th a broken back.
For centuries I was thought to have a jewel in my head. How many of my
hapless ancestors were tortured for that jewel! With the toad's death,
the jewel was believed to vanish. How many have been 'larned to be a toad'
by baffled, disappointed rustics! That is what puts the sad expression in
my eye. How have I survived it all? By dogged perseverance. I lay so many
eggs that one at least _must_ survive. Thus is the balance of the race
preserved. I myself was one of five hundred, the only one that reached
maturity. Yet all were in the same long ribbon coil. The swan that gulped
the coil, gulped all but me. I dropped into the brook alone, and there I
quietly passed through my novitiate, egg to tadpole, tadpole to toadling,
toadling to toad. When my tail was absorbed into my body, I sought a
land-retreat. There I have spent my time for twenty years. None of you
know it, and none ever will. I leave it only at twilight, and, as you
pass, I shield my face with my fore feet. Froggin is much the same;
nothing but his prolific quality saves him."

[Illustration: "WILL YOU HEAR AN AMPHIBIAN?" SAID THE TOAD.]

[Illustration: "FROGGIN IS AT LEAST WORTH EATING," SAID THE GRASS-SNAKE.]

"Froggin is at least worth eating," said the grass-snake. He lay with
all his four-foot length displayed in graceful sinuous curves, and was
listened to in silence. Nothing loves a snake, however harmless. "With me,
as with the caterpillars, it is mostly bluff. I can swing back my head,
and flatten the nape of my neck, as well as any deadly adder. I can also
strike, but there is no poison behind the blow. My only weapon of offence
is smell, a sickening musty smell, that makes the enemy loose his hold.
Once I am halfway down a hole, I'm safe. I set my ratchet scales against
the sides, and nothing can dislodge me. Only a jerk is dangerous, and that
must be accomplished before I am fairly fixed."

[Illustration: "I AM ARMOUR-CLAD," SAID THE STAG-BEETLE.]

"I am armour-clad," said the stag-beetle. "Could there be better method
of defence? Look at the sliding joints of my breastplate. Human skill has
copied it, but never has surpassed it. My horns look formidable, but for
offence are useless. They are far from my eyes, and move but slowly. Give
me time, and I can crush a tender twig between them, and suck its juices.
That is all the purpose they serve me, yet they look like branching
antlers, and that also is something."

"I have heard