Chigwooltz the Frog. 87 



touched the water almost at his nose, near one of his 

 numerous lurking places. Still it puzzled me a good 

 deal till one early morning, when I saw him in broad 

 daylight do a much more difficult thing than snap- 

 ping up a swallow. 



I was coming down the game path to the shore 

 when a bird, a tree sparrow I thought, flew to the 

 ground just ahead of me, and hopped to the water 

 to drink. I watched him a moment curiously, then 

 with intense interest as I saw a ripple steal out of the 

 lily pads towards him. The ripple was Chigwooltz. 



The sparrow had finished drinking and was absorbed 

 in a morning bath. Chigwooltz stole nearer and 

 nearer, sinking himself till only his eyes showed 

 above water. The ripple that flowed away on either 

 side was gentle as that of a floating leaf. Then, just 

 as the bird had sipped and lifted its head for a last 

 swallow, Chigwooltz hurled himself out of water. 

 One snap of his big mouth, and the sparrow was 

 done for. 



An hour later, when I came down to my canoe, he 

 was sitting low on the lily pads, winking sleepily now 

 and then, with eight little sparrow's toes curling over 

 the rim of his under lip, like a hornpout's whiskers. 



