At a depth of more than six feet you can distinguish the dead leaves at the bottom, the grass, the twigs, and here and there a stone's iridescent outline.

They all lie asleep there, the waste of seasons gone by, soon to be covered by others in their turn.

From time to time out of the depths of these submerged thickets an eft darts up.

He comes circling up, quivering his yellowbanded tail, snatches a mouthful of air, and goes down again head first.

Save for these alarms the pool is untroubled.