140 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 



splashed headlong into the water; their parents 

 and the rain and gravitation had performed their 

 part, and from now on fate lay with the super- 

 tads themselves — except when a passing natural- 

 ist brought new complications, new demands of 

 Karma, as strange and unpredictable as if from 

 another planet or universe. 



Only close examination showed that these were 

 tadpoles, not fish, judged by the staring eyes, 

 and broad fins stained above and below with 

 orange-scarlet — colors doomed to oblivion in the 

 native, milky waters, but glowing brilliantly in 

 my aquarium. Although they were provided 

 with such an expanse of fin, the only part used 

 for ordinary progression was the extreme tip, a 

 mere threadlike streamer, which whipped in 

 never-ending spirals, lashing forward, backward, 

 and sideways. So rapid was this motion, and so 

 short the flagellum, that the tadpole did not even 

 tremble or vibrate as it moved, but forged stead- 

 ily onward, without a tremor. 



The head was huffy yellow, changing to bit- 

 tersweet orange back of the eyes and on the gills. 

 The bodj^ was dotted with a host of minute specks 

 of gold and silver. On the sides and below, this 

 gave place to a rich bronze, and then to a clear. 



