

146 NATURE IN A CITY YARD 



ions, they do not steal along the under 

 side of the poppies, tapping their vital 

 juices and, one would suppose, indulging 

 in opium drunkenness. Hardly any plant 

 is secure against the aphis. His fat little 

 body, moving almost as slow as a snail 

 even after he has begotten wings, a thing 

 I am sure Reginald will never come to, 

 sprinkles itself alike over leaves and stems, 

 and occasionally the flowers, of chrysanthe- 

 mums, roses, lilies, ivy, golden-rod, and oxa- 

 lis. The hairy defense of the zinnia does 

 not trouble him, and neither heat, moisture, 

 dryness, nor fetor makes him lose his grip. 

 If he should let go of anything, the cater- 

 pillar and beetle and grasshopper are just 

 behind and have good appetites. He 

 breeds with amazing rapidity, multiplying 

 almost before your eyes. Often he de- 

 velops into a pest overnight. He is the 

 cow of the red ant. The ant scales the 

 stalk where this dull-witted, fat, slow- 

 bodied creature is guzzling the sap, and 

 pats and strokes its belly. The aphis 

 gives up something of the sap, and the ant 

 regales upon it. This enables the aphis to 



