128 The Book of Bugs. 



where the winter things are stored, she can at least lay 

 her eggs near a crevice, confident that her children will 

 know enough, as soon as they come out of the tiny eggs, 

 to creep through the crevice to where wool awaits them. 



Though mamma may have no mouth, each of her chil- 

 dren has, depend upon it. Angelina of the next genera- 

 tion is a tiny thing, dull white in complexion, except 

 where her head and the next joint (you can hardly call it 

 her neck) protrude from her frock. These are of a deli- 

 cate nut-brown. It is not all modesty that makes her 

 clothe herself so completely. The tube, made out of 

 what she feeds upon, is at once a protection from injury 

 and a place of shelter. She is a luxurious creature, and 

 wears silken underwear of her own spinning. All the 

 Tineids are just so, even those that roll up apple-tree 

 leaves to live in. When she has gnawed all the goods 

 within reach, she wanders on a little farther, and appar- 

 ently bites holes in the fabric as much for the fun of it as 

 to satisfy her appetite. As she grows and her frock be- 

 gins to feel tight, she cuts a slit in it and lets in a gusset 

 or triangular gore of new material. A similar insertion 

 is made in the opposite side, and then she reverses her- 

 self head for tail and makes corresponding alterations in 

 the other end. Lengthening is effected by adding to 

 either end. By transferring her from time to time to 

 different colored stuffs the experimenter may give her as 

 variegated a frock as he wishes, and one that illustrates 

 her ideas of dressmaking. 



The importance of having a mouth that is soon to dis- 

 appear is insistent, and if the housewife finds the carpet 

 under the piano, where the servant's broom went all too 

 seldom, piebald where the backing shows through, let 

 her console herself, if she can, with the thought that it is 

 lucky for her that her tiny foe has no such appetite as the 



