47 
QUFER WAYS OF WALKING; 
for helpful company. The boy knows the choice spots al¬ 
ready, despite our solicitous parental restrictions, and the 
little girl envies him. Just why she half wishes, already, 
that she was a boy instead of a girl,—that is another study. 
And the boy is so interested in everything that “ goes, ’ ’ 
and how it goes. He does not know the name of a muscle 
in his body, but he can use his legs, and delights in them. 
He has seen the wheels of a watch, of a locomotive, and 
has tried to follow the feet of a horse in motion. The feet 
of a beetle, forced through a drop of ink, and then spatter¬ 
ing across a sheet of paper—what a joy it would be to him! 
We will try the experiment when we get home. Beetles 
are plentiful on the dogbane, the milkweed and the golden- 
rod. But just now we are by the water, with the clams, 
or mussels, at the bottom, and “ skippers,” or water strid- 
ers on the surface. Here is movement enough, right be¬ 
fore our eyes, for one day. 
Every New England boy, at least in the country, knows 
something about fresh-water clams. He has found them 
quite abundant in every stream and pond in his vicinity, 
and he has seen collections of the shells on the bank, or 
near by, where muskrats have gathered for a social feast 
at midnight. As he grows older he will ponder deeply 
upon the unselfishness which could prompt and the self-con¬ 
trol which could enable the unpretentious muskrat to make 
provision for the banquet and to share it with his friends. 
He has probably noticed, too, that where a clam has perished 
in the water, the two shells commonly remain together, 
like the empty covers of an old book, while at the remains 
of the muskrats’ supper they are always cut apart, unless 
the muskrats have been frightened away before the meal 
was completed, for these muskrat epicures learned, long 
ago, how to open a clam by cutting the ligature along the 
back and the muscle that holds the two shells tightly to¬ 
gether when the clam shuts itself up. 
