142 THE LOG OF THE SUN 



siderable distance, and if we clamber down over 

 the great weather-worn rocks the hardy advance 

 guard of that wonderful world of life under the 

 water is seen. Barnacles whiten the top of every 

 rock which is reached by the tide, although the 

 water may cover them only a short time each day. 

 But they flourish here in myriads, and the shorter 

 the chance they have at the salt water the more 

 frantically their little feathery feet clutch at the 

 tiny food particles which float around them. These 

 thousands of tiny turreted castles are built so 

 closely together that many are pressed out of 

 shape, paralleling in shape as in substance the 

 inorganic crystals of the mineral kingdom. The 

 valved doors are continually opening and partly 

 closing, and if we listen quietly we can hear a per- 

 petual shuss ! shuss ! Is it the creaking of the tiny 

 hinges? As the last receding wave splashes them, 

 they shut their folding doors over a drop or two 

 and remain tightly closed, while perhaps ten hours 

 of sunlight bake them, or they glisten ir the moon- 

 light for the same length of time, ready at the first 

 touch of the returning water to open wide and 

 welcome it. 



The thought of their life history brings to mind 

 how sadly they retrogress as they grow, hatching 

 as minute free-swimming creatures like tiny lob- 

 sters, and gradually changing to this plant-like 

 life, sans eyes, sans head, sans most everything 

 except a stomach and a few pairs of feathery feet 



