INSECT ADVENTURES

CHAPTER I
MY FIRST POND

I am never tired of looking in a pond. What busy life there is in that green world! On the warm mud of the edges, the Frog’s little Tadpole basks and frisks in its black legions; down in the water, the orange-bellied Newt steers his way slowly with the broad rudder of his flat tail; among the reeds are stationed the little fleets of the Caddis-worms, half-protruding from their tubes, which are now a tiny bit of stick and again a tower of little shells.

In the deep places, the Water-beetle dives, carrying with him his extra supply of breath, an air-bubble at the tip of the wing-cases and, under the chest, a film of gas that gleams like a silver breast plate; on the surface, the ballet of those shimmering pearls, the Whirligigs, turns and twists about; hard by, there swims the troop of the Pond-skaters, who glide along with side-strokes like those which the cobbler makes when sewing.

Here are the Water-boatmen, who swim on their backs with two oars spread crosswise, and the flat Water-scorpions; here, clad in mud, is the grub of the largest of our Dragon-flies, so curious because of its manner of moving: it fills its hinder parts, a yawning funnel, with water, spirts it out again and advances just so far as the recoil of its water cannon.

There are plenty of peaceful Shellfish. At the bottom, the plump River-snails discreetly raise their lid, opening ever so little the shutters of their dwelling; on the level of the water, in the glades of the water-garden, the Pond-snails take the air. Dark Leeches writhe upon their prey, a chunk of Earthworm; thousands of tiny, reddish grubs, future Mosquitoes, go spinning around and twist and curve like so many graceful Dolphins.

Yes, a stagnant pool, though but a few feet wide, hatched by the sun, is an immense world, a marvel to the child who, tired of his paper boat, amuses himself by noticing what is happening in the water. Let me tell what I remember of my first pond, which I explored when I was seven years old.

We had nothing but the little house inherited by my mother, and its patch of garden. Our money was almost all gone. What was to be done? That was the stern question which father and mother sat talking over one evening.