The Story of Little Red-Spot 

 Susanna Phelps Gage* 



In a hollow on the side of a hill, in a sunny pasttire, there is the 

 tiniest pond that ever was called a pond at all. Into the bottom 

 of it keeps bubbling up fresh water, sparkling and clear. Every 

 bubble from the bottom is greeted by a glad nod from a graceful 

 water plant ; every breeze on the top sets countless tiny leaves of 

 duck- weed in motion. On a glorious May morning one would 

 expect to find this a place for quiet thought. No, indeed; moving 

 day in the city could not be the scene of greater hubbub. Great 

 frogs are beating their bass drums, toads are croaking for dear Hfe, 

 while the very air aches with the loud and long-continued calls 

 made by the tiny tree-frogs. And splash they go into the pond, 

 sending waves to its outermost edge. Then they blunder about in 

 an awkward fashion which mtist be very annoying to a couple who 

 had apparently chosen this place for a quiet retreat. What a con- 

 trast to their busy-body neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Red-spot, quaker- 

 like in their dignified repose of manner. They remain perfectly 

 still, by the half hour, till the wonder is how they ever do it. 



Almost all of one of those beautiful May days Mrs. Red-spot 

 spent down among the water plants. She was very happy, for aU 

 along the sides of a water plant were placed little eggs, each care- 

 fully hidden in such a cozy way among the tufts of leaves. 



*This charming biography of Red-Spot was written by Mrs. Gage some years 

 before her death. 



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