“He looks more like a boat than he does like you,” said Ruth. “My body is boat-shaped,” spoke up the boatman; “and see my hind legs; they really are like oars, aren’t they?” “I am wondering what brought you to the surface,” said the cicada. “Why, I let go my hold on that old water weed, and you know the air that covers my body makes it lighter than the water and unless I cling to something I naturally rise. It is inconvenient, for I do not need to come to the surface for air. I can breathe the same air over and over, because I know how to purify it.” “How do you do it?” asked Ruth. Surely these insects were wonderfully clever. “Oh, I simply hang to something with my front legs, while I move my back ones just as I do in swimming, and that makes a current of water pass over my coat of air and purify it. That fellow swimming on his back over there is obliged to come to the surface every little while. He carries air down in a bubble under his wings.” “Do you mean me?” asked the backswimmer, making a sudden leap in the air, and flying away. “Gracious!” cried Ruth in surprise. “I didn’t know he could fly.” “There’s a good deal you don’t know,” replied the water boatman, a remark Ruth had heard before. “I can fly too,” and he also spread his wings and was off. “Well,” said the cicada, “I guess we might as well be off too. There seems to be no one in sight to interest us.” “What about cousin Belostoma?” asked a sort of muffled voice, as a great pair of bulging eyes showed themselves above the water, and out came the giant water bug as big as life. “I’ve just had my dinner,” he said. “It really is funny to see how everything hides when Belostoma shows his face. My wife is the only one who doesn’t seem to be afraid of me and she—well, she’s a terror and no mistake.” “Why, what’s the matter now?” asked the cicada. “And what has happened to your back?” added Ruth, with eager curiosity. “My wife’s happened, that’s what,” answered Belostoma in a doleful tone. “She laid her eggs a while ago and glued every blessed one to my back. It is nothing to laugh at either. There’s no joke in being a walking incubator. Well, I must be going now. It is dinner time.” “I thought you just had your dinner,” said Ruth. “Yes, but it’s time again. It is always time. How silly you are.” “I must go too,” said the cicada, “but it isn’t dinner that calls me. I feel sure my mate is longing for some music and I’m off to give her a bit. See you later.” And, spreading his wings, the cicada flew away, beating his drums as he went. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER VIII MRS. TUMBLE BUG AND OTHERS Their wings with azure green And purple glossed. —_Anna L. Barbauld._