Billy Mason, an unquestioned authority in all such matters, advised the capture of a Lucky-bug. That was his recipe, delivered when the shades of Wednesday evening were drawing in. And now behold me, in the bright sunlight of Thursday morning, anxiously following the movements of a large Lucky-bug, who was sliding merrily over the surface of the frog pond.
He darted swiftly about on the water, making two little ripples that broadened to the right and left behind him. His neat, dark, gentleman-like coat was slightly glossy, catching the sunshine in one tiny bright spot on his back. Ten or a dozen inches he would slide in one direction, looking always like the tip of an arrow-head whose sides were formed by the ripples he made.
Then he would shoot off abruptly at right angles, halt again, and change his course once more. There was no method in his actions; no vulgar pursuit of food.
The swallows, who in ceaseless parabolas soared, swept, and fluttered over that end of the pond, had a very practical purpose, however charming their flight might appear. They were gathering a comfortable meal of gnats and mosquitoes.
But the Lucky-bug, so far as I could see, was in it merely for the fun of the thing. Why toil and fuss about breakfast on a fine morning of summer? Much pleasanter to skim over the water, mindful only of the waving branches of the great elms overhead and the grassy bankings dotted with the yellow blossoms of the arnica.
That was his philosophy, I thought, and I sympathized with it. But I realized that it was not for me. The grinding cares of life oppressed me, and left no time for idle amusement. My needs had driven me forth with a glass fruit-jar filled with water, and I must capture that Lucky-bug. He might continue his antics, but it must be in the narrow, circumscribed limits of the fruit-jar; not on the surface of the frog pond.
That good luck would attend me if I could catch him, I had no manner of doubt. Billy Mason had cited specific instances of the extreme felicity of those who caught and held these small black water-beetles, and Jimmy Toppan reënforced Billy's thesis by relating that it was only four months after he had caught a Lucky-bug that his father had bought him a Shetland pony.
The possession of a pony was beyond my utmost hopes, but I did pray, at least, that when I had attained a Lucky-bug the misfortunes which had assailed me during the last three days might come to an end. Indeed, at that moment of desperation, fresh from my unhappy meeting with the parochial school boys, I would have gladly foregone any future pony for the mere privilege of being let alone by whatever malign deity it was that seemed bent on pestering me.
The Lucky-bug sailed warily about, never coming within easy reach. Evidently he had noticed me and my fruit-jar. If I had brought a net, his capture would have been easy, but the authorities held that he ought to be seized with the hand. Otherwise, the charm might fail.