The Life of the Caterpillar 



formation towards the end of May. Their 

 chrysalids are specked with brown on a 

 whitish ground and display on the under sur- 

 face six radiant silvery spots, a sort of decora- 

 tive -tinsel, like so many mirrors. Fixed by 

 the tail with a silken pad, they hang from the 

 top of the dome, swinging at the least move- 

 ment and emitting vivid flashes of light from 

 their reflectors. My children are amazed at 

 this living chandelier. It is a treat for them 

 when I allow them to come and admire it in 

 my animal studio. 



Another surprise awaits them, this time a 

 tragic one, however. A fortnight later, the 

 Butterflies emerge. I have placed under the 

 cover a large sheet of white paper, which will 

 receive the desired products. I call the child- 

 ren. What do they see on the paper? 



Large spots of blood. Under their very 

 eyes, from up there, at the top of the dome, 

 a butterfly lets fall a great red drop : plop ! 

 No joy for the children to-day; anxiety rather, 

 almost fear. 



I send them away, saying to them : 



"Be sure and remember, kiddies, what you 

 have just seen; and, if ever any one talks to 

 you about showers of blood, don't be silly and 

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