The Life of the Caterpillar 



out, come in again, fly up and down, go to and 

 fro, keeping all the time to the neighbour- 

 hood of the chair with its oak-branch. Not 

 one makes for the big table, a few paces far- 

 ther into the room, where the female is wait- 

 ing for them under the trellised dome. They 

 are hesitating, that is clear; they are seeking. 



At last they find. And what do they find? 

 The very twig which in the morning had 

 served the pot-bellied matron as a bed. With 

 wings swiftly fluttering, they alight upon the 

 branch; they explore it above and below, 

 probe it, lift it and move it, until at last the 

 little bit of foliage drops on the floor. The 

 probing between the leaves continues none the 

 less. Under the buffeting of the wings and 

 the clawing of the feet, the stick is now run- 

 ning along the ground, like a scrap of paper 

 pawed by a kitten. 



While the twig is moving away with its 

 band of explorers, two new 'arrivals come 

 upon the scene. On their way, they have to 

 pass the chair, which for a brief spell bore the 

 leafy stick. They stop at it and eagerly in- 

 vestigate the very spot which but now was 

 covered by the branch. And yet, in their case 

 as in that of the others, the real object of their 



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