140 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 
splashed headlong into the water; their parents 
and the rain and gravitation had performed their 
part, and from now on fate lay with the super- 
tads themselves—except when a passing natural- 
ist brought new complications, new demands of 
Karma, as strange and unpredictable as if from 
another planet or universe. 
Only close examination showed that these were 
tadpoles, not fish, judged by the staring eyes, 
and broad fins stained above and below with 
orange-scarlet—colors doomed to oblivion in the 
native, milky waters, but glowing brilliantly in 
my aquarium. Although they were provided 
with such an expanse of fin, the only part used 
for ordinary progression was the extreme tip, a 
mere threadlike streamer, which whipped in. 
never-ending spirals, lashing forward, backward, 
and sideways. So rapid was this motion, and so 
short the flagellum, that the tadpole did not even 
tremble or vibrate as it moved, but forged stead- 
ily onward, without a tremor. 
The head was buffy yellow, changing to bit- 
tersweet orange back of the eyes and on the gills. 
The body was dotted with a host of minute specks 
of gold and silver. On the sides and below, this 
gave place to a rich bronze, and then to a clear, 
