ike to look it through for the sake of the vignettes,--the
mermaid and her child playing in the sea.

Oh yes, and the kind bogie who is piping while the sandstars dance; and
the other who is trying to pull out the star-fish which the oyster has
caught.

Yes. But do you recollect the drawing of the Medusa's head, with its
curling arms, branched again and again without end? Here it is. No, you
shall not look at the vignettes now. We must mind business. Now look at
this one; the Feather-star, with arms almost like fern-fronds. And in
foreign seas there are many other branched star-fish beside.

But they have no stalks?

Do not be too sure of that. This very feather-star, soon after it is
born, grows a tiny stalk, by which it holds on to corallines and
sea-weeds; and it is not till afterwards that it breaks loose from that
stalk, and swims away freely into the wide water. And in foreign seas
there are several star-fish still who grow on stalks all their lives, as
this fossil one did.

How strange that a live animal should grow on a stalk, like a flower!

Not quite like a flower. A flower has roots, by which it feeds in the
soil. These things grow more like sea-weeds, which have no roots, but
only hold on to the rock by the foot of the stalk, as a ship holds on by
her anchor. But as for its being strange that live animals should grow
on stalks, if it be strange it is common enough, like many far stranger
things. For under the water are millions on millions of creatures,
spreading for miles on miles, building up at last great reefs of rocks,
and whole islands, which all grow rooted first to the rock, like
sea-weeds; and what is more, they grow, most of them, from one common
root, branching again and again, and every branchlet bearing hundreds of
living creatures, so that the whole creation is at once one creature and
many creatures. Do you not understand me?

No.

Then fancy to yourself a bush like that hawthorn bush, with numberless
blossoms, and every blossom on that bush a separate living thing, with
its own mouth, and arms, and stomach, budding and growing fresh live
branches and fresh live flowers, as fast as the old ones die: and then
you will see better what I mean.

How wonderful!

Yes; but not more wonderful than your finger, for it, too, is made up of
numberless living things.

My finger made of living things?

What else can it be? When you cut your finger, does not the place heal?

Of