Mrs. Whitney.
Alive it certainly was, this green , which rose on wings at Ruth’s touch. No wonder Ruth almost screamed aloud in her surprised delight.
“Are you a moonbeam?” she asked. “You are just lovely enough for one.”
“No, I am not a moonbeam,” was the answer, “but I am the moon moth, the Luna. I am a messenger for the night-blooming flowers, for only the long tongues of the may reach through the deep tubes to their honeyed hearts. I was taking my day nap when you touched me.”
“I didn’t know you were there,” said Ruth, “you looked so much like a leaf.”
“That is what I wished to look like. Many others are sleeping the same way. You wouldn’t know them unless they moved. Our larvæ are not sleeping, however. I can answer for that. They are quite awake and busy eating the leaves of hickory, , and other trees of that family. Maybe you have seen them? They are large and handsome, and they spin very of silk, wrapped about with a dead leaf, very much like those made by the polyphemus babies.”
“Now you know your never had the quantity of silk in it that mine had,” said a yellowish-brown moth, rising from the trunk of a nearby tree.
She was very handsome. There were window-like spots on her wings, and dusky bands 215edged with pink. Not far away were her larvæ, having a good time chewing the leaves of a tree. They were light green, with an yellow line on each side, and a purplish-brown V-shaped mark near the end of their bodies.
“You may always know the polyphemus children by that mark,” said Mrs. Polyphemus, for it was she who had interrupted the Luna’s remarks. “Now, speaking of cocoons,” she went on, “as I said before, ours contain a great deal of silk. They have been used in the making of silk too. Shall I tell you my story?”
Of course Ruth wanted to hear it.
“Very well,” said Mrs. Polyphemus. “I belong to the family of giant silkworms, though, of course, we are not worms. I began my life on an elm leaf. It was a lovely morning in May when I was hatched, and the world seemed a beautiful place to live in. I did not spend much time admiring the scenery, though, for I was hungry. I 216ate the shell of my egg for the first course, then I began to chew elm leaves, and I kept it up . Naturally I grew, and I changed my skin five times. When I was ready to make my cocoon I found a on the ground among the dead leaves, and a mass of gray-white silk all about it, and this wrapped in a dead leaf——”
“What?” interrupted Mrs. Cecropia, “spin your cocoon on the ground? What a careless habit. Why not fasten it to the twig of a tree or——”
“Inside a curled leaf?” added Mrs. Promethea. “That is the safest way. The wind will rock it and——,”
“I said nothing about curled leaves,” answered Mrs. Cecropia. “I never use a curled leaf. I leave that for the leaf rollers. I——”
“Well, I know swinging would make me ill,” declared Mrs. Polyphemus, “and I prefer the ground for my cocoon.”
“Quite right,” agreed Mrs. 217Moth. “The ground for me, too. Our children always go down and——”
“Gracious! you don’t suppose my children would go down in the ground?” asked Mrs. Polyphemus. “No, indeed; they will sleep in their cocoons, among the fallen leaves on top. It is snug and too, this cocoon, or it will be, I should rather say, for it isn’t made yet. I remember mine though. A mass of coarse silk first, and a coating of inside, then more silk, and another coating of varnish. I slept soundly, I can tell you, and when I awoke in the Spring I had only to send from my body a fluid, which the varnish and silk, until a was made for me to come out of. I felt very weak, , and forlorn just at first. I had but six legs, and my wings seemed of no use whatever, but after I had hung a while to a twig, and my wings had grown dry and strong, I was a different being. My body was and smaller too. Do you know why?”
The question came suddenly, and Ruth, though she had been listening intently, could think of no answer.
“Because the fluids from it were pumped into my wings,” said Mrs. Polyphemus. “The next time you see a moth just out of its cocoon, hanging by its feet and waving its wings to and fro, you may know it is pumping fluids into them, so they may grow big and strong. You may see many wonderful things if you only keep your eyes open. Well, to go back to my story: After my wings were strong, I could fly and be as happy as I pleased. Now it is time for me to lay my eggs.”
“I wondered if you ever meant to stop talking,” said Mrs. Promethea. “There are others, you know. I really can’t see how you Polyphemuses grow up, considering the careless way your cocoons lie about on the ground. Perhaps the people who say that children are not cared for have you in mind. Generally I believe it is better for children to help themselves. You never hear say, ‘I can’t do this, and will some one please help me to change my skin, or some one spin my cocoon for me?’ No, they do these things for themselves, and ask no advice about them either. Still I do believe one can’t be too careful about cocoons, for once you are in one and asleep you can’t defend yourself. It is much better to make them safe to begin with. That was what I thought when I made mine. I enclosed it in a leaf, and then to make sure the leaf wouldn’t fall in the Winter winds, I fastened it to a branch of the tree with a thread of silk. No wind or anything else could break that thread. It was so strong. Just try it,” she added to Ruth, “the next time you find a Promethean cocoon. You will probably see a number together, but all will have the same strong fastenings. Another thing, I didn’t have to make a hole to get out by, as Mrs. Polyphemus told us she did. My cocoon had a valve in the top, and I had only to crawl through that. Talk about difference in looks! My mate is so unlike me you would think he belonged to another species. Our children are very handsome. two inches long and blue-green in colour, not to mention the row of lovely black knobs along their bodies.”
“They can’t compare with ours,” said a fine cecropia, settling on a branch and spreading her beautiful wings.
She was very large and very handsome. Her wings were grayish, with many markings of white, brick-red, pink, and violet, and with splendid eye spots on each.
“We are the largest of the giant silkworms,” she said, “and our larvæ are as handsome in their way as we are in ours. You can see them on the plum trees over there. They are wearing their last suits, of course, for, like all caterpillars, they eat so much they need bigger skins every little while.”
“They are pretty for caterpillars,” agreed Ruth, looking at the blue-green creatures, with their knobs of red, yellow, and blue, all bearing black
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