An inner impulse rent the veil Of his old husk, from head to tail
Came out clear plates of mail.
—Tennyson.
Ruth lay in the grass, under the old tree, watching a dainty little creature with a pale green body and four gauzy wings flashing with all the of the rainbow.
 
“What a beautiful dragon fly,” she said, half under her breath. “I never saw one so lovely before. I wonder if it is a dragon fly. Do you think it is, Belinda?”
 
“I am not a dragon fly,” came in answer from the dainty creature herself. “I’m a lacewing. Why don’t you use your eyes? It’s about time you learned something.”
 
“I do want to learn,” said Ruth . “I am trying all the time. I wish you would tell me things. I thought you were prettier than most dragon flies.”
 
Mrs. Lacewing looked pleased. “Now you show your taste,” she said, “and I am quite willing to help you. Just wait a little while, and see what happens. Then if you don’t like it, well——” And without waiting to say more, or to let Ruth thank her, she was off.
 
“I think she means to come back,” said Ruth, expecting, she scarcely knew what, “and it will be nice, I am sure. Oh, Belinda, isn’t it just like living in Fairyland, since we can hear what they talk about? There! what did I tell you! It is Fairyland.”
 
Ruth added this with a rapturous little squeeze, for just then she saw the lacewing flying toward her, and with her many other beautiful winged creatures.
 
“The order Neuroptera, or the nerve wings,” said the lacewing, flitting close to Ruth, “that is some of them.” Then she introduced Ruth as a friend, adding in a self-satisfied tone: “She thinks I’m beautiful, and I quite agree with her, don’t you?”
 
the audience did. Of course she was beautiful, and, besides, she carried a bag which was not at all pleasant, and they knew they were likely to have the full benefit of it if they contradicted or her.
 
“Now we’ll begin,” she went on, with the air of one who had settled all difficulties, but the next second she stopped, and, looking at a group of caddice flies, she asked sternly:
 
“Why are you here? and bless my wings, if there aren’t dragon flies, and stone flies, and, who would believe it, May flies. Now you know that not one of you belongs to our order.”
 
“Well, we belonged to it once,” answered a caddice fly, speaking for all.
 
67“But I don’t understand,” began Ruth.
 
“Then don’t say anything,” put in a dragon fly, before her. “Keep quiet and listen, and you’ll learn things. Besides, it is very rude to interrupt people.”
 
Ruth felt snubbed, and tried to turn her back on the dragon fly, but, as he seemed to be everywhere at once, she found it impossible.
 
The caddice fly was still speaking. “We can’t always remember,” she said, “and I should like to know what right the wise men have to take us out of one order and put us in a sub-order.”
 
“Right is the last thing they think about,” up a stone fly, “but I really care very little whether I’m called Neuroptera, as I was once, or Plecoptera, as I am now. Life is just as uncertain and full of accidents. Why, my friends, it is the greatest wonder I lived to grow up.” She sighed and began to fan her long, fat body with her broad wings.
 
“You know I was once a water baby.”
 
68“Water baby?” repeated Ruth. “Wouldn’t your wings——”
 
“No they wouldn’t,” said Mrs. Stone Fly, “because I hadn’t any wings then. I was , flat, six-legged, and just the colour of the stone under which I spent most of my young life, hiding. I had to hide, or the boys would have found me and used me for bait. Think of it! Bait!”
 
And Mrs. Stone Fly, quite overcome, could say no more.
 
“We came to make a few remarks,” said one of a of May flies that had been about, “but we must go now. Life is too short for talking.”
 
“Poor things,” said Mrs. Lacewing, “life with them is indeed short. No wonder they are called Ephemerida. Think of living only for a day!”
 
“But they lived a long time as Nymphs,” said the dragon fly, who was still darting about, now here, now there, like a flash of living flame. “I know, because they were water babies like me. They could eat too, then, and the number of times they changed their skins was a caution. Why, my friends, they even change them after they leave the water and have their wings. No other insect does that.”
 
“Now, my story, in the beginning, is something like theirs. I, too, was born in the bottom of the pond and, no doubt, I played with some of you, or I may have tried to make a meal of you. Well, if I did I failed, and I shouldn’t be blamed for the sins of my youth. All of us eat when we can get the chance, and there’s no use in being sorry for the dinner. I suppose you would like to hear how I managed to get into the pond?” He looked at Ruth, who nodded her head, though she was still laughing at the idea of being sorry for a dinner.
 
“You see,” explained Mrs. Lacewing, “the dinner might be your nearest relation.”
 
“Just so,” agreed the dragon fly. “Now my mother, for of course I had a mother, 70though like most pond people I never knew her——”
 
“Do get to the point,” said an ant lion impatiently; “we are all growing old.”
 
“Well, the point is my mother,” answered the dragon fly, undisturbed, “but first I should say that I no longer belong to the order Neuroptera, but to the sub-order Ordonata. It means something about a tooth, but if I have any teeth, I don’t know it. Now to get back to the point: my mother flew down to the water one day, and when she left it there was a cluster of small yellow eggs floating on the surface. I came from one of those eggs, and I didn’t look like a dragon fly, I can tell you. I had six tiny spider-like legs, but not a sign of wings, and when I breathed it was not as I do now, like all perfect insects, through openings on each side of my body. I had gills, and a tube at the end of my body brought fresh water to them. This tube was a funny affair. It really helped me along, for when I water through it I was pushed forward. Then I had a wonderful mouth, with a long under lip, that I could out and catch anything within reach, while I did not need to move my body at all.”
 
“Just like frogs and !” cried Ruth.
 
“Not at all,” answered the dragon fly. “They only send out their tongues. I send out my whole under lip. If you could only keep quiet you would not show your ignorance so plainly.”
 
Once more Ruth was snubbed, and the dragon fly continued:
 
“In time I became a pupa.”
 
Ruth looked the question she dared not ask.
 
“I’ll explain,” said the dragon fly, . “Larva—that’s what I was at first—means mask, or something that hides you. You will find out in time, if you do not know now, that the larva of an insect is really a mask which hides its true form. The of the word is larvæ. Now pupa, plural pupæ, means baby. It is usually the state 72of sleep in which the larva lies after spinning its or cradle, but in my case it didn’t suit at all. Dragon flies, far from sleeping in the pupa state, seem to grow more active, and their appetites are larger. Indeed, I will say right here, everything that came my way, and was not too big, went into my mouth. In fact, I finally reached my limit and burst.”
 
“Gracious!” cried Ruth in a shocked tone. “How did you get yourself together again?”
 
“Well, you see, the whole of me didn’t burst. I simply grew too big for my skin, or my pupa case, as the wise men call it, and it cracked right open. I was climbing on a water plant when this happened, for all at once I had felt a to leave the water and get to the open air. My first effort was to get rid of the useless old shell which still clung to me, but I had quite a before I could do so, and I was very weak and tired. But the result was worth all my labour, for I found myself with these four wings, and the rest of my beautiful body, and I needed only to dry myself before sailing away on the wind, the swiftest thing on wings, and the most mosquito on record. Of course, my legs aren’t arranged for walking. Why should they be? All six of them go forward, as if they were reaching for something, and so they are, reaching for something to eat. betide any insect I start after. I catch him every time. I ought to, for I have thousands of eyes, and I can fly forward, backward, or any old way. I never stop to eat my dinner either. I hold it, and eat it as I go. Now if I had time, I would tell you how the children of Japan make a holiday, and go out to catch us for pets, and how they sing pretty songs to us and——”
 
“It is about time you stopped,” interrupted Mrs. Ant Lion. “You have tried our patience long enough, and I mean to speak this very minute. I’ve been told I am much like the dragon flies,” she added to the company, “but my babies are not at all like theirs. They do not belong to the water, and I am glad of it. I’m tired of water babies. I’ve heard so much of them to-day. My mother had the good sense to lay her eggs in sand, and I shall do the same. I was hungry from the minute I was hatched, and I would have run after something to eat right away, only I found I couldn’t. My legs were in such a way I had to walk backward.”
 
“Backward?” echoed Ruth.
 
“Yes, backward. So there was nothing to do but to dig a trap for my dinner, and I set about it pretty quick. No one showed me how, either. I simply used my shovel-shaped head, and before long I had made quite a pit, broad and rounded at the top, and sloping to a point like a at the bottom. You have seen them, of course?”
 
“I think I have,” answered Ruth.
 
“They are not hard to find if you keep your eyes open,” went on the ant lion.
 
75“Well, as I said, I made one of these pits, and in the funnel end I lay in wait for ants. Soon one came along, slipped over the edge, as I expected, and tumbled right into my open mouth. Nor was she the only one. Some were strong enough to turn, even while they were slipping, and start to crawl up again, but I just heaped some sand on my head and threw it at them, and down they would come. My aim was always good, so were the ants, though I only sucked their juice. Of course I did not leave their skins around to frighten away other ants. I piled them on my head, and gave them a toss, which sent them some distance away. After a time I stopped eating, and made a cocoon. Then I went to sleep!—for many days—during which I changed wonderfully, as any one must know who has seen ant lion babies and now sees me. This is all of my story, and I suppose we will hear about another water baby.”
 
“You shall hear about a water baby,” replied Mrs. Caddice Fly, waving her antennæ by way of , “but tiresome will do for your own homely children. I will begin by saying that, with the accidents of life, it is a wonder that any of us are here. When we caddice flies were hatched we were soft, white, six-footed babies. We were called worms, though we were not worms. Think of it! Soft bodied, with not very strong legs, white, and living at the bottom of the pond. Could anything be worse? No wonder we seemed to do nothing at first but try to get away from things that wanted to eat us. I tell you, pond life is most exciting. After a while the front part of our bodies and our heads began to turn brown, and, as the rest of us was white, and seemed likely to stay so, we all to make a case or house to cover our white part. So we set to work and of bits of sticks, tiny stones, and broken shells, glued together with silk from our own bodies, we made these cases. True, many of us went down the throat of Belostoma, the giant water , before we had finished, but those of us who didn’t crawled into our little houses, locking ourselves in by two strong hooks which grew at the end of our bodies. We could move about, but of course we carried our houses with us and——”
 
“How ridiculous!” said Mrs. Ant Lion. “Why didn’t you stay still?”
 
“Because we didn’t wish to,” answered 78the caddice fly. “We had to eat, and we had to get away from those who wished to eat us. At last we went to sleep, after first spinning a veil of silk over our front and back doors. I can’t answer for the others, but when I awoke I tore open my silken door, threw aside my pupa skin, and found I had wings. Since then I have had a new life, but even that has its enemies, and one never knows what will happen.”
 
With which doleful saying Mrs. Caddice Fly sailed away to the pond to lay some eggs among the water plants.
 
“Dear me,” said Mrs. Lacewing, “we seem to need something cheerful after that. I am glad I never lived in the water, if it makes one so blue. Now I shall tell you what my babies will do, not what I have done. Of course it is the same thing, but it is looking forward rather than to the past. After this meeting is over I shall lay some eggs, on just what plant I haven’t yet decided, but it will be in the midst of a of aphides. Be sure of that. Aphides are plant lice,” she explained, seeing the question in Ruth’s eyes. “You will learn more of them later. Now as to the way I shall lay my eggs: First, from the tip of my body I shall drop a thick gummy fluid, and draw it out into a long, stiff, upright thread, and upon the end of this thread I shall fasten an egg. I shall lay a number of eggs in this way, each on its own pole, so to speak. Some people may think my way odd, but it is very wise. A lacewing knows her children. They are not beautiful. Such short-legged, spindle-shaped things couldn’t be pretty, but they are sturdy, and they have an endless appetite.”
 
“I should think they would feel lonely on those ridiculous poles,” said Mrs. Ant Lion.
 
“Not at all. They are not there long enough to feel lonely. They are in too great a hurry for dinner. They are hungry, with a big H. Now just suppose I should lay my eggs as the rest of you do, ever so many together, what do you think would happen? I will tell you in a few words. The dear child who came out first would eat all his unhatched brothers and sisters. He doesn’t, only because he can’t reach them.”
 
“It’s a wonder he doesn’t eat his pole,” said Ruth, her face showing what she thought of such babies.
 
“Yes, it is,” agreed Mrs. Lacewing, “but, strange to say, he doesn’t seem to care for it. Indeed, he leaves it as quickly as he can, and goes hunting. Of course he needn’t hunt far, for he is in the midst of aphides. Every mother looks out for that, and really it is quite a pleasure to see him suck the juice from aphid after aphid, holding each one high in the air in his own funny way. So you can see why lacewing babies are friends to the farmer and the fruit grower, for aphides kill plants and trees, and young lacewings kill aphides. They can eat and eat and eat, and never grow tired of aphides. Indeed, they really deserve their name—aphislion. 81When they do stop eating it is to fall into their long sleep, but first they weave a cocoon as beautiful as a seed pearl, in which they change into a most lovely creature—one like me. Now our meeting is , and I hope a certain person has learned a few things.”
 
“Oh, ever and ever so many, thank you,” answered Ruth gratefully.