"To-morrow 1 will again try to find 

 eyes. Perhaps auntie will let me take 

 her glass." 



Stepping near and pointing as he 

 talked, Book continued : 



"To protect her soft body, friend Mrs. 

 Oytser's mantle produces a shell of lime 

 which grows by being enlarged around 

 the edge. The high point on the left 

 valve is called the beak. If you will scrub 

 her shell with a brush to-morrow you 

 will see lines running around the beak 

 in the same direction as the margin. 

 These are called 'lines of growth.' By 

 them oystermen can tell the age of the 

 shellfish." 



''How strange !" said WilHs thought- 

 fully. "Tree trunks also show lines of 

 growth." 



"Where did you come from?" asked 

 Willis of Mrs. Oyster. 



"As I have lived most of my life with- 

 in this narrow shell," she answ^ered with 

 a cast-down air, "I have no idea where 

 I came from nor where I now am. Shall 

 1 tell you the story of my life?" 



"Yes, do, please. It must be inter- 

 esting. You are such an odd creature." 



"The first thing I remember," said 

 Mrs. Oyster after she had drawn a full 

 breath, "is that I was a tiny bit of white 

 mucus, or egg, as people say, swimming 

 gayly around with my brothers and sis- 

 ters in my mother's shell. It was worse 

 than in the case of the old woman who 

 lived in a shoe. There were two or three 

 thousand of us — maybe more. At any 

 rate there were so many of us that our 

 poor mother never had time to count us. 

 But she was one who never worried. 

 To keep us from getting lost she 1cept 

 us in by closing her shell tight. That let 

 her get no food. With a true mother's 

 spirit she fed us on the substance of her 

 own body until she became very poor." 



"Beg pardon," said Book. "Let me 

 explain to our friend. At that time the 

 mucus within the shell in which the 

 young oysters swim looks milky. The 

 old oyster, who is said to be in the milk, 

 is then unfit to eat." 



"By the time two weeks had rolled 

 around," went on Mrs. Oyster, "things 

 in our house began to turn very dark in 

 color and our mother received a prompt 

 message from Dame Nature saying that 

 she must turn us out of her house and 



home. Poor mother ! She knew that 

 Dame Nature's orders must be obeyed 

 or death to the whole family would come. 

 So she bade us good-bye, gave us a bit 

 of advice, and opened the door. Knowing 

 nothing of the size of the world and the 

 things which happen outside of a shell, 

 and thinking that we were going out only 

 for a little romp, we in one voice assured 

 her that we would not go very far. 



"Eagerly we rushed out, to find that 

 thousands of mothers on that same oyster 

 bank were also just expelling their little 

 ones. I became lost from my brothers 

 and sisters. The water was so full of 

 myriads of babies like myself that it took 

 all of my attention to simply keep out of 

 the way of the crowd. The oyster babies 

 all looked so much alike that I lost hope 

 of ever knowing one of my brothers 

 again. Indeed, I could scarcely tell which 

 was myself. Our mothers w^ere down 

 deep, but we rose near the surface where 

 we could see the beautiful blue sky. 



"Did you find anything to eat?" asked 

 Willis with great concern. 



"Oh, yes. We found plenty of tiny 

 animals and specks of vegetables that 

 eased our hunger and helped us to grow. 

 After swimming freely for a few days 

 our shells began to form and we found 

 ourselves unable to swim long distances. 

 They soon weighted us down and we 

 began to sink. I heard a mother oyster 

 pitifully calling, 'Baby, baby, come to 

 mamma.' I wondered if it were my 

 mamma, but I could not get to her. I 

 came along by a piece of tile. Being tired 

 and worn out, as that was the first clean 

 thing I had seen I clutched to it, thinking 

 that after I had rested a few moments I 

 could go on. But I found that I could 

 not loosen myself. Looking around, I 

 could see tile after tile looking' like they 

 had just been scrubbed. Just like my 

 piece, every one was soon thickly covered 

 with 'spat,' as the oystermen called us. 

 As fretting has no part in an oyster's life 

 we contented ourselves thinking that we 

 might in some way again get loose. 



" 'Perhaps,' said one, 'some of those 

 big things we saw may come along and 

 brush some of us off.' 'Perhaps,' said 

 another, 'the owner may take up his tile 

 and clean it off for other use some day; 

 it certainly is of no use with us crowding 

 on it.' So we lived in hope." 



55 



