"Is not this beautiful, father?" said William.
"Yes, indeed it is, my dear boy," replied Mr. Seagrave. "I fancied that
nothing could be more beautiful than the spot where we reside, but this
surpasses it, not only in variety, but in extent."
"And now let us examine the spring, father," said William, leading the
way to the ravine.
The spring was full and flowing, and the water excellent. They then
directed their steps towards the sandy beach, and, having walked some
time, sat down upon a coral rock.
"Who would have ever imagined, William," said Mr. Seagrave, "that this
island, and so many more which abound in the Pacific Ocean, could have
been raised by the work of little insects not bigger than a pin's
head?"
"Insects, father?" replied William.
"Yes, insects. Give me that piece of dead coral, William. Do you see
that on every branch there are a hundred little holes? Well, in every
one of these little holes once lived a sea-insect; and as these insects
increase, so do the branches of the coral-trees."
"Yes, I understand that; but how do you make out that this island was
made by them?"
"Almost all the islands in these seas have been made by the labour and
increase of these small animals.
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