"Have you got it, Harry?" asked his father after two or three minutes during which the boy did not move. Harry took a last long look, then glanced up, blinking slightly. "You look, Dad!" he exclaimed warmly. "It’s—it’s like a garden in the water, full of funny little people!" Mr. Chatham, not reluctantly, bent to gaze into the eyepiece. This was new to him too, and instantly he saw the aptness of Harry’s simile. There was a garden there, of weird, green, transparent stalks composed of plainly visible cells fastened end to end, with globules and bladders like fruits or seed-pods attached to them, floating among them; and in the garden the strange little people swam to and fro, or clung with odd appendages to the stalks and branches. Their bodies were transparent like the plants, and in them were pulsing hearts and other organs plainly visible. They looked a little like sea horses with pointed tails, but their heads were different, small and rounded, with big, dark, glistening eyes. All at once Mr. Chatham realized that Harry was speaking to him, still in high excitement. "What are they, Dad?" he begged to know. His father straightened up and shook his head puzzledly. "I don’t know, Harry," he answered slowly, casting about in his memory. He seemed to remember a microphotograph of a creature like those in the book he had studied, but the name that had gone with it eluded him. He had worked as an accountant for so many years that his memory was all for figures now. He bent over once more to immerse his eyes and mind in the green water-garden on the slide. The little creatures swam to and fro as before, growing hazy and dwindling or swelling as they swam out of the narrow focus of the lens; he gazed at those who paused in sharp definition, and saw that, although he had at first seen no visible means of propulsion, each creature bore about its head a halo of thread-like, flickering cilia that lashed the water and drew it forward, for all the world like an airplane propeller or a rapidly turning wheel. "I know what they are!" exclaimed Henry Chatham, turning to his son with an almost boyish excitement. "They’re rotifers! That means ’wheel-bearers’, and they were called that because to the first scientists who saw them it looked like they swam with wheels." Harry had got down the book and was leafing through the pages. He looked up seriously. "Here they are," he said. "Here’s a picture that looks almost like the ones in our pond water."