In among the green bushes and trees ran the brook. Tall,
straight-growing rushes stood along its banks, and whispered to the
wind. Out in the middle of the water floated the Water-Lily, with
its white flower and its broad green leaves.

Generally it was quite calm on the brook. But when, now and again,
it chanced that the wind took a little turn over it, there was a
rustle in the rushes, and the Water-Lily sometimes ducked
completely under the waves. Then its leaves were lifted up in the
air and stood on their edges, so that the thick green stalks that
came up from the very bottom of the stream found that it was all
they could do to hold fast.

All day long the Larva of the Dragon-Fly was crawling up and down
the Water-Lily's stalk. "Dear me, how stupid it must be to be a
Water-Lily!" it said, and peeped up at the flower.

"You chatter as a person of your small mind might be expected to
do," answered the Water-Lily. "It is just the very nicest thing
there is."

"I don't understand that," said the Larva. "I should like at this
moment to tear myself away, and fly about in the air like the big,
beautiful Dragon-Flies."

"Pooh!" said the Water-Lily. "That would be a funny kind of
pleasure. No; to lie still on the water and dream, to bask in
the sun, and now and then to be rocked up and down by the
waves--there's some sense in _that_!"