“Both are mollusks. There are mollusks that do not make shells, the slug for example; others that do make them, such as the snails, the Paludinidæ, and the cassididæ.” “And of what does the snail make its house?” “Of its own substance, my little friend; it sweats the materials for its house.” “I don’t understand.” “Don’t you make your teeth, so white, shiny, and all in a row? From time to time a new one pushes through, without your giving it any thought. It does it by itself. These beautiful teeth are of very hard stone. Where does that stone come from? From your own substance, it is clear. Our gums sweat stone which fashions itself into teeth. So the snail’s house is built. The little creature sweats the stone that shapes itself into a graceful shell.” “But to arrange stones one on another and make houses of them you need masons. The snail’s house is made without masons.” “When I say it is done by itself, I do not mean that the stone has the faculty of making itself into a shell. You never see rubble piling itself unaided into a wall. God, the Father of all things, willed that the stone should arrange itself in a mother-of-pearl palace to serve as a dwelling for the poor animal, brother to the slug, and it is accomplished according to His will. In like manner He told the stone to grow up into beautiful teeth from the depths of the rosy gums of little boys and girls, and it is done as He willed.” “I begin to feel rather friendly toward the snail, the voracious animal that eats our flowers,” said Jules. “I do not care to make you friendly with it. Let us make war on it since it ravages our gardens; it is our right; but do not let us disdain to learn from it, for it has many beautiful things to teach us. To-day I will tell you of its eyes and nose.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER LXXI THE SPIRAL SNAIL “WHEN the snail crawls, it bears aloft, as you know, four horns.” “Horns that come out and go in at will,” added Jules. “Horns that the animal turns every way,” said Emile, “when you put the shell on the live coals. Then the snail sings _be-be-be-eou-eou_.” “Stop that cruel play, my child. The snail does not sing; it is complaining, in its own way, of the fiery tortures. Its slime, coagulated by the heat, first swells and then shrinks, and the air that escapes by little puffs produces that dying wail. “In one of La Fontaine’s fables, where there are so many good things about animals, he tells us that the lion, wounded by a horned animal,