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Updated: May 7, 2025
There were places where it might be possible for a tunnel to run down into the water, shady spots where willows and alders overhung the lake; places where birch and hazels grew close up to the patches of rushes and reed-mace, with its tall broken pokers standing high above the waving leaves.
Over these blossoming islands dragon-flies, all emerald or azure, with wings of flame, sped their shrill flight in suddenly altered curves. The children plunged their burning feet with joy in the damp sand overgrown with tufted horse-tails and the reed-mace with its slender lance.
"Look at the bulrushes, Tom!" said Dick lazily. And he nodded in the direction of a patch of the tall, brown, poker-like flowers and leaves of the reed-mace. "Oh, yes, look at them!" said Tom sourly. "What a shame it is that we weren't born with wings! Everything grows where you can't get at it. If there's a good nest, it's surrounded by water." "Like an island," assented Dick.
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