THE ALDER FRINGE 



one species of butterfly might perish from the 

 earth. 



The Wanderer butterfly has long been known 

 to be fond of brookside paths. In and out among 

 the shadows it takes its zigzag flight; now resting 

 for a moment on an alder stem, 

 now lost in the dense foliage. 

 This rover was ever a puzzle 

 to other brook lovers. It was 

 odd, too, that these creatures 

 should have preferences. Are 

 the waters of the Little Indian 

 sweeter than those of yonder 

 willow-haunted stream? I may 

 follow the banks of my own 

 meadow brook through its whole 

 course without meeting one 

 Wanderer. Half a mile away 

 is an insignificant rill, dried up 

 at midsummer, but the butterflies 

 are always dodging in and out 

 among the alders and wild-cherry 

 sprouts which mark the border. 

 May I not call this a rather invidious distinction? 



With unprejudiced though spectacled eyes the 

 entomologist looks at this question. If the Wan- 

 derer prefers alder-fringed brooks there must be 

 a reason for its preference. The answer to the 

 question lurks deep under the mass of down on 

 the alder stem. The Wanderer, really no mere 

 adventuress but an anxious mother, has left her 

 eggs among the clinging aphids. All is explained 



WANDERER BUTTERFLIES 



