148 THE BROOK BOOK 



Seized by a sudden inspiration, I split open one of 

 the cones. Was the riddle solved? No; but 

 there was a clue, and one quite worth following. 

 In a small, tidy compartment near the center of 

 the cone was a small grub or worm which squirmed 

 feebly, as if it did not fancy being wakened so 

 rudely from its nap. It must have been asleep for 

 a long time, and stubbornly refused to be fed or 

 to return to its nest. It finally fell a victim to a 

 pet canary, which did not seem to be injured by 

 swallowing it. 



Now, how did the grub get into the cone, 

 where did the cone itself come from, and what 

 would happen next? These were the questions 

 which challenged my wits. I somehow felt sure 

 that it would take at least a year to find it all out, 

 but I certainly could watch the twigs in my room 

 and the trees along the stream. 



I built a rather unsteady rectangular frame of 

 strips of wood, and covered the whole with mos- 

 quito netting. This I placed over the jar in which 

 the twigs stood in water. If anything hatched out 

 of those cones, I meant to make its acquaintance. 

 Well, several things did come out, leaving neat 

 little holes behind them. These little things were 

 small gray flies, which roosted airily on the mosquito 

 netting. They resembled mosquitoes so much that 

 I was recommended by an unsympathetic family to 

 dispose of them at my earliest convenience. This 

 I did with some reluctance and set about watching 

 the willow trees. The old cones had little holes 

 in them and some of them had fallen to the 



