152 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 



during the war than ever before; and I can re- 

 member many evenings in Paris and London 

 when a sinister half-moon kept the faces of mil- 

 hons turned searchingiy upward. But whether 

 in city or jungle, sky-scanning is a neck-aching 

 affair. 



The following day ivxy experience with the 

 Pterodactyl Pups was not forgotten, and as a 

 direct result of looking out for soaring vultures 

 and eagles, with hopes of again seeing a white- 

 plumaged King and the regal Harpy, I caught 

 sight of a tiny mote high up in mid-sky. I 

 thought at first it was a martin or swift; but it 

 descended, slowly spiraling, and became too 

 small for any bird. With a final, long, descend- 

 ing curve, it alighted in the compound of our 

 bungalow laboratory and rested quietly — a great 

 queen of the leaf-cutting Attas returning from 

 her marriage flight. After a few minutes she 

 stirred, w^alked a few steps, cleaned her antennae, 

 and searched nervouslv about on the sand. A 

 foot avvay was a tiny sprig of indigo, the off- 

 spring of some seed planted two or three cen- 

 turies ago by a thrifty Dutchman. In the shade 

 of its three leaves the insect paused, and at once 

 began scraping at the sand with her jaws. She 



