Tale Of A Toitle

Dominion, Volume 33, Issue 87, 6 January 1940, Page 18

Tale Of A Toitle

TYEAR LEAGUERS,— The Toitle was crossing the Hutt Road at a steady eighth of a knot when William and I found him. He was either a hero or a fatalist, for the speeding cars and lumbering lorries that flicked up the gravel about him did not disturb his placid calm one whit. IFc stopped and picked him up quickly—despite the argument he caused.

“It’s a- turtle,’’ I said. I was sure he was a turtle. . I felt that turtles were scaly, water-loving reptiles that laid obliging eggs on the shore for shipwrecked Swiss families. “A tortoise,” corrected William gently. The tortoise-turtle stretched his crinkly neck. His little talons clawed at my palm in an appealing sort of way- “A toitle!" I cried. And Toitle he became from that moment.

William infonhed me that the Toitle would be good for the garden. . The joke about it all, as he explained, was that not only would he do away with the wireworm and slugs, but he would be no trouble to feed. He would dine freely and happily on the very things that were a present problem and a menace. We were, therefore delighted to take home such a convenient instrument of destruction for these pests.

We set him down with care near a chewed plant and confidently awaited his slow-motion onslaught. There was a long pause. Then one of the frogs in the pond gave a loud, insolent croak- The effect was instantaneous and unexpected. The wrinkled head of the Toitle fairly shot out, and- we could see him saying to himself, “That was a frog, that was. And where there’s frogs there’s water." He turned and set out for the pond with stolid resolution. At the edge he gave a little squeak that teas probably a yell of triumph, slid noiselessly into the water, and sank like a stone.

From then on he was very elusive indeed. He never came out of the water,'and the garden- pests throve even better than before. An hour's wait rewarded us with cm occasional glimpse of him floating quietly on tho marsh-flecked surface—but at the crackle of a twig he ■would make a crash-dive into the soft mud beneath. Then came a time tvhen he was both invisible and inaudible for three whole days, and we felt sadly that he had deserted us. You shall understand my indignation tvhen, on the fourth day, I surprised a small boy just outside the gateway, stuffing a Toitle under his red jersey! I ran at- him and tore it from his tight grasp with many harsh words, sending him on his way crying with a strange bitterness. The errant reptile I restored to the pool. He promptly sank into its murky depths and two days went by without a sign of him beyond an occasional diminutive hoot. . Then I heard William talking heatedly with a resolute-looking Maori. William evidently won the argument, for the Maori vanished like a candle flame in a’ puff of wind, and the Toitle was again restored to the pond, which, sivalloived it up as quickly as usual. Three more days went by, and I was piqued by my inability to catch sight- of the little beast, which was there all right, for it was squeaking more than ever. So I stalked the pond cautiously, crawling painfully over the last few yards. What a- shock awaited me! As my head rose slowly over a clump of swamp flowers my horrified gaze was met, not by one, but by three Toitles, floating complacently on the surface. The calls of the original -Toitle had evidently been answered by two more, only to be picked up as they crossed the road in front of the gate.' William tries to soothe me by saying that one Toitle can be easily mistaken, for another, but 'William has no difficulty in salving his conscience. I, at any rate, now turn aside a face of confusion

whenever I pass a grubby little boy with a red jersey, or a tattered Maori! Holiday happiness to every-