There was the bladder-wort, who had his innocent white flowers above the water and his death-traps down at the bottom; the spider, who was still his lodger and now had the whole ceiling full of eggs, and hundreds of thousands of midge-grubs, who lay on the surface of the water and stuck up their air-vessels and hurried down to the bottom the moment a shadow fell over the pond. There were hundreds of thousands of midges, who danced in the air, and there was the water-lily, who knew how beautiful she was, and who was unapproachable for self-conceit.
There were many more, whom you could not count without getting dizzy. And then there were the tadpoles, who were ever so many and ever so merry. And you only had to take a drop of water and examine it through a magnifying-glass to see how it swarmed with tiny little animals, who all danced about and ate one another without the least compunction.
But just under the reed-warblers' nest there was a little May-fly grub, who was in a terrible state of fright.
She had entered into conversation with little Mrs. Reed-Warbler one day, when the latter had gone all the way down the reed to find food for her five youngsters, who were simply insatiable and kept on crying for more. Just at that moment, the May-fly grub had come up to the surface; and now the bird's beak was exactly over her.
"Let me live," said she.
"That's what they all say," said Mrs. Reed-Warbler. "My children have to live, too!"
So saying she tried to snatch her. But the grub wriggled so and looked so queer that she could not.
"Listen to me for a moment," said the grub; "then I'm sure that you won't hurt me. I am so small and so thin and fill so little space in a stomach."
"Well, what is it?" asked Mrs. Reed-Warbler.