e depths of the pond
glided by the silvery little fish, glistening and bright; while on the
surface skimmed no end of insects: shiny beetles forming patterns on the
water as they dodged in and out, and round and round in their play;
long-legged insects that ran over the water as though it were a hard
road; while darting about in all their metallic brightness and on gauzy
wings flitted the dragon-flies, blue, green, and blue and green--now
settling upon the end of some reed, now careering in mid air, now poised
motionless with wings invisible in their rapid beat, now disturbed by
the buzz of some great humble-bee, and then round and round and up and
down in pursuit of one of their own tribe, till the gauzy wings beat
together and rustled as they came in contact. Butterflies, white,
yellow, blue, orange-spotted, tortoise-shell, peacock-eyed, and laced,
came there to flit over the glassy water, and look within it at their
beauty; and here, too, came the mayflies to dance up and down all the
day, and die when even came. There never was such a pond anywhere else;
for here came the martins and swallows, with their glossy black backs,
to skim and dip and drink the water in their rapid flight; here they
feasted on flies and gnats; and now and then came the squealing, sooty
swift, with his long knife-blade wings, and tiny hand-like feet, to
whisk away some heedless fly. The swallows above all liked the pond,
and used to sit upon the dead branch of the weeping-willow to twitter
and sing after their fashion for half-an-hour together. Old Ogrebones
was the great man of the place; but, in the cool of the evening, out
would come sailing from the midst of the little reed island, and
flicking their round stumpy tails, the moor hens swimming away, to the
great disgust of the white ducks, who said they were only impostors, and
had no business to swim, because they had no webs to their feet, but
only long straggling toes. And what ducks those were! white as snow,
with red legs; and often and often they would put their beaks in the
soft warm white feathers on their backs and sit upon the water for hours
together. All the birds loved the pond, and would fly down of a morning
to have a regular splash and wash; flicking the water about with their
wings, and sending it flashing and sparkling ever so high in the air,
and making the little black tadpoles or pod-noddles go scuffling off
into the deeper water. This was the place that old Boxe