CHAPTER IV 



THE SACRED BEETLE: THE PEAR 



THE young shepherd who had been told 

 in his spare time to watch the doings 

 of the Sacred Beetle came to me in high 

 spirits, one Sunday in the latter part of June, 

 to say that he thought the time had come to 

 begin our investigations. He had detected 

 the insect issuing from the ground, had dug 

 at the spot where it made its appearance and 

 had found, at no great depth, the queer thing 

 which he Avas bringing me. 



Queer it was and calculated to upset the 

 little that I thought I knew. In shape, it 

 was exactly like a tiny pear that had lost 

 all its fresh colour and turned brown in 

 rotting. What could this curious object be, 

 this pretty plaything that seemed to have 

 come from a turner's workshop? Was it 

 made by human hands? Was it a model of 

 the fruit of the pear-tree intended for some 

 children's museum? One would say so. 



The little ones group themselves round 

 me; they look at the treasure-trove with long- 



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