me—before 
I had lost perspective in intensive watching, be- 
fore familiarity had assuaged some of the mar- 
vel of these super-tadpoles. Most of those in my 
jar were of a like size, just short of an inch; but 
one was much larger, and correspondingly gor- 
geous in color and graceful in movement. As 
she swept slowly past my line of vision, she turned 
and looked, first at me, then up at the limits of 
her world, with a slow deliberateness and a hint 
of expression which struck deep into my memory. 
Green came to mind,—something clad in a smock 
of emerald, with a waistcoat of mother-of-pearl, 
and great sprawling arms,—and I found myself 
thinking of Gawain, our mystery frog of a year 
