VOICES OF THE BROOKSIDE 183 



washes the mud carefully from his catch, opens 

 it as readily as if his incisors were a knife, 

 smacks his lips over the last of its contents, peers 

 into the empty shell as if he hoped to find a pearl, 

 drops them and bustles on his way. I do not 

 know his errand and I doubt if he does, but I 

 know it was an important one by the way he goes 

 on it. 



The passing of the beast, however, upset the 

 life of the shallow, amber pool. The mud of his 

 digging had no more than cleared away before 

 the under-water creatures of the place, jackals on 

 the lion's spoor, came forward, eager to feast on 

 the remnants of his meal. Bream, sunning 

 themselves on the shallow margins of the other 

 side, give a sinuous swish to their tails and dart 

 up. A yellow perch poises, slips forward a yard, 

 poises again and then thinking the place safe, 

 comes forward for his share. In beauty and in- 

 telligence the yellow perch is easily the king of 

 the brook waters and I can but admire his color- 

 ing, not only for its beauty but for its protective 

 value. His dark back makes him almost invis- 

 ible from directly above. Should you get a 

 glimpse of his side you might well think it but 

 the ripple of sunlight and shadow in the water, 



