Insects 369 



about daybreak some finer morning there is a 

 round hole in the earth's surface, a hole more 

 than half an inch across and running down 

 to deeps unknown. Something crawls out 

 of it — a horny russet-yellow creature with 

 six legs each ending in two sharp hooks 

 reflexed like a fish-hook. Its impulse is still 

 to go higher. It crawls up something firm, 

 as a post or wall or tree-trunk, sometimes 

 going ten feet above the earth. Once sure 

 it is high enough, it sinks in its hooked feet 

 as firmly as possible, and waits. 



Presently the horny back cracks open. It 

 parts, at first almost imperceptibly, but still it 

 parts. After an hour a new creature shows 

 inside the parting. It is dark and wet, and 

 before long begins to bulge outward. By 

 looking close you see that the hooked feet 

 are holding against considerable strain. It is 

 the locust, no more a nymph, pulling itself 

 together before launching itself on the new, 

 wide, sunlit world. By and by the head 

 shows, the eyes of it peeling off their horn 

 coverings as though they were outworn 

 glasses. Fore legs, pushed gingerly out, un- 

 fold and stretch themselves to rig a purchase 

 upon the horny shell. There is a sort of 

 surge when the wings come through the 

 crack. They are not the glancing wings 

 that a little later will charm all eyes, but 



