croquet with the balls and spools of an open
work-basket, and Max had discovered an old straw hat which tasted very
good to him. Only Mrs. Reece kept her head and stayed indoors, moving
about quietly from room to room, putting the house in that beautiful
order which little children never think about.

Out on the grass that sloped down to the street, which, in its turn,
tumbled head over heels down to the lake, Betty and Jimmie were playing
with their playmates. They were all so wild with joy that every time
Jimmie saw another boy he shouted, "Come over!" when the boy was coming,
anyway, just as fast as he could.

Up, up from the foot of the lake climbed an old man; up, up, up the
steep street he came, his white hair shaking and shining in the brisk
June breeze, his long, white beard caught every once in a while by the
wind and tossed sideways.

"Mother," called Jimmie, "Ben Gile is coming!"

Out came Mrs. Reece to greet the old man.

Then, one by one, the children spoke with Ben Gile.

"You're having a good time before you can say Jack Robinson, aren't
you?"

"Yes, sir," came in a chorus of voices. Then, "Tell us a story; tell us
a story!"

[Illustration:
_A._ A few facets of the compound eye of an insect.
_B._ Brain and nerve cord of an insect.]

"Not to-day," said the old man. "Why, you want a story before you've had
time to turn around."

Betty stuck her head out from behind her mother. "Mother said you would
tell us about crickets and moths, and everything."

"Well, well, well," murmured the old man, "did she? But I can't tell a
story to-day. I'll tell you, though, something, so that when you come to
collect the little creatures you'll know what to do. All sit down."

They all sat down cross-legged on the ground, the old man in the middle.

"Here, you big Jim-boy, catch me that butterfly."

There was a wild rush, and the bright wings were soon caught.

"There, you've torn off one of its legs," said the old man.

Jimmie looked troubled. "I didn't mean to, sir."

"Do you know how it hurts to have your leg torn off, boy? Do you know,
children?"

"No," came in a chorus.

The guide took out a piece of paper and drew a picture on it. "There,
every part of that little fellow's body I've drawn has muscles, such
fine muscles no naked eye could ever see them. I'll show them to you
under the microscope in my cabin. Those muscles move the body, and each
muscle is controlled by threads, still more fine,