Chatterbox, 1906 Part 50

PEEPS INTO NATURE'S NURSERIES.

VI.--THE CHILDHOOD OF THE STARFISH AND THE SEA-URCHIN.

There are probably not many of my readers who cannot tell a starfish or a sea-urchin at sight, that is to say, a grown-up starfish or urchin; but to distinguish between them, or even to recognise them at all, in the days of their infancy is a very different matter. Indeed, only those who devote their lives to the study of these creatures are able to do this, and the facts which their labours have brought to light are curious indeed, though so complex that it would be impossible to describe them here in full detail.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 1.--Young Starfish.]

An outline, however, of what we may call the story of the starfish can be told readily enough, and without in any way losing aught either of its importance or its interest.

Briefly, among the starfish people--and including also the sea-urchins and sea-cuc.u.mbers, the curious brittle-stars and feather-stars--parental care is the exception, and not the rule. Having cast their eggs adrift upon the sea, the mothers of the families leave the rest to nature. Let us follow the history of one of these eggs. No sooner is it adrift than it begins a very remarkable career. Starting at first as a tiny ball, it divides next into two precisely similar b.a.l.l.s, and since these divide again and again in like manner, we have in a few hours a ma.s.s of little b.a.l.l.s, intimately connected with one another, and resembling a mulberry in appearance, enclosing a hollow s.p.a.ce. (Fig. 1.)

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 2.--Young Starfish, second stage.]

This stage reached, the end of the first chapter in the life of the starfish is closed. He has grown so far, it should be noticed, without eating; but for further progress food is necessary. Now, this food cannot be taken in without a mouth and some sort of stomach. These are formed by the simple device of tucking in one side of the ball, just as one might push in one side of an indiarubber ball; the rim of the hollow thus formed becomes the mouth, and the hollow into which it leads is the stomach, while within the s.p.a.ce lying between the outer wall and that portion of the wall which is pushed in--which corresponds to the inside of the indiarubber ball--the body that is to be begins to be formed. To grasp this thoroughly, first of all take such a rubber ball as I have described, and push in one side. Compare it with the ill.u.s.tration (fig.

2).

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 3.--Young Starfish, third stage.]

Soon after the formation of the mouth, our growing starfish develops his first organs of locomotion. Now, these are neither arms nor legs, but take the form of short hair-like growths, endowed with the power of rapid waving motion, whereby the body is propelled through the water.

These are to be seen in the picture of one of these little creatures, shown for clearness sake as if cut in half. (Fig. 3.)

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 4.--Nearly full-grown Starfish.]

A little later our young starfish has a.s.sumed a new shape. Here there is a large mouth and stomach, while the swimming hairs have all been cast off except a few arranged in the form of two bands; and, later still, the creature takes the extraordinary form shown in fig. 4. Swimming by the motion of waving hairs is now a thing of the past; instead, long arms have been developed, which perform this work much more effectually, and these arms are supported by a hard, chalky skeleton. Soon another little pus.h.i.+ng in of the body takes place, and, lo, out of this grows the body of the starfish that is to be! (as is the middle of fig. 4). In about forty-five days from the beginning of this eventful history, the feet and body appear sticking out of the body, whose growth we have been watching; and, in a very short time after, this chalky skeleton is destroyed, and the rest of this infantile body cast away, leaving the fully formed starfish with an entirely new skeleton! Thus, then, wonder of wonders, this curious creature possesses during its lifetime _two distinct skeletons_!

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 5.--Young Sea-urchin.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 6.-Young Rosy Feather-star.]

The sea-urchin and sea-cuc.u.mber undergo similar changes. (See fig. 5.) So also does the beautiful rosy feather-star, but with certain modifications too interesting to be pa.s.sed over. In what we call its larval body, or its period of childhood, the body takes the form of a cylinder, as you see in the picture, with a little tuft of swimming hairs at the bottom, and bands of the same round the body (fig. 6.) Within this body, as in the starfish, a new body is gradually formed.

Then, as you see in the picture, the inside of the egg-shaped body takes the form of a long stalk of stony plate, surmounted by a number of square plates pierced with holes, and these last only are destined to survive in the body of the adult. Soon after this stage is reached, the swimming body comes to rest, because the stalked body which it contains has reached its full development, and takes over the threads of life.

As a consequence, the barrel-shaped swimming body, now useless, is thrown off, much as a caterpillar throws off its skin, leaving the newly fas.h.i.+oned body, shaped like a filbert-nut, but rounder, fixed by its stalk to the ground. In a very little while, however, it puts forth a number of beautiful moving arms. It is now a sea-lily! And now follows another change. Breaking away from the traditions of its tribe--the sea-lilies--it cuts itself off from the stalk, and grows in its place a number of short finger-like processes, and lo! from a sea-lily it becomes the rosy feather-star! (What this looks like you can see in fig.

7.) Once more it is able to swim, and this is done by waving movements of the long arms. When desirous of rest, it drops to the bottom of the sea, and clutches hold of some bit of rock or branch of seaweed by means of the bunch of 'fingers' below the body, which we have just described.

W. P. PYCRAFT, F.Z.S., A.L.S.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Fig. 7.--Rosy Feather-star.]

ROSIE.

The Lees were a clever family; all their friends said so. Tom was good at games, and had carried off several prizes at the school sports; Percy was a first-cla.s.s reciter; Emma sang, and played the piano; whilst Alice drew very well, and had a larger collection of picture post-cards than any other girl she knew.

Rosie, however, the youngest, was not in any way remarkable: 'Indeed, you would hardly think her one of us--she is so unlike the rest,' Alice would say, with a slighting glance at the little sister who never did anything particular; only worked and helped, and was at everybody's beck and call.

Rosie was used to being made of small account, and did not mind it much.

When a rich aunt of the Lees announced her intention of coming to pay them a visit, and then perhaps choosing one of the young people to be her companion during a long stay in London, it did not for a moment occur to the little girl that she could be the favoured one. She listened without jealousy to the chorus of brothers and sisters, planning what they should do in the event of being chosen.

'I would go to a cricket match at Lord's,' said Tom. 'And I,' said Emma, 'to some of the best concerts.' Alice had fixed her heart on seeing the picture galleries, and Percy was resolved to hear some great speakers.

Each of them thought it very likely that he, or she, would be Aunt Mary's choice.

Aunt Mary, when she came, kept her own counsel. She was kind to all her nephews and nieces, but did not single out one more than another. It was not until the last day of her stay arrived that she said to their mother, 'If you will let me have Rosie for a companion, my dear, I shall be only too glad to take her to town, and give her a really pleasant time.'

Rosie's surprise, and her disappointment for the sake of her brothers and sisters, silenced the rest: when they could speak, it was to ask each other what their aunt could possibly see in her. If they had overheard a talk between Mrs. Lee and Aunt Mary, later in the day, they might have understood.

'Your other young people are charming,' said Aunt Mary, 'so bright and clever; but they are a little--just a little--too apt to be wrapped up in themselves and their own pursuits. If Rosie goes with me, I shall have some one who will think of me too, for the child does not seem to know what selfishness is.'

WAITS.

Some old customs die out very slowly, and even in the neighbourhood of go-ahead London there are many districts where the waits still go round a few days before Christmas. But the waits do not treat you with music for love--they come for payment afterwards.

Why were these Christmas serenaders called waits? About that matter, we find that opinions differ. One old author says that the waits we have now, represent the musical watchmen, who were well known in many towns during the Middle Ages. They sounded a watch at night, after the inhabitants of the town had gone to bed, and then some of them marched about the streets to prevent disturbances and robberies--in fact, acted rather like our modern policemen. 'Wait' it is supposed means 'watch,'

and they had to be in attendance upon judges or magistrates; at the courts of many of the kings, too, there were the waits who attended upon royalty, and who had to perform on their instruments, if music was wanted, by day or night. Another idea was, that the waits who are connected with Christmas season are meant to be a sort of rude imitation of the angelic host, who sang in the fields at Bethlehem at the birth of Christ. This would seem to men in the Middle Ages a very natural way of ill.u.s.trating the sacred story.

The old Romans are also said to have had a kind of waits, who were called Spondaulae; it was their business to attend upon the priests in the temples of Jupiter. They sang a poem, accompanied by some wind instrument, while incense was being burnt, or a sacrifice offered.

THE GIANT OF THE TREASURE CAVES.

(_Continued from page 159._)

'Directly Peet appeared with the key,' continued Colonel De Bohun, 'we made a thorough search, and I do not think there was a nook or corner we did not examine, even to a considerable distance down the pa.s.sage. There was, however, no trace of Estelle. We found in the inner room that the window had been broken, and a rope was still hanging from it. That window is not more than three feet from the floor of the room; but, as you know, the drop from it into the moat must be at least twenty feet.

Whether the child managed to scramble out by means of the rope, or whether she was carried out, I don't know. Peet insists that Thomas has had a hand in the matter. A very valuable orchid, which he had been cultivating in that inner room, has disappeared, and Peet feels sure that Thomas has stolen it.'

Colonel De Bohun began to tell Lady c.o.ke of the attempts made by Thomas and another man to enter the ruined summer-house, as witnessed by Alan and Marjorie, and of Alan's adventure in the cave, but she had become so faint that he was alarmed. Mademoiselle ran off to fetch a gla.s.s of water, while he did his best to soothe her. She begged, however, for further details.

Very unwillingly, he went on to tell her how they had dug for a couple of hours in the effort to penetrate the ma.s.s of stones and earth which the bang of the door had shaken down from the roof. It was extremely dangerous work, and he had not dared to urge the men to go on with it, after their efforts revealed no trace of the child. They had also entered the pa.s.sage from its cliff end, under the guidance of Alan, but had not been able to proceed far, the fall of the roof making it almost as perilous as from the summer-house end.

'There is one strange thing about this unfortunate business,' he continued, 'which we cannot explain. The dog, Bootles, that had been with Estelle, was found in the wood, just at the entrance to the pa.s.sage. He appeared to be in great distress, and anxious that we should follow him to the beach.'

'And did you go there?'

'Yes, but we found nothing to help us in our search. He ran about, snuffing and moaning, and it was only with some trouble we got him to come away with us.'

'Search till you find the child, G.o.dfrey,' urged Lady c.o.ke, taking the water which Mademoiselle had now brought to her. 'I shall know no peace till she is restored to me. My little girl! Confided to me at her dead mother's wis.h.!.+ How have I fulfilled my trust?'