A LITTLE stream ran between trees and bushes. Along the banks stood tall, slender reeds and whispered to the wind. In the middle of the water floated the water-lily, with her white flower and her broad, green leaves.
Generally the water was very still, but when, as sometimes happened, the wind went for a trip over the surface of the stream, then the reeds rustled and the water-lilies dived right down under the water and the leaves flew up or to either side, so that the thick green stalks, which came all the way from the bottom, found it difficult to hold them tight.
All day long, a dragon-fly grub crept up and down the water-lily’s stem.
“What a terrible bore it must be,” said the grub, looking up at the flowers, “to be a water-lily!”
“You speak of things which you don’t understand,” replied the water-lily. “It is just the pleasantest thing in the world.”
“Well, I can’t understand that,” said the grub. “I should always want to be tearing myself free and flying round like a great, splendid dragon-fly.”
“Nonsense!” said the water-lily. “A fine pleasure that would be! No, to lie peacefully on the water and dream and to drink sunshine and now and again to rock upon the waves: there’s some sense in that.”
The grub reflected for a moment and then said:
“I have higher aspirations. If I could have my way, I should be a dragon-fly. I should skim over the water on great stiff wings, kiss the white flowers, rest for a second on your leaves and then fly on again.”
“You are ambitious,” said the water-lily, “and that is silly. Wise people know when they are well off. May I make so free as to ask you what you would propose to do to turn into a dragon-fly? You don’t look as if you were made for one. In any case, you must see that you grow up prettier; you’re very gray and ugly now.”