FABRE'S BOOK OF INSECTS 



trying its strength, or swinging lazily at the end of its 

 rope. 



Its antennae now are free, and wave about; its legs 

 work their joints; those in front open and shut their 

 claws. I know hardly any more curious sight than this 

 tiny acrobat hanging by the tip of its body, swinging at 

 the least breath of wind, and making ready in the air 

 for its somersault into the world. 



Sooner or later, without losing much time, it drops 

 to the ground. The little creature, no bigger than a 

 Flea, has saved its tender body from the rough earth 

 by swinging on its cord. It has hardened itself in the 

 air, that luxurious eiderdown. It now plunges into the 

 stern realities of life. 



I see a thousand dangers ahead of it. The merest 

 breath of wind could blow it on to the hard rock, or into 

 the stagnant water in some deep cart-rut, or on the 

 sand where nothing grows, or else on a clay soil, too 

 tough for it to dig in. 



The feeble creature needs shelter at once, and must 

 look for an underground refuge. The days are growing 

 cold, and delays are fatal to it. It must wander about 

 in search of soft soil, and no doubt many die before 

 they find it. 



When at last it discovers the right spot it attacks the 

 earth with the hooks on its fore-feet. Through the mag- 



[38] 



