rself from that dog."

I did so immediately, and she deposited the cowering dog in my arms.
Her face had suddenly become pink.

I passed the dog on to Professor Farrago, dumping it viciously into
his lap--a proceeding which struck me as resembling a pastime of
extreme youth known as "button, button, who's got the button?"

The professor examined the animal gravely, feeling its pulse, counting
its respirations, and finally inserting a tentative finger in an
attempt to examine its tongue. The dog bit him.

"Ouch! It's a clear case of fright," he said, gravely. "I wanted a dog
to aid me in trailing these remarkable creatures, but I think this dog
of yours is useless, Gilland."

"It's given us warning of the creatures' presence twice already," I
argued.

"Poor little thing," said Miss Barrison, softly; "I don't know why,
but I love that dog.... He has eyes like yours, Mr. Gilland--"

Exasperated, I rose from the table. "He's got eyes like holes burned
in a blanket!" I said. "And if ever a flicker of intelligence lighted
them I have failed to observe it."

The professor regarded me dreamily. "We ought to have more pies," he
observed. "Perhaps if you carried the oven into the shanty--"

"Certainly," said Miss Barrison; "we can lock the door while I make
twelve more pies."

I carried the portable camping-oven into the cabin, connected the
patent asbestos chimney-pipes, and lighted the fire. And in a few
minutes Miss Barrison, sleeves rolled up and pink apron pinned under
her chin, was busily engaged in rolling pie-crust, while Professor
Farrago measured out spices and set the dried apples to soak.

The swift Southern twilight had already veiled the forest as I
stepped out of the cabin to smoke a cigar and promenade a bit and
cogitate. A last trace of color lingering in the west faded out as I
looked; the gray glimmer deepened into darkness, through which the
white lake vapors floated in thin, wavering strata across the water.

For a while the frog's symphony dominated all other sounds, then
lagoon and forest and cypress branch awoke; and through the steadily
sustained tumult of woodland voices I could hear the dry bark of the
fox-squirrel, the whistle of the raccoon, ducks softly quacking or
whimpering as they prepared for sleep among the reeds, the soft
booming of bitterns, the clattering gossip of the heronry, the
Southern whippoorwill's incessant call.

At regular intervals the howling note of a lone heron e