IV 



A LIVING CARPET 



Just above the pond where the skaters and the 

 ice-gatherers hold high carnival in January, Casca- 

 dilla Creek narrows into a brisk but friendly stream 

 a little too wide to cross dry shod yet not wide 

 enough to make it seem worth while to bridge it. 

 Exploring along its banks one day in early sum- 

 mer I was attracted by patches of dark moss on 

 the fiat stones just where the current ran swiftest. 

 I looked for a place near enough to the edge for 

 me to examine it more closely. It looked so soft 

 and velvety and cool that I knelt on a fiat stone 

 and reached out to smooth it with my fingers. 

 This living carpet was not of moss but of separate 

 and distinct "things." My eyes discovered it first 

 through the rushing water, but not in time for me 

 to reconstruct my ideas and stay my hand. I fear 

 I gave the mass a rather rough "smoothing" and 

 sat back against the bank to reconsider the matter. 

 But my hand needed immediate attention. It had 

 not returned to me empty. A half dozen or more 

 of the "things" were clinging feebly to my fin- 

 gers. Another was hanging below my thumb by 

 a thread like that of a spider. The creature had 

 evidently spun out this silken line as a means by 

 which it might escape to its element. As the 

 water fell from my hand they all seemed less com- 



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