Beyond the cow lot lay a pasture of twenty acres, containing a draw or
small ravine, in which had been a shallow well. This well had been filled
up and abandoned. But the rains had washed out some of the soil, and in
time the hollow thus begun, enlarged till a miniature lake ten or twelve
feet wide and twenty feet long was formed. As the well had been fed by a
spring, the pond was never dry.
Some sweet flag had taken root in the upper end of the pond a year or
so before the spring when this story opens, so it was a favorite place for
sister and me to get calamus root. True, the geese used the pond for a
swimming pool, but there was a sheltering hedge only a few yards away, and
by reconnoitering we could easily see whether, the gander was near. If
not, it was safe to venture. Besides, there was a famous sweetbrier bush
close by, and one could afford some risks for sweetbrier roses.
If the gander was in the region of the pond, however, he was clearly
master of the situation, but as his favorite goose was sitting on her nest
in the shed behind the strawstack, he spent much of his time there. This
was a great relief to us, for he must cross a fence in case he raided us,
and that gave us plenty of time to get safely away with the spoils of the
calamus bed. I think he never failed to attack us on sight; but after our
bare legs had been chewed till they bled and we had been pounded with his
great wings till we were black and blue, we became fairly skillful in
reading the signals of danger, and masters in the fine art of retreating
before the enemy.
Spring had come in the northern woods and on the thousand Canadian
lakes, and in the region of southeaster Iowa was well advanced. Each day
flocks of birds came trooping northward, till the woods were filled with
their new homes and cheerful with their songs. Bloodroots, claytonias, and
anemones dotted the floor of the forest, and the fields were ablaze with
dandelions. Already the leaves of the oak trees were as large as
squirrels' ears, a sure sign that the season of corn planting had come;
and indeed, the click of the corn planter was even now heard in all
directions. Warmer and warmer shone the sun each day of his journey
northward, and finally a great toad that had been sleeping under the
sweetbrier bush, drowsily opened his eyes, and looked about to see if it
was really time to come out for the summer. He stretched himself slowly,
and found that he was warm enough to move. Satisfied that he was making no
mistake, he lazily dug his way to the surface of the ground, blinking his
eyes in the bright sunlight. It was cool and duskish in the shade of the
hedge, so there he stayed till the sun went down, when he sallied forth to
hunt the first supper he had eaten for over six months. Crickets and
glowworms were plentiful, and soon his stomach was well filled.
Then he began to wonder if any other toads were awake, and hopping to
an open place, uttered his long peculiar trill until the meadows echoed
and re-echoed with the sound.
"We'll have no more cold weather this year," remarked father,
who was coming from the lot with a pail of milk; and mother, as she
mounted the cellar stairs, said, "It's time to put out the sweet
potato and tomato plants." "Now we can put our shoes away till
fall! The toads are singing!" exclaimed sister and I. Sure enough,
the prophecy proved true; the next few days were warmer still, and soon
the toads were singing everywhere.
May warmed into June, and the toads changed their song to that heard
only at nesting time. The old goose's eggs had hatched, and now the
goslings were shut in the lot for a few days, that no harm might come to
them. This was fortunate for the old mother toad, who had her winter home
under the sweetbrier, for she had chosen the goose pond for her nesting
place. One warm day in the first week of June she came to the pond and
began laying eggs, thousands of them, all fastened together in long black
chainlike tubes. There were ever so many of these chains, and they were
strung in fantastic shapes all over the bottom of the pond. Sister and I
watched her as she moved slowly about depositing the eggs, and when what
we could see of the bottom of the pond was nearly covered with them, she
left them as composedly as if they did not belong to her at all, and went
back to her home under the sweetbrier.
Had the geese been allowed to come to the pond at this stage of the
proceedings, this story would have to come to an end right here. As it
was, in two weeks the whole pond was alive with little black wriggling
pollywogs. Odd, jolly little fellows they were, and each so exactly like
every other that it would take sharper eyes than the kind I with which you
and I look at the world and its wonders to tell them apart. Their life
consisted in eating and in wiggling to the top of the water to catch a
glimpse of the sky. It was delightful to poke the tip of the nose out into
the air, too, and get a breath, though it was not at all necessary,
because they had little gills, and most of the time breathed water like a
fish.
At this time the little creatures were about an inch long, with a head
as large as all the rest of the body, and fully half as long. Their eyes
were so small that one had to look closely to see them. On each side of
the head were two small spots, which, although they could not be seen
without a microscope, served them very well for ears; for, try as I might,
I never could get near them without their hearing me, and wiggling to the
bottom of the pond, where they tried to hide in the soft mud.
But what is time to a boy? I would sit down on the bank and wait
patiently till they came to the surface again. And presently the water
would be full of the squirming, wriggling mites.
I liked to watch them eat. One or two of them would swim to the under
side of a leaf and appear to be sucking it, but don't imagine for a moment
that they were feeding on its juices. They are carnivorous little
creatures, and were devouring tiny animals that lived on the leaf-
animals so small that they cannot be seen with the naked eye, though I
have since found them with a magnifying glass. But with their specks of
eyes the tadpoles could see them readily enough, and it was these they
ate. Sometimes bits of moss and other plants were added to the bill of
fare as a sort of relish, and when I crumbled the yolk of a hard-boiled
egg into the water, all the family flocked greedily to the feast. There
were so many of them that perhaps they forgot that they were brothers and
sisters; at any rate they sometimes fought in a way that was disgraceful.
One day- and it was an unlucky day in the
tadpole calendar- an old frog came to the pond.
She was a hungry old frog, and a choice diet of tadpole was the only thing
that would satisfy her appetite. They could not get out of her way, and
there was no mother at hand to protect them. Though if she had been there
she would as likely as not have made a meal or two off them herself.
But help was at hand for the unfortunate infants in the person of a
Small Boy who took the frog away to play with before she had eaten more
than a few dozen, and left the young toad babies in peace.
It was warm and sunny now in the little ravine, and every day saw a
change in the toad family. Some of them had two tiny front legs, some had
two diminutive hind legs, and other fortunate members had four legs. They
did not all grow alike, for there were members of the family that had no
legs at all.
Those whose legs were growing came to the surface oftener now; indeed,
they spent most of their time there. Their gills were almost gone; the
eyes were larger; the ear spots were growing; and the mouth was large
enough to be plainly seen. But while mouth, eyes, and ears were growing,
the tail became smaller and weaker day by day.
The tadpoles were getting restless, too -
all but the ones that had no legs, and they were cross and ill-natured.
But these last had mouths, even if they were legless, and they began to
use them in eating their brothers and sisters. A legless tadpole would
take hold of the leg of one of his more fortunate brothers, and hold to it
till he had either bitten it quite off or had killed the baby toad, when
he would devour him. A great many of the tadpoles were killed in this way.
Then one day the old gander came to the pond, and wrought dire destruction
among the little family. This time the Small Boy did not dare interfere.
Clearly, it was time for something to happen if any of them were to live.
Something did happen. One morning, just a month from the day they were
hatched, the sun came up in a brilliant red sky. The birds were singing
gaily, and in the still air every sound carried far. For hours there had
been a gentle east wind, and presently a dark bank of heavy thunderclouds
was seen rising in the west. Already the muffled roll of thunder could be
heard in the distance. Everything wore an air of expectancy.
This was to be a notable day for the baby toads, and they were all
astir before it was fairly light. By the time the sun was shining on the
meadow, dozens of them were crawling out on the bank to see what the great
world was like. For two or three days they had been climbing up the grassy
edge of the pond, only to wriggle to the bottom again when anything came
near. 0, how they enjoyed the feel of the dry ground! Never barefoot boy
felt his feet tingle more as he first pulled off his boots in the spring.
First one and then another tried to hop. One little leap, then another and
another, and the first thing they knew, the remnant of tail was gone! How
queerly they capered when it was no longer in their way! No boy ever
enjoyed his first trousers more than did these toad babies their loss of
tail. For now they were real toads. Not one of them stopped to say good-by
to his brother, but each set out to see the world on his own account.
As the sun rose higher, they would have crept under the shade of some
tree, or bush, or friendly leaf had not the dark clouds drawn a thick veil
over its shining face. Soon it began to rain, and then the young toads
were happy. Spoil their journey? Not a bit of it! Hadn't they lived in the
water all their lives? Hop, hop, hop- little
fellows no larger than half of your thumbnail, and every hop taking them
farther and farther from home. It was well for them that the chickens were
securely housed, for they passed right by their yard in their travels.
When the rain was over, father went out to look around, and presently
we heard him calling, "Mother! 0 mother! just look here! It's been
raining toads!" And sure enough, the yard was full of them.
Later in the day the chickens were turned into the yard, and they made
short work of the toads, none of us thinking to protect some of them. In a
day or two none were to be found. Only two or three escaped, but by fall
these were of considerable size. Two of them took up their abode in the
cellar, and the one whose history I shall relate to you made her home
under the doorstep. Sobersides we called her, and as time passed, she
increased visibly in size, and waxed fat and hearty. All summer she stayed
under the step during the day, coming out at night to catch the gnats and
flies in the grass near the door. She never wandered far in the night, and
by morning was sure to be slightly buried in the mellow earth when I
raised the step to look for her. She did not like to be rudely awakened
and taken from her bed in the middle of her nap, but she soon learned not
to resent my intrusion by wetting my hand or covering her skin with a milk
like secretion. When pulled from her bed, she would look up sleepily,
perhaps rub her eye with one foot, and blink comically in the sunlight. It
was very amusing to me, but I suppose she did not enjoy it much; at any
rate she lost no time in burying herself again when released.
While toads will live in one place for years, they choose a slightly
different place day by day for their bed, supposedly to insure moisture
that is so essential to their health. If they cannot get into the damp
earth, they seek the coolest shade to be found or retreat to some pond,
though they prefer not to stay in the water itself.
Once when I had some toads in my classroom, some of them managed to get
out of the pail where they were kept, and hide themselves under the desks.
It was May, and there was no fire in the building; nevertheless, when I
found them, twenty-four hours later, they were so thin and sore that I
could scarcely believe them the same toads. The boys declared that they
had brought no others into the room, however, so I was finally convinced.
The little runaways were covered with sores, and were so stiff that they
could only crawl. I put them in water and went away, locking the door.
Four hours later I returned to find the toads as fat and plump as ever,
and apparently in perfect health. I have known these animals to live for
months without a mouthful of food, and stories are told of their living
for a much longer time, but one day away from water will often kill them
unless they can get into the moist earth or a deep shade.
Toads grow more slowly than frogs. Perhaps this is the reason there are
more frogs than toads in most places. Sobersides was four years old before
she thought of raising a family of her own, and it was two years later
before she was fully grown. We were such near neighbors that I had an
opportunity to watch her very closely for a period extending over a number
of years. Early in June she would absent herself from home for a few days,
usually going to the slough to deposit her eggs. When she was full grown,
it was really surprising how many eggs she would lay. It was not an
unusual thing for their number to reach the hundreds of thousands, though
only a small proportion of these hatched and developed into polliwogs.
At nesting time toads sing a song that is heard at no other season-
a song that is rarely heard. For all my acquaintance with Sobersides and
other toads, I never heard this song until many years later. At that time
I had six toads in captivity, and one morning some of my pupils called me
to the laboratory in great excitement. When I came, they showed me
something covered with a cloth, the whole appearing like a covered bird
cage, from which proceeded a peculiar sweet chirrup that I took to be that
of canaries, though I wondered at their singing when covered. Imagine my
surprise, on removing the cloth, to see the pail containing my six
captives, all of them chirping as merrily as robins. The females were the
most musical and seemed to have the sweetest voices. This singing was kept
up at intervals during the entire day. I exhibited my singing toads to a
number of friends, all of whom were as much astonished as I had been.
Sobersides was a dear old thing, in spite of the fact that she was so
uncanny that I never enjoyed handling her. She was wise, too; for she
learned to know the members of the family, and did not fear them in the
least. On cloudy days or when the sun was low, she would come out and sit
at the foot of the bell post by the kitchen door, and catch flies.
Sometimes mother would sprinkle a little sugar near by, and then
Sobersides would have a feast. No matter how absorbed she appeared in the
business of darting her long, sticky tongue at the flies and bugs that
made up her lunch, she was still sure to hear a strange footfall, and
would quietly hop under the step. She was shy of strangers, but seemed to
have quite an affection for the family. In the evening when we were
sitting about on the porch or lying on the grass under the old willow, she
would hop close to one of us and look steadily into our faces or rub
against our feet. Occasionally someone would take her up and play with
her.
Sobersides had a phenomenal appetite, often eating three or four times
her weight in one day. She was not at all particular what she ate, either,
so long as it was not poison, though she was careful not to eat anything
that did not move, unless it glowed. Glowworms were a special dainty, and
she would go for one as far as she could see its light.
When the strawberries were ripe, Sobersides spent much of her time in
the strawberry patch. Not that she ate the berries-
she never thought of such a thing. But there were certain little slugs
that did, and she knew where to find them. She was a great protection to
the berries, and even though she had eaten a few, she would have paid for
them many times over.
She seemed to know just where to look for the things that she liked
best to eat. Often I have seen her in rose bushes as much as six feet from
the ground, carefully crawling about among the branches, and avoiding the
thorns, in her search for the slugs that feed on rose leaves. It was
always something of a mystery how she managed the ascent. Although I
watched her closely, I was never so fortunate as to see her in the act of
climbing the bushes.
One thing that never failed to interest me was to see Sobersides change
her skin. This happened once every month or six weeks during the summer,
according to the plentifulness of food and the dampness of the weather.
She would station herself against something that she could rub against,
and when the skin began to crack down the middle of the back, she would
rub a little, and presently wriggle out of it, much as one takes one's
hand out of a glove. The old skin was afterward rolled into a ball and
either cast aside or eaten. If she was hungry she could not afford to miss
such an easy meal, though she always seemed to prefer more substantial
material. After putting on a new suit, she would either bury herself in
the moist ground or remain in the dense shade for several hours. The new
skin seemed to be fully formed before the old one was molted, yet it was
easily irritated by the light.
Sobersides was a companionable creature, and failing to gain the
affection of man, she did the next best thing and chose the family cat for
a friend. At first puss did not take kindly to the idea, but she soon
overcame her natural dislike for such a playmate, and often they were seen
in each other's society, the cat rolling the toad from side to side with
her paw and jumping back and forth over her. The strange thing about it
was that the toad seemed to enjoy the frolic as much as the cat. Often
when they had played in this way till both were tired, the cat would go to
sleep with the toad between her paws, and Sobersides would lie there
contentedly blinking her eyes in the sun.
She also made friends with the dog, and would eat flies from his mouth.
Both the dog and the cat appeared to be very fond of her, and I think
neither of them would have allowed anything less than a man to molest her.
This liking was the more strange on the dog's part because of the fact
that he would kill any other toad as quickly as he would shake the life
out of a snake.
There were always a great many bees about the well, and Sobersides
occasionally went there in the daytime and ate bees till her sides were
fairly gorged. Either they did not sting her or she did not suffer from
the effects of the poison. It was noticed, however, that she showed some
uneasiness at times after she had eaten a meal of bees, though it never
lasted more than a few minutes. It was interesting to catch fireflies and
feed her all she could eat. They did not die at once, and in the dark her
sides would light up at times with a phosphorescent glow. This interesting
fact was first observed by my nephew, who was always catching something to
feed toads.
Those who ruthlessly kill toads do not realize half the benefit these
little creatures are to mankind. They are perfectly harmless, longlived,
and return to the same spot year after year. They devour a surprising
number of noxious insects, bugs, and worms. Though they are on the hunt
from early evening till late morning, they never seem to have enough. One
who, lantern in hand, follows them hour after hour on their nightly
rambles, will have an increased respect for this too often despised
protector of his garden. In winter toads either bury themselves in the mud
of some pool or burrow deep into the earth and there sleep till spring.
They prefer to be in colonies during the winter, though they are often
found alone. Apparently cold does not hurt them. I once found one that had
been frozen solid in the ice by an early sleet, but when he was thawed out
he was as lively as ever.
For twelve years before we left the old home farm Sobersides lived
under our doorstep, and she may be there still, for all I know. After her
seventh year she ceased to grow, though she seemed to increase in
wartiness.
WHAT'S
NEW? 
