down the drive past the traffic lights of the fireflies. When they had crossed the meadow and got into the moist ground near home they paused for a final serenade. Their voices, Basso's deep boom strongest of all, were joined in close harmony. "Good Night, Ladies," they sang in rich tones, with all sorts of humorous trills and variations. The words, in a throaty frog accent, came floating up through the sparkling summer dusk. "We're going to leave you now. . . ." Then, if you had been listening very carefully, you could have heard four cool splashes as the singers dived gaily into the water of Gissing Pond.
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