The Sacred Beetle: the Pear 



ing eyes; they would Hke to add it to the 

 contents of their toy-box. It is much 

 prettier in shape than an agate marble, much 

 more graceful than an ivory egg or a box- 

 wood top. The material, it is true, seems 

 none too nicely-chosen; but it is firm to the 

 touch and very artistically curved. In any 

 case, the little pear discovered underground 

 must not go to swell the nursery collection 

 until we have found out more about it. 



Can it really be the Sacred Beetle's work? 

 Is there an egg inside it, a grub? The 

 shepherd assures me that there is. A 

 similar pear, crushed by accident in the 

 digging, contained, he says, a white egg, the 

 size of a grain of wheat. I dare not believe 

 it, so greatly does the object which he has 

 brought me differ from the ball which I 

 expected to see. 



To open the mysterious prize and ascertain 

 its contents would perhaps be imprudent: 

 such an act of violence might jeopardize the 

 life of the germ within, always provided 

 that the Scarab's egg be there, a matter of 

 which the shepherd seems convinced. 

 Besides, I say to myself, the pear-shape, so 

 totally opposed to all our accepted ideas, is 

 probably accidental. Who knows if luck 

 will ever give me anything like it again? I 

 8i 



