268 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 



of each strove to fulfil their destiny, and for a 

 little time the rocks and I wondered at it to- 

 gether. 



In this little arena, floored with sand, dotted 

 with rushes and balconied with boulders, many 

 hundreds of butterflies were gathered. There 

 were five species, all of the genius Catopsilia, but 

 only three were easily distinguishable in life, the 

 smaller, lemon yellow statira, and the larger, 

 orange argente and philea. There was also 

 eubele, the migrant, keeping rather to itself. 



I took some pictures, then crept closer; more 

 pictures and a nearer approach. Then suddenly 

 all rose, and I felt as if I had shattered a won- 

 derful painting. But the sand was a lodestone 

 and drew them down. I slipped within a yard, 

 squatted, and mentally became one of them. Si- 

 lently, by dozens and scores, they flew around me, 

 and soon they eclipsed the sand. They were so 

 closely packed that their outstretched legs 

 touched. There were two large patches, and a 

 smaller area outlined by no boundary that I 

 could detect. Yet when these were occupied the 

 last comers alighted on top of the wings of their 

 comrades, who resented neither the disturbance 

 nor the weight. Two layers of butterflies 



