Part 8

It was a pleasant life they led. By day, while the warm sun shone, they basked below the mud. At night they feasted on the shoals of shrimps and jointed darting creatures that filled the water over them. As they slowly moved from bank to bank their upper skins changed colour with the colour of the floor on which they fed, and thus securely hid them from their enemies.

One day the whitebait, grown now to little herrings, came up the estuary. "Why, there is Fanny Flatface," said one.

Her sister flounders rose beside her. The herrings gaped in wonder. "So that was just your way of growing up!" they said at last.

"Just my way of growing up," said Fanny cheerfully.

IX.--THE OYSTER BABIES

The Oyster-Mother was talking to her babies. "You are leaving me to make your own way in the sea," she said. "Keep in mind what I have so often told you, that everybody bigger than yourself is an enemy to be avoided. Here is something else to remember. When you are tired of swimming about, and wish to settle down to grow your shells, choose a clean gravelly bank or a firm rock floor. Sand or mud, if you choose those, would sift into your shells with every tide, and you would soon be choked. And when your shells are made, never forget that an oyster's chief concern in life is to know when to shut up. A moment too late in that, and life is over for you."

The babies swam out of the shell. This was not their first expedition, but in former times they had stayed near their mother, ready to slip in at the first scent of danger. Now they were to take care of themselves. No babies could have looked less fitted to do it. So tiny were they that the whole three hundred of them, placed head to tail in a line, would not have measured longer than one's middle finger. Boneless, shell-less, weaponless, their only safeguard was their water-like transparency. It seemed impossible that creatures so tender could live in the savage sea, where hungry monsters roamed incessantly in search of prey. Yet they were not afraid. Perhaps they were too young to think. Up they went. Near the surface of the sea they met a shoal of cousin babies.

"We are going to travel before we settle down," said the cousins. "Will you join our party?"

"We shall be delighted," said the babies.

The shoal set off. There were millions now, darting here and there, their tiny round bodies flashing like crystal globules through the water, their belts of swimming hairs wafting the microscopic creatures of the sea into their ever-ready mouths. For days they travelled, growing every hour a little larger, but still defenceless in the savage sea. Sometimes lurking enemies dragged off stragglers from the edges of the shoal; sometimes a great fish drove through their millions with his mouth wide open, swallowing all that came within his path. Then the ranks closed up again and went onward as before; but the shoal was smaller than at first, and the babies grew more watchful. At last they were tired, and a little frightened too.

"Let us find a settling-place and grow our shells," said one.

They sank to the sea-floor. It was sand. That would not do. They drifted on. The sand gave place to mud. That would not do, either. They drifted on again. At last a stretch of gravel, clean and firm, lay beneath them. "A splendid place," said the babies, joyfully, remembering their mother's words. Down they dropped, each one settling on a stone and there fixing himself for life.

Now came the marvellous making of those strong shells which were to be their safe retreat from every enemy. Furnished by the rich seafood, a limy fluid formed in each soft baby's body, to ooze through tiny pores in his outer skin, and there to harden into shell. Day by day, week by week, the beautiful growth went on, till a two-walled house was made, with lustrous pearly lining and a powerful hinge to pull the edges of the walls together.

At first the shells were thin. Hungry whelks, finding them, could bore round holes in them with their sharp-pointed shells and so reach the juicy babies; wandering starfishes could clasp them in their long ray-arms and swallow shell and baby whole. But as the months and years passed by, and the surviving babies grew to greater size, layer after layer was added to the shells, until at last, rock-hard and strong, they kept out all intruders.

Now the oysters were secure. From helpless, shell-less, reckless babies they had grown to cautious, well-defended dwellers in the sea, living quiet lives in peace within their firm shell walls. When no enemy was near their shells lay open; their fringed, delicate gills were hung out and waved to and fro to catch their food. But at the first alarm there was a quick withdrawing of the gills, an instantaneous closing of the shelly walls. To the enemy all was firm-locked, silent, hidden. The babies had grown into full knowledge; they had learned when to shut up.

FANNY FLY

Rover the dog left a bone only half cleaned under the fence, and forgot to go for it again, so Mrs. Fly laid her eggs on it. In a day or two the eggs hatched out into tiny white creatures with no legs. They ate hard for a few days at the meat left on the bone, and then settled down and kept still while they changed into flies. When they broke their way out of their old skins you would hardly believe they had once been white and helpless, for now they were dark in colour, with wings that gleamed as they moved, and wonderful eyes and feelers and legs.

Fanny Fly was one of them. She was a beauty. Her eyes were big and red-brown in colour, and so wonderfully made that she could see behind her just as well as in front. From each side of her chest two fine wings sprang out, gleaming with green and red; under them were her two balancers. On her back she wore a shining purple cloak. She had six legs, all jointed so that she could bend them in any direction, and all furnished with the most wonderful things, claws and suckers for holding on to the roof, and tiny combs and brushes for keeping herself neat and clean.

She flew first to the garden and sucked honey with her short tongue from any flowers that were not too deep. Then through an open window she flew into the house. "Here I shall have a good time," she said; and a good time she certainly did have.

She melted sugar in the basin with the juice from her mouth, so that she could suck it up; she sipped honey and treacle from the jars in the pantry that were left uncovered for even a moment; she stood on the meat and sucked juices out of that. Nothing came amiss to her. Whatever was there became food to her, so she was always fat and happy.

She played with the other flies on the window-panes and across the ceiling; they all danced in the air and buzzed till they were tired. She had many narrow escapes--from spiders in dark corners, from dusters, and from small boys who wished to catch her. Once she was nearly drowned in a dish of jam. On the whole, however, she had a very good time.

But the summer drew to an end, and the winter came. "I must find a snug corner, or I shall die of cold," said Fanny Fly.

She looked for a hiding place in the house, but the best corners had all been taken by other flies; so she slipped out through the window and crawled into a clump of grass roots and stalks under the hedge. There she went to sleep till the warm days came again.

AT SUNSET

A tiny pool lay looking up at the cloud-flecked sky. His water-spiders and insect-babies went about their eager businesses beneath his surface, but he took very little notice of them. His thoughts were busy with the clouds so far above him; all day he was longing to be with them. The evening came and the clouds flocked round the setting sun, turning gold and crimson in the wonderful light; then the little pool longed more than ever to be with them. "If that could only be my life!" he sighed. "To live in the blue sky and to be made beautiful!"

A passing wind heard his words and repeated them to the clouds. They told the kindly sun, and he sent a message by his sunbeams to comfort the little pool. "You shall come up here some day," he bade them say; "but you have many duties to perform before you can be a sunset cloud. Do well your present work, and wait with patience."

Then the pool rejoiced. Day after day he did his lowly work with infinite care, nourishing his flowers and rushes and tiny water-creatures, and turning a bright and patient face to the sky and his loved clouds.

One hot day the wonderful change came. The sun looked down, saw the work so well done, and gently lifted him through the air to the sky.

This was glorious. He was now a fluffy white cloud, sailing over the sky and joining the other clouds in their games and dances. In the morning they played shadow-flight across the hills of the earth; in the afternoon they danced slow dances high above the sea.

The time of sunset came, and the new cloud wished to go with the others to be made beautiful. But they said: "No, little brother; that is not possible till you have done cloud work." So he was left lonely and white in the east, untouched by the sun's lovely light.

In the night came his old friend the wind. "You are to go down again to the earth," was the message it brought. It blew coldly on the little cloud till he shivered and fell in a thousand drops of rain upon the earth. There the drops lay till morning amongst the grateful flowers and grasses, giving them fresh life, and bearing bravely the disappointment of being sent to earth again. The sun looked down in the afternoon and raised him up, and once more he floated joyfully across the sky.

Then the fierce storm wind came and froze him with its icy breath. Down he fell again upon the earth, this time as clattering hailstones. "This is all very trying," he said; "but it seems to be my work, so I must not grumble."

Again he was drawn up. Then the snow-wind came and silently froze him into feathery snowflakes, and drove him down upon a mountain side. Here he lay for many days, till at last he was drawn up once more. And now the sun said: "You have done well and waited patiently, little cloud. To-night you shall have your reward."

So when the time of sunset came the little cloud sailed into the west with the others. There the sun smiled at him and shone so gloriously on him that he turned golden and red, and glowed more brightly than any there.

SUMMER TEARS

The little clouds ran off to play Across the summer sky; Their sunshine mother called them back-- They all began to cry.

Their tears fell down as drops of rain On dusty garden beds; The flowers opened wide their cups, The leaves held up their heads.

And "Thank you, gentle clouds," they said, "For drops so big and wet; We were so thirsty. Did you know? Don't leave off crying yet."

THE WHEAT PEOPLE

It was spring. The winter storms were over, the sun was beginning to warm up the earth, and everything was stirring. Under the ground the Wheat Babies were pushing off their warm blankets and struggling out of their cradles. "We wish to go up now and see what the world is like," they said. They pushed and pushed until at last their heads were above the ground, and they could see what the world was like. "What a beautiful place!" they said. "How blue the sky is! And how golden the sun! All around the birds are singing." They grew tall and graceful, and waved and nodded to one another across the field.

Now it was early summer. The wheat boys and girls had grown up, and were busily building their little houses. Such dainty little houses they were, with shining walls and polished floors and delicate green silk hangings. Then the wheat people stood on their doorsteps and waved feathery flowers out of the doorways as a signal to the wind.

"We are ready to be married," they called. "Come and marry us, please."

The wind came blowing gently out of the West, took them on its broad wings, and carried them to one another's houses to be married. The birds sang, the sun shone, the crickets played the wedding tune on their little banjos, and the wee wheat people were as happy as could be.

The later summer came, and in each house the door was shut to keep the draught from the dear wee baby that had come. There was no time to stand on the doorstep now, for everybody was busy, feeding the baby and making a store of food for it when father and mother should be gone.

Autumn came. The Wheat People turned golden, for they were growing old; and gold, not grey, is the sign of age amongst the Wheat People. In each house the baby lay in its cradle wrapped in snow-white blankets, and surrounded by rich white food for the winter.

The reaper thundered into the field, and the tired Wheat People fell gratefully before the sharp knives, for they were glad to rest. "Our children are provided for, and that is all that is necessary," they thought as they lay dying in the sheaves.

Winter came. The field was ploughed and bare, but in the barn the new Wheat Babies slept in their snug cradles till they should be placed in the warm moist earth and the time of spring and growth should come again.

CHICK-A-PICK

Chick-a-pick lived in a round white house with shining walls. All about him was white soft food; he floated at the end of a ball of yellow food. He himself was only a speck. Have you found out yet that his house was an egg?

He grew bigger, for Hen-Mother sat over him day and night, cuddling him under her warm breast. Every day she turned his egg-house over so that he should grow evenly. Each time she did that he floated from the bottom of the egg-house to the top, to be near the warm Hen-Mother. This kept him moving, and made him grow strong. As he grew he used up the white food and the yellow food, till by-and-by there was no food left in the house, but only Chick-a-pick. Have you found out yet that Chick-a-pick was a chicken?

One day he wished to come out. He tapped on the inside wall. "Peck hard," called his mother. "I will help you from the outside."

Chick-a-pick pecked hard with his little new beak. Hen-Mother pecked softly with her big strong beak, and presently a hole was made. Out popped Chick-a-pick's head. "Cheep!" he said.

"Well done, little son," said his mother. "Now push with your shoulders and break the shell."

He pushed and pushed with his little new shoulders, till crack! went the shell in halves. Out he stepped. Have you found out yet that Chick-a-pick was strong?

"You are the first. Cuddle under my wings till your brothers and sisters come out," said the Hen-Mother.

"Cheep! cheep! cheep!" went the brothers and sisters one after the other. Chick-a-pick listened and watched from his snug corner.

"Now we are all here," said the Hen-Mother at last. "Cluck! cluck! cluck! What a fine brood you are! Yellow and black and white, and all covered with the softest, prettiest down I ever saw. How dainty your toes are! How bright are your eyes!"

She led them out for a little walk. "Cluck! cluck! cluck!" she said. "See--here is soft food spread for you. Cluck! cluck! You may have it all. I shall not eat till you are satisfied. I could not bear my chickens to go hungry. Cluck! cluck! Eat plenty. Eat plenty."

Have you found out yet how kind Hen-Mother was?

CHICK-A-PICK'S CROW

The chickens ate fast and grew fast, and feathers came where down had been. Chick-a-pick was the strongest of the whole family. He certainly ate the most.

One day Hen-Mother said: "You are old enough now to take care of yourselves. I am going to lay eggs. Chick-a-pick, you are the biggest. Look after the others, and always remember that the strongest should help the weaker ones."

At first the chickens could not understand the change. They followed Hen-Mother as they had always done, and ran to be fed whenever they saw her eating. "This will not do," she said. "You must learn to find your own food, or you will never be ready to take your places in the big world." At last she pecked them and drove them away from her, for she was wise.

"Come with me," said Chick-a-pick to the others. "I will take care of you."

He found food for them, and called them to it as he had heard the Big Rooster call to the hens. At night they huddled together for warmth in their coop. It was then that they missed their mother most.

"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" sang the Big Rooster from the top of the fence. How Chick-a-pick wished he could do that! It was such a beautiful song. The notes rang out so far that he felt sure they must be heard all over the world. If only he could make a song like that!

"I will try," he thought.

He jumped on a tub. The others crowded round to look at him.

"What are you going to do?" they asked.

"I am going to sing like the Big Rooster," he said.

He flapped his wings and tried, but no sound came. Again he flapped and tried. This time a sound came, but such a sound! He nearly jumped off the tub with surprise at the queer noise. His brothers and sisters ran away in a fright.

"Don't do that," they begged. "It is terrible. It sounds like a dog barking."

"Perhaps it will be better next time," said Chick-a-pick. "I'll try again."

He tried again, whilst the others stood against the fence to watch. Flap, flap, flap! "Adoo! Adoo!" he shouted. Oh dear! why wouldn't it come right? It was really a very ugly noise.

"It is dreadful," said the others. "You will never be able to sing like the Big Rooster, so you may as well give up trying."

"I shall go on trying," said Chick-a-pick, "for that is the only way to learn. Go away if you don't like the noise. I am going to practise."

He practised. Presently the sound grew a little better. He practised again the next day; the sound grew better still. He practised again the third day, and at last, hurrah! out came a real "Cock-a-doodle-doo!"

He did it again and again. Yes, there was no mistake. The song was not so loud and clear as the Big Rooster's, but it was the real song for all that. Some day it would grow more powerful.

The brothers and sisters heard him, and came to listen.

"Well done, big brother," said the sisters. "Now we see what comes of trying."

"If you can do it, so can we," said the brothers. They jumped on the tub and practised as he had done, and by-and-by they could all crow.

THE GORSE-MOTHER

The Gorse-Mother lived hidden away in the middle of a big gorse bush on a hill. She was an extremely busy person, for, like the old woman who lived in a shoe, she had so many children she scarcely knew what to do. She had not whipped them all soundly, for she had a tender heart, for all her thorny looks; but she had put them to bed. Wrapped in their little brown blankets, they lay in hundreds all round her. You would have called them buds, but they were little Gorse Babies.

The Gorse-Mother was tired, for the making of all those blankets had been a great work. But she knew there was no rest for her yet. "The sunshine grows hotter every day," she said. "The children will soon find the blankets too warm. I must make their satin-tents."

She set to work at the satin-tents. After several weeks of labour she had them ready. How beautiful they were! They were yellow and scented, with fluted sides, and a peaked top, and the daintiest green velvet mats for the floor. The children sprang out of bed and danced with pleasure at finding their tents all ready for them. And the Gorse-Mother's heart was glad, for now for a while she could rest. The sun shone, the birds sang, the golden satin-tents swayed in the wind, and everybody was happy.

In the afternoon a bee came. "May we ask him in, mother?" asked one of the children.

"Certainly. He is your best friend," said the Gorse-Mother.

They asked him in, giving him nectar from their little cups, and making him very welcome. As he left the Gorse-Mother said: "Tell the other bees that we invite them to a nectar-feast to-morrow."

The bee flew off. He told the other bees of the Gorse-Mother's kind invitation, and next day they came in scores to the nectar-feast.

What a day that was! Nectar cups were filled to the brim, and the bees were feasted royally. They stored the sweet juice in their bags for the hive, and filled their little hair-baskets with pollen. They flew from tent to tent, and became most friendly with the children.

Weeks passed by, and the Gorse-Mother roused herself to work again. "The children are growing fast," she said. "I must make their elastic-houses."

She unfastened the walls of the satin-tents and let them fall away. Where each tent had stood she built a green elastic-house. Strong and tightly shut were these little green houses; on each floor stood a row of tiny stools.

The children were tired after their weeks of pleasure. They were quite content to do nothing all day but sit on their stools and grow.

"Sit still and be good," said the Gorse-Mother, "and remember to grow big. Your houses will grow with you. As you turn brown they will turn brown, and as you turn black they will turn black. After that you may go out into the world."

Things happened exactly as the Gorse-Mother said they would. As the children grew, their elastic-houses stretched so that there was always room for them. When the children turned brown the houses turned brown; and when the children turned black the houses turned black.

"Now remember what I tell you," said the Gorse-Mother. "When your houses pop open, jump as far out into the world as you can, for if you fall close to me you will have no room to grow and spread. When you reach the ground, the first thing to do is to find a soft place, and the next thing is to grow. And don't forget to grow plenty of thorns. Now good-bye. Make big bushes all round me, and I shall be proud of you."

One by one, with a noise like tiny pistols, the houses popped open. The children remembered their mother's advice. They jumped far out into the world, found a soft place, and grew. In a few years they were big bushes all round the Gorse-Mother, and she was proud of them.

THE PROUD PALING FENCE

"Such common-looking little things! Whatever are you?" asked the Paling Fence.

He was new and very proud. He stood up so straight that he could see all over the garden. Indeed, he thought himself the master of it. The seeds had been planted close to his feet, so he felt he had the right to question them.

The biggest seed spoke up from her place in the ground. "Just now we are only seeds," she said; "but we think we shall be something bigger and finer some day. We have a feeling inside us."

"Feeling, indeed!" snapped the Fence. "Ugly little black things that you are, what feelings can you have? I can't think why the gardener put you near me." He stood straighter than ever, and would not look down again.

The little seeds felt shy and rather sad, but they said nothing. Day after day they lay quietly in the ground, waiting for something to happen.

And something did happen, for by-and-by they all began to swell. Bigger they grew, and rounder and softer. One fine day several of them cracked open, and the next day several more. From every crack a little white shoot pushed itself out. It pushed and it grew, and it turned down and burrowed into the earth, for all it wanted was water and darkness.

From the top of each little shoot another shoot peeped out. It pushed and it grew, and it turned up and peeped through the top of the ground, for all it wanted was fresh air and sunshine. At last a long row of white little shoots looked out through their holes in the ground.

The Sun looked down and saw them. "Dear me!" he said. "This won't do. Go down, Sunbeams, and tell those shoots to change their colour."