Animals which never die.—A Wonderful Tip to his Tail.—Thunderstorm.—Swan's Nest.—Bearded Tit.—Reed-wrens and Cuckoo.

The next day they sailed down the Waveney, until they came to Haddiscoe, and then, instead of continuing down to Breydon Water, they went along the New Cut, a wide channel which unites the Waveney with the Yare, joining the latter at Reedham. They found the channel of the Yare very much broader than the Bure or the Waveney; and as they had a favourable breeze for the greater part of the way, and there was plenty of room to tack in the reaches where it was against them, they made rapid progress.

As they sailed quietly along, Dick lay on the roof of the cabin reading a number of Science Gossip which they had bought at Lowestoft. Presently he cried out,—

"Do you know that there are animals which never die?"

The others laughed at the idea, but Dick proceeded to read out as follows:—

"Will the reader be astonished to hear that there are exceptions to the universal law of death, that there are animals, or at any rate portions of animals, which are practically immortal. Such, however, is really the case. I allude to a species of the genera Nais and Syllis, marine worms of no special interest to the ordinary observer, but those who have watched their habits closely, tell us of the almost extraordinary power of spontaneous division which they enjoy. Self-division, as a means of propagation, is common enough among the lower members of both animal and vegetable kingdoms, but the particular kind to which I refer now, is, I believe, peculiar to these singular worms. At certain periods the posterior portion of the body begins to alter its shape materially, it swells and grows larger, and the transverse segments become more strongly marked. At the last joint, at the point where it joins the first segment of the body, a true head is formed, furnished with antennÆ, jaws, and whatever else goes to make a marine worm "perfect after its kind," and forthwith the whole drops off, a complete animal, capable of maintaining a separate existence. Whether the process goes on for ever—that is to say, throughout all generations—of course, no one can tell; but if it does—and there is no reason to suppose the contrary—then it is self-evident that the posterior portion of one of these worms is, as I observed before, practically never dying. It is simply fitted every now and then with a new head! In fact, the tail of the first Syllis ever formed, provided it has had the good luck to escape external accident, must still be in existence—a truly venerable animal, and without controversy the 'oldest inhabitant' of the seas."

"It strikes me," said Frank, "that that animal would be something like the Irishman's stocking, which he had worn for a score of years. It had been re-footed and re-legged several times, yet he always asserted that it was the original stocking, although there was not a particle of the old stuff in it."

"What a wonderful tip to his tail some animal has got then, if that is true," said Jimmy.

I cannot say whether the statement of the writer in Science Gossip is strictly accurate, for who can decide when doctors disagree; but it seems plain enough that the process of generation by sub-division is far nearer the longed-for perpetual life, than anybody has been able to get to the coveted solution of the problem of perpetual motion.

"Do you know that the water we are sailing on is higher than the marshes around us?" said Frank.

"Yes, and all those windmills are to pump the water up from the drains. They look very funny twirling away all by themselves."

Early in the day they reached a public-house surrounded by a little grove of trees, which gave an agreeable variety to the landscape. This was Coldham Hall, and as the sky was clouding over and the wind sighing fitfully through the reeds and the trees, and there was every symptom of a violent storm, the boys decided to remain there until the morrow, and then sail up to Norwich.

During the afternoon they amused themselves by fishing for eels, which were biting very freely. The heavens grew black, and the thunder muttered at intervals, but the storm held off until the evening, and then as it was getting dark it came on most violently. The rain came down in torrents. The lightning lit up the marsh for miles most vividly, and each flash was succeeded by an intenser blackness, while the bellowing of the thunder made the very earth shake. The boys stood at the door of the inn, gazing at the storm and awe-struck by its mighty power.

"I don't like the idea of sleeping on the river to-night," said Jimmy. "The landlord has a bedroom vacant, and I vote we sleep here instead of going on board."

The others willingly consented, and Dick and Jimmy had a double-bedded room between them, while Frank slept in a small attic. As the night wore on the storm passed away, but its mutterings could still be heard. Jimmy did not like thunder, and felt very nervous while it was about, as many otherwise brave people will. He could not for the life of him go to sleep, and lay tossing about in a most uncomfortable state for half the night, while Dick was slumbering peacefully. Jimmy could stand it no longer, and got out of bed with the intention of arousing Dick, and getting him to talk to him. He stole across the room, and by the faint starlight which came from the sky, which had partially cleared after the storm, he saw that Dick had kicked all the bed-clothes off, and lay very deep in slumber. He touched him lightly on the foot to awake him gently. To his amazement Dick lifted his leg and began to wave it slowly backwards in the air, at the same time whistling softly. Jimmy was so struck with the oddity of this procedure in a sleeping man that he burst into a peal of laughter. Even this did not wake Dick; and Jimmy, having now something to occupy his mind, went back to bed and laughed himself to sleep. When he detailed the incident to the others in the morning they would not believe him, but said that he must have been dreaming.

The morning broke sunny and with a wonderful freshness in the air, which put the boys into the highest spirits. They sailed a little way up the river to Surlingham Broad, which they wished to explore. They sailed past the main entrance to the broad, thinking there was a wider passage further on. Finding they were mistaken, they attempted to take the punt through a narrow and sinuous dyke which appeared to lead into the broad. They pushed their way along this for some distance until it became so narrow and shallow that they could scarcely get on. Just then they came round a corner of reeds, and to their dismay found that they had come suddenly upon a swan's nest. The female swan was sitting upon a huge pile of sticks placed on a small reedy island. Round this island the male swan was swimming in a very stately fashion, and when he saw the boys coming so near his beloved, he swam towards them, with his wings and tail raised and set out in a way that unmistakably told them he meant war. They hastily pushed back, but the punt stuck in the mud, and Frank had to take an oar and keep the swan at bay with it, while the others pushed the punt off and back again.

"Pray, look sharp," said Frank, "I cannot keep him at bay much longer without my hurting him or his hurting me."

"We're doing our best," said Jimmy, and missing his footing as he spoke he fell into the mud and water.

"That's no help," said Frank, giving the swan a sharp poke with the oar. Jimmy scrambled into the boat, and the swan, satisfied that they were in full retreat, gave up the pursuit.

They went back to the yacht, where Jimmy changed his clothes, and then went on to the broad by the proper channel.

Their object in visiting this broad was to find the nest of the bearded tit, which Bell had told them bred there in great numbers. This beautiful little bird is now becoming very rare. Its home is among the reed-beds of Norfolk and Suffolk, but it has been so shot down wholesale by bird-stuffers, and its eggs collected for sale, that it has become exceedingly rare. It is a very pretty bird, having a long tail, fawn-coloured back, and white belly, but its distinguishing feature is that it has a pair of moustaches in the shape of black tufts of feathers depending from either side of its mouth. Very properly, too, it is only the males which have this appearance. In Norfolk it is called the reed pheasant. It is very interesting to see a flock of them flitting about the reeds. Like all the tit family, they are very lively, jerking up and down the reed-stems in all sorts of positions, and as often as not with their heads down and their tails up.

Apart from the open water of the broad, there were numerous channels among the reeds which latter rose to the height of seven or eight feet above the water. Along these channels the boys made their way, listening attentively to the chirping of the birds, which they could hear but not see. By keeping very still they could at length distinguish two or three of the birds they sought, flitting about the reeds, and by the aid of their glass they could perceive the birds with great distinctness. The movements of one bird led them to its nest, and pushing their way with some difficulty they were fortunate enough to find it. It was built of dry stems of grass and sedges, and was placed about a foot from the ground (or water, for it was a compound of both), in the midst of a thick clump of reeds. It contained five eggs as large as those of a great tit, pinkish-white in colour, spotted and streaked with reddish brown, something like those of a yellow-hammer. While they were debating how many of the eggs they should take, Frank saw a tit fly from a tuft of reeds a few yards off, and on going there they found another nest with four eggs in it. This was lucky, for it enabled them to take two eggs from each nest without feeling any compunction.

They found several of the beautiful purse-like nests of the reed wrens attached midway up the tall reed-stems. In one of them there was a young cuckoo, the sole occupant of the nest. What had become of the little reed-wrens was plainly to be seen by the bodies which strewed the ground beneath. The poor little fledglings had been ousted from their home by the broad-backed cuckoo. I suppose we ought not to call him cruel, because it is the instinct of self-preservation which makes him behave so badly. If the young birds, the legitimate owners of the nest, had been allowed to remain, the old birds could not have fed them all, and the young cuckoo must have starved. The boys watched the nest for some time to see the old birds feed it, and they were greatly delighted to see the way in which the reed-wrens managed it. They perched on the young cuckoo's back while they placed the food in its broad mouth. It was the only standing room there was, for the cuckoo more than covered the whole of the nest.

"Who wouldn't be a naturalist!" said Frank, "when he can see such things as that?"

Dick replied, "I did not know that life could possibly be so jolly, until I learnt something of natural history. I do wonder that so few fellows take to it. I suppose it is because books make it appear so dry. Books don't seem to me to go into the sport of the thing. They only show you the surface of it, and not the life. I will try to write a book some day when—" and he hesitated.

"When you get more conceited, eh, Dick?" said Frank laughingly.

Then they sailed up to Bramerton, and when they brought up at the Wood's-end public-house they found a number of old school-fellows there, and the racing four-oar belonging to the school club.