THE LAND OF A SINGLE TREE. 



IS 



We came to a tiny bayou, shaped like a bottle, from whicli 

 four Little Blue Herons ■'' flew as we approached. We jjlaced 

 our dug-out corklikc athwart the mouth and anchored with 

 our crossed paddles. The air was warm, 1jees hummed 

 about the tiny four-parted flowers of the mangroves, and a 

 great blue morpho butterfly flapped past, mirrored in the 

 water beneath. Then came tragedy — never far off in this 

 land of superabundant life. A small clay-colored crocodile 



Fig. 6. Parrot Puff-ftsh. 



made a sudden rush at a ripple, and a cjuartet of four-eyes 

 shot from the water in frantic fear. One was slower than the 

 rest, and the fierce jaws of the diminutive reptile just grazed 

 him. Another fell back downward in the ooze, and in a 

 twinkling was caught and dragged into the depths. No 

 wonder the poor little four-eyes are ever on the lookout for 

 danger and spend most of their time where they merge with 

 the ripples along the shore, when such enemies are on the 

 watch for them! 



