II. INSECT LIFE OF A BROOK. {Mary Rogers Miller.) 



HAT wader, be he boy or water-fowl, 

 has not watched the water insects ? 

 How they dart hither and thither, some 

 skimming the surface, others sturdily 

 rowing about in the clear shallows ! 

 The sunlight fastens for an instant their 

 grotesque reflections on the smooth bot- 

 tom, then away — the shadow is lost, 

 save for the picture it left in the mem- 

 ory of the onlooker. 

 The splashing, dashing wader, with his shout and his all-dis- 

 turbing stick, stands but a poor chance of making intimate acquaint- 

 ances among water-folk. Your true brook-lover is a silent individ- 

 ual except when occasion demands action. The lad in the title- 

 page picture has the right spirit. From the vantage ground of a 

 fallen log or overhanging bank he looks down on the housekeeping 

 affairs of his tiny neighbors, nor do they seem offended. Indeed, I 

 doubt if they are aware of his presence or curiosity. 



Time was when the enjoyment of brook life was limited to boys. 

 White aprons, dainty slippers and fear of being called " Tom-boy " 

 restrained the natural impulses of the " little women." Happily 

 that day is past, and it no longer looks queer for girls to live in the 

 open air and sunshine, free to chase butterflies and hunt water-bugs 

 with their brothers. 



My brooks abound in swift eddies, perfect whirlpools in minia- 

 ture, and waterfalls of assorted sizes. They have also their quiet 

 reaches, where wliirlgig beetles perform their marvelous gyrations, 

 and bright-eyed polliwogs twirl their tails in early May. On the 

 bank are ferns and mosses, and sometimes willows and alders form 

 a fringing border. 



The heart-leaved willows along many brooksides are found to bear 

 knob-like bodies at the tips of many of their branches, which look 



like pine cones. (See Fig. 88.) Now everyl)ody knows that wil- 



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