THE POND AT LOW TIDE 



pies of the surface during its days of 

 travel, catches the radiant blue of the sky, 

 the rosy flush of dawn, and the glory of 

 the rainbow all shivered together in ex- 

 ultant light to make the nacre of the 

 inner surface of its growing shell. For 

 nowhere else in nature may we find such 

 softness of coloring holding such gleams 

 of azure and of fire. The opal beside it 

 is garish and crude. Mother-of-pearl we 

 call it, for out of the same source is 

 born the gem which may be worth the 

 price of a king's ransom. 



The unio is the good girl of the fairy 

 tale, for from its lips fall pearls that 

 confound the divers of the Orient. Not 

 from Ceylon nor Sulu nor the Straits of 

 Sunda nor the Gulf of California have 

 come such pearls of bewildering color 

 and fascinating shapes as have been 

 taken from the river mussels of our 

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