The Sacred Beetle in Captivity 



Together with my attempts at home 

 breeding I carried on my direct investiga- 

 tions abroad. The resuks fell far short of 

 my wishes. One day I decided that I must 

 enlist outside help. As it happened, a merry 

 band of youngsters was crossing the plateau. 

 It was a Thursday.^ Untroubled by 

 thoughts of school and horrid lessons, they 

 were coming from the neighbouring village 

 of Les Angles, with an apple in one hand 

 and a piece of bread in the other, and wend- 

 ing their way to the bare hill yonder, where 

 the bullets bury themselves harmlessly when 

 the garrison is at rifle-practice. The object 

 of this early morning expedition was the un- 

 earthing of a few bits of lead, worth perhaps 

 a halfpenny the lot. The small pink 

 blossoms of the wild geranium decked the 

 scanty patches of grass which for a brief 

 moment beautified this Arabia Petraea; the 

 Wheat-ear, in his black-and-white motley, 

 twittered as he flew from one rocky point to 

 another; on the threshold of burrows dug at 

 the foot of the thyme-tufts, the Crickets were 

 filling the air with their droning symphony. 

 And the children were rejoicing in this 

 springtide happiness and rejoicing still more 



1 The weekly holiday in the French schools. — Translator's 

 Note. 



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