On the whole she was glad of the frogs and toads; they kept on reappearing, afterwards too, when the little tadpoles began to swarm.
She could no longer afford to be fastidious; she had to take everything, and not let a crumb be wasted.
During the summer nights she was busy at the surface. The big, heavy moths, which often, in thoughtlessness or carelessness, settled on the water or on some floating straw, became her booty. She ate them, wings, straw and all, like a hungry man trying to satisfy his appetite with prawns.
No wonder that the teeth in her huge mouth gradually developed into something like the whalebone in the mouth of a whale
But a stomach with the cubic capacity of a hectolitre needed more than this!
The bog is veiled in a steaming mist, which hangs like cloud-lakes over the reeds. The moisture penetrates everywhere, and trembling drops hang from everything; and the thousands upon thousands of spiders’ webs show up in all their marvellous workmanship.
Thickets of willow and drooping birches cast black shadows all along the ridges and banks, and large, thick swarms of gnats hang silently in the air. Only a leaping fish or a bathing swallow disturbs the deep morning stillness.
The great bog-snail, with its horse-like head and bat-like ears, has come out of its shell and is feeling everything that comes within its reach, groping its way along, and then with a jerk dragging its spiral shell after it. Now it fastens itself to a little dead fish and sucks out its eyes, and finally comes to rest upon the broad leaf of an iris, the point of its shell still trembling with the movement of the water.
A boat-bug that has grown tired, and drawn in its oars, also composes itself to rest. Slowly it sinks to the bottom of the water, where it settles down comfortably and with discrimination among caddis-worms, planorbis, and young salamanders. Even a water-beetle that is in a hurry and, with its head in the mud, is fussing about everywhere, is roughly tossed aside by the powerful palpi.
Up on the clear surface swims the grebe. Its back is dark, the head, with the beautiful ruffle round its neck, poised high; but breast and belly are a glistening slivery white. It never goes on shore, never even ventures into shallow water; for it must be where it can dive without hindrance. On its back it carries its tiny young, holding its wings protectingly round them as they lie buried in its back-feathers as in a cushioned hollow.