CHARLEY AND THE ANGLEWORM. 



ALICE DE BERDT. 



CHARLEY was going fishing and 

 he took great pride in the quan 

 tity of squirming bait he carried 

 in the tin box. 



He was quite a small boy, only eight 

 years old, but country boys learn to 

 take care of themselves sooner than 

 city children. 



When he reached the little stream 

 where he meant to fish, he found some 

 one before him. It was a stranger 

 whom Charley had seen once or twice 

 at a neighbor's, where he was boarding 

 during the summer. 



The old mill was the best place in 

 miles for fish, and Charley wished that 

 the city boarder had chosen some other 

 spot in which to read his book. 



He gave a shy, not very cordial re 

 ply to the stranger's pleasant "Good 

 morning!" and began to arrange his line. 

 In a few minutes one of the largest 

 earth-worms was wriggling in the water 

 at the end of Charley's hook, and he 

 himself was sprawled out upon the 

 ground at the end of a long beam pro 

 jecting from the mill intently regard 

 ing the water. 



"No luck, my boy?" asked the stran 

 ger, watching Charley work with the 

 struggling worm that was as hard to 

 get oft the hook as it had been to put 

 on. 



"No, sir," replied the little boy. 

 "The fishes don't seem to bite." 



"Not hungry to-day, eh?" said the 

 stranger. "I should think that would 

 be a good thing for the worms." 



Charley opened his eyes. It had 

 never occurred to him to consider the 

 worms in the matter. They were to 

 him nothing but ugly, stupid things, 

 which, his father said, injured the roots 

 of plants. 



"Don't you think the worms are as 

 fond of their life as you are of yours?" 

 went on Charley's new friend. "In 

 their little underground earth houses 

 they are very comfortable and happy." 

 Charley smiled. This was a new view 

 of the case to him, and he edged nearer 



to the stranger to hear what more he 

 would say. 



"They's on'y worms," said Charley. 



"And a worm is a very good sort of> 

 creature in its way. They are harm 

 less, cleanly animals. See, I can take 

 that one of yours in the palm of my 

 hand and it will not harm me in the 

 least. Let me put it down on the 

 ground and see how it hurries to get 

 away. It is frightened. Now it is trying 

 to force a way into that damp earth. I 

 wonder if you know just how the worm 

 makes its way through the ground." 



Charley shook his head, and the stran 

 ger said: 



"You have often noticed the shape of 

 the worm, I dare say. One end of its 

 body is much thicker than the other, 

 which runs to a point. The thicker 

 end of the body is the head. The body 

 itself, you will see, is made of many 

 small rings, held together by tiny mus 

 cles and skin, making it possible for the 

 worm to bend and curl and wriggle in 

 a way that is impossible for you and 

 me, whose bones are fewer and fitted 

 tightly together, so that they move 

 about less easily. 



"Now, if you will take this one in 

 your hand," said the stranger, "and run 

 your fingers very gently down its sides 

 from tail to head, you will find that the 

 body of the worm is covered with fine 

 hooks. If you run your fingers along 

 the worm in the other direction, you 

 will think the body perfectly smooth. 

 This is because all the hooks point in the 

 other direction. 



"When the worm wishes to enter the 

 earth, it pushes its blunt head through 

 the soil, lengthening its body by means 

 of the muscles that hold together the 

 soft, cartilage-like rings. At first only 

 a few rings go into the ground. Master 

 Worm then draws up his body into a 

 thick roll by shortening his muscles. 

 In this way he forces apart the soft 

 earth to make room for his body, the 

 points on the sides holding it there 

 while he again lengthens his head, push- 



