Heredity 



that noise? Is it a little bird chirping in his 

 nest? We must look into the matter and that 

 quickly. True, there is the wolf, who comes 

 out of the woods at this time, so they tell me. 

 Let's go all the same, but not too far: just 

 there, behind that clump of groom. I stand 

 on the look-out for long, but all in vain. At 

 the faintest sound of movement in the brush- 

 wood, the jingle ceases. I try again next day 

 and the day after. This time, my stubborn 

 watch succeeds. Whoosh! A grab of my 

 hand and I hold the singer. It is not a bird; 

 it is a kind of Grasshopper whose hind-legs 

 my playfellows have taught me to like : a poor 

 recompense for my prolonged ambush. The 

 best part of the business is not the two 

 haunches with the shrimpy flavour, but what 

 I have just learnt. I now know, from per- 

 sonal observation, that the Grasshopper sings. 

 I did not publish my discovery, for fear of the 

 same laughter that greeted my story about the 

 sun. 



Oh, what pretty flowers, in a field close to 

 the house ! They seem to smile to me with 

 their great violet eyes. Later on, I see, in 

 their place, bunches of big red cherries. I 

 taste them. They are not nice and they have 

 no stones. What can those cherries be? At 

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