114 THE LOG OF THE SUN 



of the water, resting upon it as if it were a sheet 

 of ice. Their feet are so adapted that the water 

 only dimples beneath their slight weight, the ex- 

 tent of the depression not being visible to the eye, 

 but clearly outlined in the shadows upon the bot- 

 tom. In an eddy of air a tiny fly is caught and 

 whirled upon the water, where it struggles vigor- 

 ously, striving to lift its wings clear of the surface. 

 In an instant the water strider — pirate of the pond 

 that he is — reaches forward his crooked fore 

 legs, and here endeth the career of the unfortu- 

 nate flv. 



In the air, in the earth, and below the surface 

 of the water are hundreds of living creatures, but 

 the water striders and their near relatives are 

 unique. No other group shares their power of 

 actually walking, or rather pushing themselves, 

 upon the surface of the water. They have a little 

 piece of the world all to themselves. Yet, al- 

 though three fifths of the earth's surface consists 

 of water, this group of insects is a small one. A 

 very few, however, are found out upon the ocean, 

 where the tiny creatures row themselves cheer- 

 fully along. It is thought that they attach their 

 eggs to the floating saragassum seaweed. If only 

 we knew the whole life of one of these ocean 

 water striders and all the strange sights it must 

 see, a fairy story indeed would be unfolded to us. 



However, all the Lilliputian craft of our brooks 

 are not galleys; there are submarines, which, in 



