As the guide finished his charming description of the southern nightingale, he pointed out to them the marsh. It was a strange-looking place, and Ethelda asked many questions concerning it. Why was it dangerous to cross? Why must they skirt the marsh and go around it, as they were doing? It was much the shorter way to cut right across it, but instead, they walked miles out of their way to reach the other side. Their guide assured them that the marsh was not so charming as it looked. Down amid its dark cypresses, where the jagged palmetto fans and latanier grew, and where the tall rushes and reeds were so fine that, swaying softly under the breeze, they looked like moving water, but water dyed in emerald and topaz tints—lurked many dangers. Rattlesnakes and toads and deadly insects made it their home, and the ground was all a quagmire, so that stepping on it they would sink deep in mud and slime, and perhaps die there. “Oh,” said the Princess, “how awful! Does nothing nice live there? Those beautiful tiger-lilies and big purple passion-flowers bloom so charmingly, surely there must be something there to enjoy them.” “Well,” answered the guide, “the birds frequently nest there, and the great pelicans and cranes hide in it; but beside them there are only three respectable families that I know of who ever enter it.” “Who are they?” asked Ethelda, deeply interested at once. “Why, the first family I mean,” replied the Sun messenger, “is the Crayfish family. Deep down in the black slime live this family, who delight in digging and burrowing in the mud. They live in very black dirt, but a happier family it would be hard to find. They are splendid little housekeepers, too, and spend most of their mornings in their own homes, trying to build up and beautify their houses, and they never meddle with any one else. Any time of day you can see their bright eyes peering out of their mud windows wonderingly. The Crayfish babies are very tiny, and are carefully and tenderly watched. They never are allowed to play with others, and cannot leave their mother’s side a single minute until they are five years old. Indeed, they hold on to her sides until that age. By that time they are considered grown, and can care for themselves and choose their own friends. On this account, perhaps, the Crayfishes don’t visit much, because with a dozen children clinging to her the mother is hardly a welcome guest anywhere; the Crayfishes have few friends in consequence. The Mud-Turtles, I believe, are about their only callers, and only through them do they occasionally hear of the outside world.” “How comical!” laughed a pretty Moon maiden. “Now tell us about the other families.”