Author's Preface 



bleating as she nibbles away at her ring of 

 grass. Moreover, should food be scarce in 

 my immediate vicinity, there are always 

 youthful purveyors who, lured by visions of 

 lollipops, are ready to scour the country to 

 collect victuals for my Beetles. 



They arrive, not one but a dozen, bringing 

 their contributions in the queerest of re- 

 ceptacles. In this novel procession of gift- 

 bearers, any concave thing that chances to be 

 handy is employed: the crown of an old hat, 

 a broken tile, a bit of stove-pipe, the bottom 

 of a spinning-top, a fragment of a basket, an 

 old shoe hardened into a sort of boat, at a 

 pinch the collector's own cap. 



" It's prime stuff this time," their shining 

 eyes seem to proclaim. " It's something 

 extra special." 



The goods are duly approved and paid 

 for on the spot, as agreed. To close the 

 transaction in a fitting manner, I take the 

 victuallers to the cages and show them the 

 Beetle rolling his pill. They gaze in wonder 

 at the funny creature that looks as if it were 

 playing with its ball; they laugh at its 

 tumbles and scream with delight at its clumsy 

 struggles when It comes to grief and lies on 

 its back kicking. A charming sight, 

 especially when the lollipops bulging in the 



