ds himself protected, he bursts out of his old clothes
and comes out in a spring suit. This molting process occurs several
times within a week or two, but the last time he takes on another
form. He is then called a pupa, and is in a strange transition
period during which he does not eat. He now slowly takes on the form
of a true mosquito within his pupal skin or shell.

After two or three days, or perhaps five or six, if conditions are
not altogether favorable, he feels a great longing within him to
rise to something higher. His tiny shell is floating upon the water
with his now winged body closely packed within. The skin begins to
split along the back and the true baby mosquito starts to work
himself out. It is a strenuous task for him and consumes many
minutes.

At last he appears and sits dazed and exhausted, floating on his old
skin as on a little boat, and slowly working his new wings in the
sunlight, as if to try them out before essaying flight. It is a
moment of great peril. A passing ripple may swamp his tiny craft and
shipwreck him to become the prey of any passing fish or vagrant
frog. A swallow sweeping close to the water's surface may gobble him
down. Some ruthless city employe may have flooded the surface of the
pond with kerosene, the merest touch of which means death to a
mosquito. Escaping all of the thousand and one accidents that may
befall, he soon rises and hums away seeking whom he may devour.

A mechanical process, that of handling milk at a model dairy farm, was
effectively presented by Constance D. Leupp in an article entitled, "The
Fight for Clean Milk," printed in the _Outlook_. By leading "you," the
reader, to the spot, as it were, by picturing in detail what "you" would
see there, and then by following in story form the course of the milk
from one place to another, she succeeded in making the process clear and
interesting.

Here at five in the afternoon you may see long lines of sleek,
well-groomed cows standing in their cement-floored, perfectly
drained sheds. The walls and ceilings are spotless from constant
applications of whitewash, ventilation is scientifically arranged,
doors and windows are screened against the flies. Here the
white-clad, smooth-shaven milkers do their work with scrubbed and
manicured hands. You will note that all these men are studiously
low-voic