The Cicada: the Eggs 



it has to be performed according to the time- 

 honoured rites. 



My gadabouts at last grow calm. I see 

 them attack the earth with the hooked mat- 

 tocks of their fore-feet, digging into it and 

 making the sort of excavation which the 

 point of a thick needle would produce. 

 Armed with a magnifying-glass, I watch them 

 wielding their pick-axes, watch them raking 

 an atom of earth to the surface. In a few 

 minutes a well has been scooped out. The 

 little creature goes down it, buries itself and 

 is henceforth invisible. 



Next day I turn out the contents of the 

 pot, without breaking the clod held together 

 by the roots of the thyme and the wheat. I 

 find all my larvae at the bottom, stopped 

 from going farther by the glass. In twenty- 

 four hours they have traversed the entire 

 thickness of the layer of earth, about four 

 inches. They would have gone even lower 

 but for the obstacle at the bottom. 



On their way they probably came across 

 my thyme- and wheat-roots. Did they stop 

 to take a little nourishment by driving in 

 their suckers? It is hardly probable. A 

 few of these rootlets are trailing at the 

 bottom of the empty pot. Not one of my 

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