If any of you have questions, clarifications, uncertanties or doubts concerning any area of the subject, please post them as comments and I will do my best to reply to them asap.

For now!

Go here for a bookish message!

This is research reading/writing activity. By the end I hope you will locate inaccuracies about living conditions on Venus in the story “All Summer in a Day.”

More specifically, I hope you will work independently to locate 5 inaccuracies within the short story, “All Summer in a Day.” You will also give a brief explanation as to why the information is inaccurate.

Finally, you will think about what would be needed to build a colony on Venus.

1. You will create original settings for a colony on Venus.
2. You will explain how your settings are more realistic than the setting in “All Summer in a Day.”

Each of you should type at least one paragraph describing the proposed colony, as well as one to two paragraphs explaining why/how your setting is more realistic than the setting in “All Summer in a Day.”
Below are links to help you in your research.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Venus

http://www.space.com/venus/

http://www.aerospaceguide.net/planet/planetvenus.html

http://www.spacetoday.org/SolSys/Venus/VenusWater.html

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/4335628.stm
Lastly, answer these questions below. All writing should be done in the comments section.

Which link was most helpful? Why?

Which offered the most interesting points for you? Why?

Did you find any contradictory information ? Why?

Why do you think Ray Bradbury used so much ‘poetic license’ in writing the story? Why did he not abide by the ‘scientific’ facts?

What do you think is the most important plot or story element? Which canot be changed, modified or taken out without changing or affecting the original story?

INTRO

An Idiom is an expression (i.e. term or phrase) whose meaning cannot be deduced from the literal definitions and the arrangement of its parts, but refers instead to a figurative meaning that is known only through conventional use.

Or more simply …

An idiom is a group of words which, when used together, has a different meaning from the one which the individual words have. For example:

- How do you know about John’s illness?

- Oh, I heard it on the grapevine.

Of course, the second speaker does not mean he heard the news about John by putting his ear to a grapevine! He is conveying the idea of information spreading around a widespread network, visually similar to a grapevine.
The English language is full of idioms (over 15,000). Native speakers of English use idioms all the time, often without realising that they are doing so. This means that communication with native speakers of English can be quite a confusing experience.

We use idioms to express something that other words do not express as clearly or as cleverly. We often use an image or symbol to describe something as clearly as possible and thus make our point as effectively as possible. For example, “in a nutshell” suggests the idea of having all the information contained within very few words. Idioms tend to be informal and are best used in spoken rather than written English.
Idioms: the good news

Sometimes idioms are very easy for learners to understand because there are similar expressions in the speakers’ mother tongue. For example:

He always goes at things like a bull in a china shop!

Sometimes you can guess the meaning of new idioms from context. For example, what do you think these idioms mean?
1. He was on the carpet last week for being late for work three times.
2. She made a marvellous speech to the conference. She took the delegates by storm.
3. It was an extremely long report. It took me three hours to wade through.
4. I believe we should talk openly and frankly about the project – warts and all.
5. Let’s call it a day. I am very tired and we have covered the main points of the meeting I think.
Idioms: the bad news

However, idioms can often be very difficult to understand. You may be able to guess the meaning from context but if not, it is not easy to know the meaning. Many idioms, for instance, come from favourite traditional British activities such as fighting, sailing, hunting and playing games. As well as being quite specialist in meaning, some of the words in idioms were used two or three hundred years ago, or longer, and can be a little obscure. Here are some examples:
1. Now that the Prime Minister has been elected there will be a lot of jockeying for position to get the key posts in his administration.
2. I finally ran the book to earth in a second-hand bookshop in Wales. I had been searching for it for three years.
3. They took her ideas on board and decided to increase the budget.
4. You should fall in with our arrangements; we can’t make alternative plans for you.
5. We saw the boss at the bar but we gave him a wide berth. We did not want to talk to him then.
Read the following passage entitled “Step right up!”. What do you think the underlines words/phrases mean?

What effect/impact do you, the reader feel when reading the text?

What words/phrased can you replace the underlined words/phrases to make the passage more interesting or better/more effectively written. (Post under the comments section)

It was Sunday night and Allison was going to bed to take the load off her feet when she stopped dead in her tracks. She remembered that her project was due the very next day. Since this project was a major part of her grade, she knew that it was going to have to sweep her teacher off her feet.

Allison’s feet flew as she raced to her mom’s room. She threw herself at her mother’s feet begging for help. Her mother replied that sooner or later she would have to learn to stand on her own two feet. Allison knew that she had gotten off on the wrong foot starting so late and that she would have to step on the gas if she wanted to finish this paper. Then she knew that next time a paper was assigned she would have to get her foot in the door and take steps to prevent this from happening again.
Go to the following website which is a ‘dictionary’ of idioms. Use at least 5 of the idioms in a paragraph (not less than 75 words) based on the picture composition you all recently completed (the angry goat). (Post under the comments section)
Then rewrite the story (Post under the comments section) making as effective use of the same idioms as possible.

Think how they can be effectively used, and whether extensive use has compromised the quality of your story. (Post under the comments section)

Lastly, in groups of 4, choose an idiom to write a short script about. The idiom’s figurative meaning should be communicated by the narrative. The idiom’s literal meaning should be part of the dialogue or acted out.

E.g. ‘bury the hatchet’

A short skit could be written about two friends who argue and make up (bury the hatchet) but they show they are friends again through a ritual of burying an axe/hatchet as a good luck symbol! (To be presented on Monday 16/4/07)

Get cracking! Hoist your sails! Start your engines!

I hope the session you had on evaluating the web sites was a real “eye opener”; hope it was a “brain opener” too!

I hope all of you will take the time and effort to respond thoughfully and reflectively to the prompts I came up with in my last posting.

Remember, the point is not the DESTINATION(How did I do for the challenges/quizzes) but the JOURNEY (what did I learn and come to understand?)

Here is a list of micromodules (notes and more) on the criteria (what to look out for when evaluating a website) that you explored in the last posting. There are additional criteria to look at or take into consideration.

Please go through them on your own and post your comments, questions etc.

Who is the Publisher?

Is there Bias?

Who is the Author?

Is it current or up to date?

Which are the sites Linked To it?

Which are the sites Linked From it?

Expertise

Evidence

Accuracy

Here are some questions/prompts to help you along:

1) If you could rank the criteria, which would be your top two and bottom two criteria for evaluating a website? Why?

2) Which is the easiest and hardest criteria to apply to a website? Why?

3) Which criteria do you need help in to understand?

4) How do you feel about the internet or web sites after going through the ‘notes’?

Only after you have gone through, thought through, asked questions and made comments for all the micro-modules above, do you attempt the module below.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Digital Investigator Training

In this module you will learn to:

• evaluate the honesty of webpages
• evaluate the fairness of webpages
• discover the linkto trustworthiness of a website.

Understanding these ideas builds a foundation for thoughtful evaluation of webpages.Objectives:Expect to spend about 9 hours doing these assignments. By the end of this module you will be able to:

• Detect the honesty of an author
  • Pass a quiz on author honesty
• Explain clues about fairness
  • Recognize an author’s point of view
  • Pass a quiz on website fairness
• Perform a links to search
  • Find and evaluate pages linked to a webpage
  • Pass a quiz on using the link: tool

This module is for you to complete at your own time and pace. Remember, as always , to post your comments on what you are thinking, reflecting upon, pondering or questioning as you go through the site!

Whenever we visit a website to look for information, these are the questions we need to consider:

How objective (unbiased) is the author’s work?

What are the author’s qualifications to write on this topic?

How accurate is the author’s work?

What web pages link to this author’s work?

Can you contact someone with expertise in the area to validate the opinions or conclusions expressed in the document?

What is the publisher’s reputation for printing resources on this topic?

How recent is the author’s work?

Does external evidence support the author’s work?

What web sites does the author link to from this page?

What information on the topic is available from traditional sources such as newspapers, magazines, encyclopedias or library resources on the web?

I have included 2 online exercises to give you practice and hopefully develop your understanding and skill in evaluating websites and the information they contain.

Exercise 1

Go here to find out how to evaluate web sites.

You can choose either the site on William Shakespeare or the Air Cars.

Comment on what you found out. For example:

a) your thoughts on the criteria to evaluate the sites – what did it make you think or feel about the information you were reading?;

b) you could write about what you know now that you did not know before; how you can use this knowledge to help you in future research;

c) the most helpful thing you found out, the most interesting etc.

Exeecise 2 (Pair work)

Now that you have gained some understanding on evaluating digital or web based information, its time to put it to use.

Find or get a partner. (when you make comments, please list both your names!)

Test your evaluation skills here and either try the sites on the stick insects or the tree octopus.

Commment on what you found out about evaluating websites based on the criteria given.

What have you learned or gained?

How will it change the way you search for and treat information or web sites on the internet?

Which is the most difficult criterion to work with? Why?

Which is the easiest? Why?

What would you like to learn more about? Why?

Here are some interesting links for you to find out more about biographies.

Check out the link “The Biography maker” to understand better what is involved in writing biographies.

The other links have biographies that focus on different people (on famous women for example) or look biographies in different ways.

• Biography Centre

• The Biography Maker
• Biography Writers Workshop
• Distinguished women of past and present
• Famous Mathematicians
• 4000 years of women in Science
• Academy of Achievement
• Biographical Dictionary
• Their Stamp on History
• Infoplease- Biography
• BBC – Historic Figures
• Who-What-When- An interactive timeline
• Multnomah County – Biographies

Cross check biographies of the same people to find out whether the same events, people and achievements are reported or narrated the same way.

Post your comments, questions or insights, discoveries. Make use of the time to come to an understanding of biographies.

Prepare your notes for:

a) The Biography Bag presentation

b) The Class Timelines

c) Your ERP Biography written assignment

They will be checked by me .

See how it can improve your writing.

The Top Ten Mistakes New Fiction Authors Make

by Sally Zigmond

Are you wondering why your short stories keep coming back with polite rejection letters? It could be that one of these ten “fatal errors” is standing between you and publication!

Lack of Editing

The best writers re-write and re-write. New writers tend to think that editing merely means a brief read through for typos and spelling errors. That’s the very last thing to do. The first draft of a short story is like a lump of wood. Removing unnecessary waffle, sharpening up images and choosing the exact word will reveal the beauty of the grain.

Dull Writing

Too many new writers don’t give their imagination full rein. They seem afraid look beyond and beneath the surface. Their characters are dull and lead dull lives. Above all, fiction must intrigue and entertain. Avoid stereotyped characters and situations. Why can’t a rich business man be kind and compassionate? Why are unemployed men always lazy and sit around in their vests swigging out of cans? Why can’t one or two learn Latin or take up line-dancing?

Too Much Irrelevant Detail

In short fiction especially, include information only if it furthers the plot, aids characterization and provides a sense of place and time. Too much background information makes a story all tell and no show. Don’t go into detail about characters if they have no significant part to play in the fiction. Never give bit part players a name. If all a postman has to do is deliver the all-important letter, don’t say he’s Stan, the postman whose wife nags him and has a bad back after falling off his bike in 1976. His function is just to be a postman. Don’t lead up to an event. Jump in straight away. Drip-feed vital information subtly. Don’t drop in heavy indigestible chunks of history or description. Make it a central part of the current action.

No Attention to Language

Too many writers are so busy “telling a story” that they fail to choose their words carefully enough. All writers should try to increase their vocabulary; not by using fancy words just for the sake of it — writing should always be clear — but by using intriguing language in new ways. Wind doesn’t only blow. It can rip, roar, strangle, whip. Be imaginative. It’s not only what you say but the way you say it.

Absence of Imagery and Reliance on Cliches

Too much fiction is flat because it lacks vibrant images. Cliches are similes and metaphors that have been so overworked they cease to mean anything and sound limp and stale, like as cold as ice, as black as coal. Don’t say, “she sighed with relief”; think of another way someone might show relief. Match your imagery to the story and character. If your main character is always rushing about, use imagery relating to speed. Send him to the greyhound track to act out his scenes or place him by a railway line where express trains thunder past. If your character is depressed then send her into tunnels, underpasses, cellars and basements. Reinforce the prevailing mood, but avoid the obvious. Don’t draw the reader’s attention to what you’re doing. Just do it.

No Sense of Place

People are not only the result of their genes, but are shaped by their environment. Show the readers where your characters live and work. If it’s the sprawling suburbs, then show us. What does a suburban avenue, sound and smell like? How does the light shine on it? Show us its life — a man delivering charity bags from door to door, wheelie bins standing by gates. If someone lives in a filthy hovel behind the gasworks, let’s see, hear and touch it. Too many writers let their characters float around in a vacuum. Don’t forget to engage all the senses. Most writers describe how things look, but how does fear taste? How does anger smell? What does beauty sound like? Be adventurous.

No Shape or Structure

All fiction, but especially the short story, works best when it concentrates on one person in one situation that takes place in a reasonably short space of time. A short story expresses a moment of change and charts the journey through this change and shows what happens at the far end. Begin the story as close as possible to the moment of change. Don’t waffle on once the change and its aftermath has happened. Don’t allow yourself to be sidetracked. Learn how to pace a story, when to give and when to withhold information, when and how to create tension, speed things up, slow things down. This is done by carefully choosing words, not only for the sound they make but the length of syllables etc. Writing is a craft as much as an art. If a writer needs to introduce flashback, it should be carefully sign-posted in and out, to avoid confusion. Shifts in viewpoint should also be carefully introduced.

Poor Dialogue Skills

Dialogue in fiction isn’t real but it must sound real. Keep it sharp. Don’t allow your characters to make long confessional speeches or engage in too much cozy chit-chat. Use it to provide essential information and above all to show character.

Lack of Technical Knowledge

All writers should learn or brush up their grammar by learning why things are so. The most common mistakes, such as confusion of “it’s” and “its,” “your” and “you’re” mark you as a beginner. Learn the reasons behind the rules and you can’t possibly get it wrong. Only when you know the rules inside out can you be brave enough to break them. The best way to learn how to do it is to read as much published fiction as you can. If you read plenty by a variety of authors you cannot possibly “pick up” their style. It will, on the contrary, help develop your own.

My Top Tip

When you think your story is the best you can make it, put it aside and leave it for as long as possible — minimum one week. Then read it out aloud. Your errors will leap up at you like snarling dogs! Now rewrite it.

Copyright © 2002 Sally Zigmond

These are some humorous poems by a poet named Kenn Nesbitt.

Why don’t you try writing a few yourselves?

I Have to Write a Poem

I have to write a poem

but I really don’t know how.

So maybe I’ll just make a rhyme

with something dumb, like “cow.”

Okay, I’ll write about a cow,

but that’s so commonplace.

I think I’ll have to make her be…

a cow from outer space!

My cow will need a helmet

and a space suit and a ship.

Of course, she’ll keep a blaster

in the holster on her hip.

She’ll hurtle through the galaxy

on meteoric flights

to battle monkey aliens

in huge karate fights.

She’ll duel with laser sabers

while avoiding lava spray

to vanquish evil emperors

and always save the day.

I hope the teacher likes my tale,

“Amazing Astro Cow.”

Yes, that’s the poem I will write

as soon as I learn how.

–Kenn Nesbitt

My Dog Ate My Homework

My dog ate my homework.

That mischievous pup

got hold of my homework

and gobbled it up.

My dog ate my homework.

It’s gonna be late.

I guess that the teacher

will just have to wait.

My dog ate my homework.

He swallowed it whole.

I shouldn’t have mixed it

with food in his bowl.

–Kenn Nesbitt

The Tiger and the Zebra

The tiger phoned the zebra

and invited him to dine.

He said “If you could join me

that would simply be devine.”

The zebra said “I thank you,

but respectfully decline.

I heard you ate the antelope;

he was a friend of mine.”

On hearing this the tiger cried

“I must admit it’s true!

I also ate the buffalo,

the llama and the gnu.

And yes I ate the warthog,

the gazelle and kangaroo,

but I could never eat a creature

beautiful as you.

“You see I have a secret

I’m embarrassed to confide:

I look on you with envy

and a modicum of pride.

Of all the creatures ever known,”

the tiger gently sighed,

“It seems we are the only two

with such a stripy hide.

“Now seeing how we share this

strong resemblance of the skin,

I only can conclude that we are

just as close as kin.

This means you are my brother

and, though fearsome I have been,

I could not eat my brother,

that would surely be a sin.”

The zebra thought, and then replied

“I’m certain you are right.

The stripy coats we both possess

are such a handsome sight!

My brother, will you let me

reconsider if I might?

My calendar is empty so

please let us dine tonight.”

The tiger met the zebra in

his brand-new fancy car

and drove him to a restaurant

which wasn’t very far.

And when they both were seated

at a table near the bar,

the zebra asked “What’s on the grill?”

The tiger said “You are.”

“But please, you cannot dine on me!”

the outraged zebra cried.

“To cook me up and eat me

is a thing I can’t abide.

You asked me for your trust

and I unwarily complied.

You said you could not eat me

now you plan to have me fried?”

“And what about the envy

and the modicum of pride?

And what of us as brothers

since we share a stripy hide?”

“I’m sorry,” said the tiger

and he smiled as he replied,

“but I love the taste of zebra

so, in other words, I lied.”

–Kenn Nesbitt

Frank, the Frog Collector

I’m Frank, the frog collector,

and I’m happy to report

my collection’s nearly finished;

I have frogs of every sort.

I record them in my journal

so that every single frog

is accounted for completely

with an entry in my log.

I have hundreds, maybe thousands

of amphibians at home.

I have frogs of quilted fabric.

I have frogs of gleaming chrome.

I have frogs of painted porcelain,

and frogs of brass and tin.

I have frogs you open up

to find another frog within.

There are small magnetic tree frogs

clinging gently to the fridge

and Louisiana bullfrogs

on a plastic bayou bridge.

I have frogs on ancient bicycles

with shiny silver bells.

I have frogs proposing marriage

to their froggy mademoiselles.

You’ll see frogs ascending ladders.

You’ll see frogs descending stairs,

yes, and frogs reclining dreamily

in comfy leather chairs.

I have frogs with pink umbrellas.

I have frogs engrossed in books.

Even frogs that dangle fishing poles

in nonexistant brooks.

My abode is filled with frogs

from top to bottom, front to back.

There are frogs in every corner,

every crevice, every crack.

There is only one that’s missing;

just one blank space in my log.

So I’m begging, mom and dad,

can I please have a REAL frog?

–Kenn Nesbitt

My Elephant Thinks I’m Wonderful

My elephant thinks I’m wonderful.

My elephant thinks I’m cool.

My elephant hangs around with me

and follows me into school.

My elephant likes the way I look.

He thinks that I’m fun and smart.

He thinks that I’m kind and generous

and have a terrific heart.

My elephant thinks I’m brave and bold.

He’s proud of my strength and guts.

But mostly he likes the way I smell.

My elephant thinks I’m nuts.

–Kenn Nesbitt

This is the final part of the story, actually entitle “Leiningen versus the ants” by Carl Stephenson.
Although there are not many comments for this story, its ok as I presume mayy people are away on holiday.

This will be my last post for at least two weeks as I am going to America tonight for a 2 week study trip with other Singaporean educators. If  I can post from there, I will try to do so.

Then out of the inferno of his bewilderment rose a terrifying inspiration. Yes, one hope remained, and one alone. It might be possible to dam the great river completely, so that its waters would fill not only the water ditch but overflow into the entire gigantic “saucer” of land in which lay the plantation.

The far bank of the river was too high for the waters to escape that way. The stone breakwater ran between the river and the plantation; its only gaps occurred where the “horseshoe” ends of the water ditch passed into the river. So its waters would not only be forced to inundate into the plantation, they would also be held there by the breakwater until they rose to its own high level. In half an hour, perhaps even earlier, the plantation and its hostile army of occupation would be flooded.

The ranch house and outbuildings stood upon rising ground. Their foundations were higher than the breakwater, so the flood would not reach them. And any remaining ants trying to ascend the slope could be repulsed by petrol.

It was possible–yes, if one could only get to the dam! A distance of nearly two miles lay between the ranch house and the weir–two miles of ants. Those two peons had managed only a fifth of that distance at the cost of their lives. Was there an Indian daring enough after that to run the gauntlet five times as far? Hardly likely; and if there were, his prospect of getting back was almost nil.

No, there was only one thing for it, he’d have to make the attempt himself; he might just as well be running as sitting still, anyway, when the ants finally got him. Besides, there was a bit of a chance. Perhaps the ants weren’t so almighty, after all; perhaps he had allowed the mass suggestion of that evil black throng to hypnotize him, just as a snake fascinates and overpowers.

The ants were building their bridges. Leiningen got up on a chair. “Hey, lads, listen to me!” he cried. Slowly and listlessly, from all sides of the trench, the men began to shuffle towards him, the apathy of death already stamped on their faces.

“Listen, lads!” he shouted. “You’re frightened of those beggars, but you’re a damn sight more frightened of me, and I’m proud of you. There’s still a chance to save our lives–by flooding the plantation from the river. Now one of you might manage to get as far as the weir–but he’d never come back. Well, I’m not going to let you try it; if I did I’d be worse than one of those ants. No, I called the tune, and now I’m going to pay the piper.

“The moment I’m over the ditch, set fire to the petrol. That’ll allow time for the flood to do the trick. Then all you have to do is wait here all snug and quiet till I’m back. Yes, I’m coming back, trust me”–he grinned–”when I’ve finished my slimming-cure.”

He pulled on high leather boots, drew heavy gauntlets over his hands, and stuffed the spaces between breeches and boots, gauntlets and arms, shirt and neck, with rags soaked in petrol. With close-fitting mosquito goggles he shielded his eyes, knowing too well the ants’ dodge of first robbing their victim of sight. Finally, he plugged his nostrils and ears with cotton-wool, and let the peons drench his clothes with petrol.

He was about to set off, when the old Indian medicine man came up to him; he had a wondrous salve, he said, prepared from a species of chafer whose odor was intolerable to ants. Yes, this odor protected these chafers from the attacks of even the most murderous ants. The Indian smeared the boss’ boots, his gauntlets, and his face over and over with the extract.

Leiningen then remembered the paralyzing effect of ants’ venom, and the Indian gave him a gourd full of the medicine he had administered to the bitten peon at the water ditch. The planter drank it down without noticing its bitter taste; his mind was already at the weir.

He started of towards the northwest corner of the trench. With a bound he was over–and among the ants.

The beleaguered garrison had no opportunity to watch Leiningen’s race against death. The ants were climbing the inner bank again-the lurid ring of petrol blazed aloft. For the fourth time that day the reflection from the fire shone on the sweating faces of the imprisoned men, and on the reddish-black cuirasses of their oppressors. The red and blue, dark-edged flames leaped vividly now, celebrating what? The funeral pyre of the four hundred, or of the hosts of destruction? Leiningen ran. He ran in long, equal strides, with only one thought, one sensation, in his being–he must get through. He dodged all trees and shrubs; except for the split seconds his soles touched the ground the ants should have no opportunity to alight on him. That they would get to him soon, despite the salve on his boots, the petrol in his clothes, he realized only too well, but he knew even more surely that he must, and that he would, get to the weir.

Apparently the salve was some use after all; not until he reached halfway did he feel ants under his clothes, and a few on his face. Mechanically, in his stride, he struck at them, scarcely conscious of their bites. He saw he was drawing appreciably nearer the weir–the distance grew less and less–sank to five hundred–three–two–one hundred yards.

Then he was at the weir and gripping the ant-hulled wheel. Hardly had he seized it when a horde of infuriated ants flowed over his hands, arms and shoulders. He started the wheel–before it turned once on its axis the swarm covered his face. Leiningen strained like a madman, his lips pressed tight; if he opened them to draw breath. . . .

He turned and turned; slowly the dam lowered until it reached the bed of the river. Already the water was overflowing the ditch. Another minute, and the river was pouring through the near-by gap in the breakwater. The flooding of the plantation had begun.

Leiningen let go the wheel. Now, for the first time, he realized he was coated from head to foot with a layer of ants. In spite of the petrol his clothes were full of them, several had got to his body or were clinging to his face. Now that he had completed his task, he felt the smart raging over his flesh from the bites of sawing and piercing insects.

Frantic with pain, he almost plunged into the river. To be ripped and splashed to shreds by paranhas? Already he was running the return journey, knocking ants from his gloves and jacket, brushing them from his bloodied face, squashing thern to death under his clothes.

One of the creatures bit him just below the rim of his goggles; he managed to tear it away, but the agony of the bite and its etching acid drilled into the eye nerves; he saw now through circles of fire into a milky mist, then he ran for a time almost blinded, knowing that if he once tripped and fell…. The old Indian’s brew didn’t seem much good; it weakened the poison a bit, but didn’t get rid of it. His heart pounded as if it would burst; blood roared in his ears; a giant’s fist battered his lungs.

Then he could see again, but the burning girdle of petrol appeared infinitely far away; he could not last half that distance. Swift-changing pictures flashed through his head, episodes in his life, while in another part of his brain a cool and impartial onlooker informed this ant-blurred, gasping, exhausted bundle named Leiningen that such a rushing panorama of scenes from one’s past is seen only in the moment before death.

A stone in the path . . . to weak to avoid it . . . the planter stumbled and collapsed. He tried to rise . . . he must be pinned under a rock . . . it was impossible . . . the slightest movement was impossible . . . .

Then all at once he saw, starkly clear and huge, and, right before his eyes, furred with ants, towering and swaying in its death agony, the pampas stag. In six minutes–gnawed to the bones. God, he couldn’t die like that! And something outside him seemed to drag him to his feet. He tottered. He began to stagger forward again.

Through the blazing ring hurtled an apparition which, as soon as it reached the ground on the inner side, fell full length and did not move. Leiningen, at the moment he made that leap through the flames, lost consciousness for the first time in his life. As he lay there, with glazing eyes and lacerated face, he appeared a man returned from the grave. The peons rushed to him, stripped off his clothes, tore away the ants from a body that seemed almost one open wound; in some paces the bones were showing. They carried him into the ranch house.

As the curtain of flames lowered, one could see in place of the illimitable host of ants an extensive vista of water. The thwarted river had swept over the plantation, carrying with it the entire army. The water had collected and mounted in the great “saucer,” while the ants had in vain attempted to reach the hill on which stood the ranch house. The girdle of flames held them back.

And so imprisoned between water and fire, they had been delivered into the annihilation that was their god. And near the farther mouth of the water ditch, where the stone mole had its second gap, the ocean swept the lost battalions into the river, to vanish forever.

The ring of fire dwindled as the water mounted to the petrol trench, and quenched the dimming flames. The inundation rose higher and higher: because its outflow was impeded by the timber and underbrush it had carried along with it, its surface required some time to reach the top of the high stone breakwater and discharge over it the rest of the shattered army.

It swelled over ant-stippled shrubs and bushes, until it washed against the foot of the knoll whereon the besieged had taken refuge. For a while an alluvial of ants tried again and again to attain this dry land, only to be repulsed by streams of petrol back into the merciless flood.

Leiningen lay on his bed, his body swathed from head to foot in bandages. With fomentations and salves, they had managed to stop the bleeding, and had dressed his many wounds. Now they thronged around him, one question in every face. Would he recover? “He won’t die,” said the old man who had bandaged him, “if he doesn’t want to.”

The planter opened his eyes. “Everything in order?” he asked.

“They’re gone,” said his nurse. “To hell.” He held out to his master a gourd full of a powerful sleeping draught. Leiningen gulped it down.

“I told you I’d come back,” he murmured, “even if I am a bit streamlined.” He grinned and shut his eyes. He slept.