2 6 Dwellers of the Sea and Shore 



run takes the air with lazily flapping wings. Another 

 panic; another rout in which all fiddlers of both species 

 take part; then, once more, not a crab is in sight. 

 Plainly, the fiddler crab is a shy creature. Notwith- 

 standing that these animals live together by the thou- 

 sands, and that they are of a conspicuous size (the 

 adults are more than two inches in breadth) their ex- 

 treme timidity makes them little known to the average 

 seaside rambler. The appearance of any stranger in 

 the neighborhood, whether it be bird, beast, or man, 

 is always the signal for their retreat. Still, one can 

 make the fiddler crabs' acquaintance if he but has the 

 patience to wait quietly near their burrows. And I 

 may add that by so doing he will be amply rewarded 

 for his pains. 



By the time the ebbing tide is three hours old — that 

 is to say, when it is about halfway out — numerous 

 rocks studded with barnacles have already been left 

 high, if not quite dry. Nearly all of these irregular- 

 shaped bowlders have concealed in their depressions 

 and crevices clusters of starfishes. Here and there the 

 uneven ground has retained the water, and in these 

 transparent pools one catches a glint of gleaming sun- 

 light from the iridescent dead seashells strewn over 

 the bottom. Broad bright areas of rippled scurf sand 

 also have made an appearance, vying with the brilliance 

 of a summer sky in their lovely whiteness. 



But the beauty of inanimate nature is not the only 

 beauty that the lowering tide reveals. Many animals 

 adorn the glistening beach. Wherever one may search, 

 in the tide pools, under the stones or in the sand, he is 

 sure to encounter creatures whose sightliness is seldom 



