152 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 
during the war than ever before; and I can ree 
member many evenings in Paris and London 
when a sinister half-moon kept the faces of mil- 
lions turned searchingly upward. But whether 
in city or jungle, sky-scanning is a neck-aching 
affair. 
The following day my experience with the 
Pterodactyl Pups was not forgotten, and as a 
direct result of looking out for soaring vultures 
and eagles, with hopes of again seeing a white- 
plumaged King and the regal Harpy, I caught 
sight of a tiny mote high up in mid-sky. I 
thought at first it was a martin or swift; but it 
descended, slowly spiraling, and became too 
small for any bird. With a final, long, descend- 
ing curve, it alighted in the compound of our 
bungalow laboratory and rested quietly—a great 
queen of the leaf-cutting Attas returning from 
her marriage flight. After a few minutes she 
stirred, walked a few steps, cleaned her antenna, 
and searched nervously about on the sand. A 
foot away was a tiny sprig of indigo, the off- 
spring of some seed planted two or three cen- 
turies ago by a thrifty Dutchman. In the shade 
of its three leaves the insect paused, and at once 
began scraping at the sand with her jaws. She 
