of coffee, she stared in amazement at that fine big
cray-fish:

"Well, I never!" she said. "Best thanks to whoever sent you."

Then she ate her.

That same evening, the May-fly broke through her cocoon.

She flew up, on tiny little thin, transparent wings and with three long
threads hanging from her abdomen to help her keep her balance.

[Illustration]

"I say, isn't this lovely?" she cried. "How delicious life is! It's
worth while living for ever so many days as a poor grub, if only one is
permitted to gaze upon this splendour for an hour."

"Oh, so you're there, are you?" said Mrs. Reed-Warbler. "You look very
nice."

"Thank you," said the May-fly. "Now I must just go round the pond and
lay my eggs. Then I'll come back and sit down in the reeds and die; and
then you can eat me. And a thousand thanks to you for sparing my life
that time and for warning me when I was in danger. If you hadn't done
that, I should never have beheld this glorious sight."

"If only you don't over-eat yourself on the way and forget your
promise!" said Mrs. Reed-Warbler.

"There's no danger of that," replied the May-fly. "I have eaten all I
need. I haven't even a mouth! I shall just enjoy an hour or two of this
delightful life and then lay my eggs. That's my lot; and I don't
complain."

"Life is not so delightful as you think," said Mrs. Reed-Warbler. "If I
were a true friend to you, I would save you from seeing all your
illusions shattered."

"How can you say that life is not delightful?" said the May-fly. "Look
... and look ... and look...."

"I will be a true friend to you," said Mrs. Reed-Warbler. "You shall be
spared disappointment. I will eat you straight away."

Then she caught her and ate her.

"Good-evening, madam," said the eel. "Are you sitting and contemplating
the poetry of Nature? I just saw you destroying a bit of it ... for the
May-fly.... That's poetry, if you like! Well, did she taste nice?"

"You're a horrid, vulgar fellow," said Mrs. Reed-Warbler.

"You talk like one who is chock-full of poetry," retorted the eel. "I
rejoice to see you making such smart progress as a murderess. You were
shockingly squeamish at first!"

CHAPTER XI

The Worst Day of All

[Illustration]

The summer was drawing to an end.

The beeches were quite yellow with the heat; and the pond was overgrown
with plants almost right up to the middle. All the tadpoles had turned
into frogs; all the young animals were growi