The Life of Jean Henri Fabre 



which used to flow so gaily through the fields, to 

 work. Halfway up the slope, a watercourse, econ- 

 omising the gradient, diverts part of the water, and 

 conducts it into a large reservoir, which supplies 

 the mill-wheels with motor-power. This basin 

 stands beside a frequented path, and is walled off 

 at the end. 



One day, hoisting myself on a play-fellow's shoul- 

 ders, I looked over the melancholy wall, all bearded 

 with ferns. I saw bottomless, stagnant waters cov- 

 ered with slimy green. In the gaps in the sticky 

 carpet, a sort of dumpy, black-and-yellow reptile 

 was lazily swimming. To-day I should call it a 

 Salamander; at that time, it appeared to me the 

 offspring of the Serpent and the Dragon, of whom 

 we were told such blood-curdling tales when we 

 sat up at night. Hoo! I've seen enough; let's 

 get down again, quick! 



The brook runs below. Alders and ash, bending 

 forward on either bank, mingle their branches and 

 form a verdant arch. At their feet, behind a porch 

 of great twisted roots, are watery caverns pro- 

 longed by gloomy corridors. On the threshold of 

 these fastnesses shimmers a glint of sunshine, cut 

 into ovals by the leafy sieve above. 



This is the haunt of the red-necktied Minnows. 

 Come along very gently, lie flat on the ground and 

 look. What pretty little fish they are, with their 

 scarlet throats! Clustering side by side, with their 

 heads turned against the stream, they puff their 

 cheeks out and in, rinsing their mouths incessantly. 

 To keep their stationary position in the running 

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