OCTOBER. 
A MINOR CHAMELEON. 
GOMETAING was moving about the leaves 
of the currant-bushes as though it were 
in trouble, examining every twig, never for 
one instant keeping still. 
The something was a caterpillar—not quite 
an ordinary one in some ways. ‘To begin 
with, it was not wholly horrible to look upon. 
It was creamy, banded with brown, and this, 
one would think, would be an unhealthily 
conspicuous dress where caterpillars were 
concerned. 
But see now! A passing titmouse—all 
blue-and-yellow daintiness—spotted the move- 
ment among the currant-leaves, and flew to 
the spot, hovered a space, then flew away 
again, disappointed. 
Even the tit’s eyes—which are not bad sub- 
stitutes for microscopes—had failed to make 
out that caterpillar, stretched instantly straight 
and rigid along a twig as soon as the bird’s 
shadow crossed the sun. It wanted the tit 
to believe that it was a twig ; and he did. 
Presently the caterpillar began madly to 
