Two weeks after this Grasshopper Green started out for a little exercise after breakfast. Just as he reached the edge of the brook he saw Mrs. Spider coming toward him. She was moving quite slowly, and no longer carried the little white bag. As she came nearer, he could see that she had something on her back. "Good morning, neighbor," called Grasshopper Green. "May I help you carry your things?" "Thank you," she said, "but they wouldn't stay with you, even if they could stay on when you give such great jumps." "They!" cried Grasshopper Green. And then, as he came nearer, he saw that the things on Mrs. Spider's back were wee little baby spiders. "Aren't they pretty children?" she asked proudly. "I was so afraid that something would happen to my eggs that I never let go of the bag once, except when that stupid Mr. Beetle knocked it out of my mouth." "Oh, ho," said Grasshopper Green, "so that was what frightened you so! Your bag was full of eggs! And, now, you are going to carry all these children on your back? Doesn't it tire you dreadfully?" "I don't mind that a bit," said Mrs. Spider, "if only the children are well and safe. In a little while, you know, they will be able to run about by themselves, and then we shall be so happy here in the meadow grass. Oh, it's well worth the trouble, neighbor Grasshopper." "Yes," said Grasshopper Green, "I have a dozen wee boys of my own at home; and that reminds me that it is time to go home to breakfast! Good-bye, neighbor. I hope the children will soon be running about with you. You certainly are taking good care of them. Good-bye." Then home he went; and the proud, happy mother Spider kept on her way to hunt for a breakfast for the babies she loved so well. IN BROOKS AND PONDS THE BROOK I chatter over stony ways In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among the skimming swallows; I make the netted sunbeams dance Against my sandy shallows. ALFRED TENNYSON. LEGEND OF THE WATER-LILY One night, long, long ago when the Moon of Flowers shone softly on the prairie a group of Indian youths sitting in a circle on the grass were talking about the stars. One of the braves, a young chieftain, gazed intently toward the south. On a wooded hill back of his wigwam twinkled a star which was the brightest he had ever seen. "Surely the star has a message for the Red Men. Who can read it?" the watchers asked each other. Each night during the beautiful Moon of Flowers the star grew more and more radiant until its glorious light filled the southern sky, but not one of the Indian youths had been able to explain the meaning of the light.