THE CHAMELEON 235 



that the eye could hardly follow its motion. 

 But the insect was no longer on the leaf, and 

 the chameleon was munching something with 

 solemn enjoyment. When night fell he would 

 climb to the top of a strong, dry twig, roll and 

 tuck himself into the shape of a pear, with his 

 head in the centre of the bulge. Then he 

 would change his hue to white and open his 

 mouth, which was bright orange internally. 

 The night-flying lepidoptera would take him 

 for a white, yellow-centred flower, and pop in, 

 seeking nectar. But they would not pop out 



again. 



And the greatest wonder of all, — I bent 

 down to examine a gazania; its inch-long 

 golden rays expanded like a wheel of perfect 

 symmetry. Just where the ray bent over the 

 edge of the green, fleshy cup in which the 

 myriad florets were nested, was a small, dark 

 spot. I brought a simple magnifying glass to 

 bear on this, — and what did I see? A 

 labyrinthine crater of many-coloured fire 

 opened. Curve melted and mingled into re- 

 luctant curve, zone into rainbow zone, until the 

 plummet of vision was lost in the radiant 

 abyss. I lifted the flower gently; its texture 

 was thinner than the thinnest paper; beneath 

 it was the desert sand. It had hardly any 



