148 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 
in out of sight, and the tiny jeweled being 
crouched low, hoping for a day of comfortable 
clouds, a little moisture, and a swift passage of 
time to the next period of darkness, when it was 
fitting and right for Guineveres to seek their 
small meed of sustenance, to grow to frog’s 
full estate, and to fulfil as well as might be what 
destiny the jungle offered. To unravel the 
meaning of it all is beyond even attempting. The 
breath of mist ever clouds the mirror, and only 
as regards a tiny segment of the life-history of 
Guinevere can I say, “There is no need to wipe 
the mirror.” 
