A MINOR CHAMELEON. 161 
rush about again, with the air of one who is 
given five minutes in which to find something 
that he cannot. It was looking for a place 
in which to change into a chrysalis. The 
chrysalis was already perfectly formed inside 
its skin, in fact. 
Then came the cuckoo. The shaking of 
the branch as the bird alighted was the first 
warning that the caterpillar had. But was it 
nonplussed? Not at all, It just attached a 
thread to the twig, and on a thin line of its 
own making dropped to the ground. 
When the cuckoo had gone it came up 
again, found a snug place in a corner against 
the wall, and began. First, as it hung, there 
was a convulsive wriggle, and then a split; 
and, looking closely, one would have seen 
that the hard skin of the caterpillar had slit 
across the shoulders. Came then more wriggle 
—of the head this time—and slowly out of 
the slit squeezed the head and shoulders of 
the chrysalis. 
So far, so good; the chrysalis was half 
out. Now came the final. Began again the 
wriggles. My, how that thing wriggled !— 
wriggled till at length, with one final spasm 
of monumental struggles, it kicked the last of 
the caterpillar-skin from off its tail, and swung 
clear and free—a mahogany-brown-and-yellow 
