There was very little left now for any one; even the
water-scorpion had disappeared.
On the sixth day the glass pond had only two tenants worth speaking
of--the dragon-fly larva and myself. We had both over-eaten ourselves,
and for some hours we moved slowly about through the thickening puddle,
nodding civilly when we passed each other among the feathery sprays of
the Water Crowfoot. Then I began to get hungry. I knew it by feeling an
impulse to look out for the dragon-fly larva, and I knew he knew it
because he began to avoid me.
On the seventh day Molly ran into the conservatory, followed by her
brother, and uttered a cry of dismay.
"Oh, what a state it's in! Where are the syphons?"
"Why, they melted the day Edward Brown came back. We've been having such
a lot of cricket, Molly!"
"There isn't a fish left, and it smells horribly."
"I'm very sorry, Molly. Let's throw it out. I don't want Grandfather to
see it. Let me come."
"No, no, Francis! There may be some left. Yes, there's the beetle. I
shall put it all in a pail and take it back to the pond. Oh dear! oh
dear! I can't see anything of the scarlet spider. My beautiful scarlet
spider! I was so fond of him. Oh, I am so sorry! And no one has watered
the Soldier, and he's dead too.
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