THE SLEEPERS 407 



sands of caterpillars that have bored up through the 

 snow which, falling on a warm earth, has given them 

 the sensation of spring sunshine. The winter butter- 

 fly is a more marked phenomenon, the small tortoise- 

 shell coming forth on any fine day after January has 

 opened, but whether to perish or to go to bed again 

 and appear again later we cannot say. Probably it 

 is only the best sleepers that make that braver spring 

 show when the nettles are up for the grubs to feed 

 upon, and there will be no more relapse into frost 

 and snow. The peacock and the red admiral, on the 

 other hand, are more thorough hibernators, the latter 

 waking so late that there are not a few naturalists 

 who declare that it does not hibernate at all, but is 

 blown here from earlier countries in May after the 

 first spring brood. 



And what is happening in the hive whence comes 

 the soul of the garden as soon as the golden crocus- 

 chalices are full of pollen ? Scarcely a week ago, 

 there passed in and out the narrowed door a few 

 of the workers flying in a forlorn world for exercise 

 or from sheer restlessness. There were even one or 

 two that made a half-hearted attempt to respond 

 to the untimely invitation of the wallflowers. But 

 now the hive is like a city of the dead by com- 

 parison with the summer throng that we saw with 

 Shakespeare's eyes : 



"Stake boot upon the summer's velvet buds. 

 Which pillage they with merry march bring home 

 To the tent-royal of their emperor." 



He who has the somewhat cruel curiosity to take off 

 the roof and lift the quilts shall see a silent throng 



