ood appetite,
but otherwise the Doctor spoke handsomely of me, and without envy.

And yet I am sure it could have been no matter of wonder if my compound
eyes, for instance, had been a very sore subject with a man who knew of
them, and whose one simple pair were so nearly worn out.

More than once, when I have seen the old gentleman put a green shade on
to his reading-lamp, and glasses before his eyes, I have felt inclined
to hum,--"Ah, my dear Doctor, if you could only take a cool turn in the
pond! You would want no glasses or green shades, where the light comes
tenderly subdued through water and water-weeds."

Indeed, after living, as I can, in all three--water, dry land, and
air,--I certainly prefer to be under water. Any one whose appetite is as
keen, and whose hind-legs are as powerful as mine, will understand the
delights of hunting, and being hunted, in a pond; where the light comes
down in fitful rays and reflections through the water, and gleams among
the hanging roots of the frog-bit, and the fading leaves of the
water-starwort, through the maze of which, in and out, hither and
thither, you pursue, and are pursued, in cool and skilful chase, by a
mixed company of your neighbours, who dart, and shoot, and dive, and
come and go, and any one of whom at any moment may either eat you or be
eaten by you.

And if you want peace and quiet, where can one bury oneself so safely
and completely as in the mud? A state of existence, without mud at the
bottom, must be a life without repose.

I was in the mud one day, head downwards, when human voices came to me
through the water. It was summer, and the pond was low at the time.

"Oh, Francis! Francis! The Water-Soldier[D] is in flower."

"Hooray! Dig him up for the aquarium! Grandfather says it's very
rare--doesn't he?"

"He says it's not at all common; and there's only one, Francis. It
would be a pity if we didn't get it up by the roots, and it died."

"Nonsense, Molly. I'll get it up. But let's get the beasts first. You
get the pickle-jar ready, whilst I fix the stick on to the colander."

"Does cook know you've taken it, Francis?"

"By this time she does, I should think. Look here, Molly--I wish you
would try and get this stick right. It wants driving through the
handles. I'm just going to have a look at the Water-Soldier."

"You always give me the work to do," Molly complained; and as she spoke,
I climbed up an old stake that was firmly planted in the mud, a