A JUNGLE BEACH 105 
lowed side of the cavernous root I saw a mist, 
a quivering, so tenuous and indistinct that at first 
it might have been the dancing of motes. I saw 
that they were living creatures—the most deli- 
cate of tiny crane-flies—at rest looking like long- 
legged mosquitoes. Deep within this root, 
farther from the light than even the singing fly 
had ventured, these tiny beings whirled madly 
in mid-air—subterranean dervishes, using up en- 
ergy for their own inexplicable ends, of which 
one very interested naturalist could make 
nothing. 
Three weeks afterward I happened to pass 
at high tide in the canoe and peered into this 
pocket. The gecko was where geckos go in the 
space of three weeks, and the fly also had van- 
ished, either within or without the gecko. But 
the crane-flies were still there: to my roughly 
appraising eyes the same flies, doing the same 
dance in exactly the same place. Three weeks 
later, and again I returned, this time intention- 
ally, to see whether the dance still continued; 
and it was in full swing. ‘That same night at 
midnight I climbed down, flashed a light upon 
them, and there they whirled and vibrated, 
silently, incredibly rapid, unceasingly. 
