If the old Tyrant wore knightly armour, he in no other respect resembled the brave knights of ancient days, for by nature he was malicious, sly and wicked. And, if the truth were only known, a very great glutton. Just as soon as the frost left the strata of mud above him where he had wintered, old Methuselah would rouse himself for action. Quite torpid at first, he would crawl to some spot where the sun might strike his chilled, mud-caked shell, and gradually thaw out. Soon would commence his eager search for food, and in early spring he made regular hourly trips around the pond, gobbling up the very first young things which had come out of winter quarters, usually small tender frogs. He loved to lie motionless near the surface of the water, sending up pearly air bubbles through his horny snout, waving a flipper idly, just to keep his huge shell afloat, looking precisely like a round-topped rock, for the old fellow's back was rough and so moss-grown that he resembled a stone more than anything living. But all the while his cold, wicked-looking eyes, when not shaded by their filmy lids, were quite watchful and always on the alert, and his wrinkled neck was ever in readiness to dart out like a flash to snap up anything which came his way. Snap, snap, would crash his horny, toothless jaws, closing over one after another of the unsuspecting minnow shoals as they slid by him. As for the catfish, with their terrible lance-like spines, rising just behind their gills, and which every boy who goes fishing dreads more than anything--they never bothered the old Tyrant; his armour protected him so well he feared nothing. His hard, warty fore legs were so tough and strong, they could ward off anything troublesome; besides, they were armed with sharp black claws. Usually, Methuselah would come upon the catfish from beneath the shoal; a swift snap of his scaly jaws and he had taken a bite from a pearl-white stomach, thus escaping the horn, and discarding every portion of the fish but the choicest morsels. Sometimes, so silently did the old Tyrant approach the shoal from beneath, that he would succeed in snapping several fish even before the leader of the shoal knew what was going on behind him. Quite as much at home upon the land as water was old Methuselah. He could remain beneath water a long time, while in between the rank reeds and grasses along-shore ran his wide flattened trails; regular runways they were. You might readily distinguish where the nimble muskrats ran, because their trails were round and hollow, but when the old Tyrant passed, he cut a wide swath. Fully two feet wide was his great shell. It was marked off beautifully in diamonds, each diamond being ringed about with layers or rings in the shell, which, if you were expert enough to read, might have given you a clue to his great age.