74 
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL. 
the Mole Cricket borne helplessly along by the sweeping 
flood. When night comes on, great Moths fly past, and 
“ the Beetle wheels his droning flight .’ 5 The Fireflies also 
light their lamps and hold their silent concerts, the occu- 
pants of each tree flashing in unison and making sheet 
lightning in the woods. And what shall I say of the garden 
Bugs on the dinner table and the Blister Beetles and the 
squeaking Green Crickets ? And what of the Musk-rats 
which come in to eat them ? 
This is par excellence the season for rambling abroad. 
At every turn there is something new to see. Out of 
earth and rock and leafless bough the magic touch of 
the monsoon has brought life and greenness. You can 
almost see the broad-leaved vines grow and the twining 
creepers work their snaky way, linking tree to tree and 
binding branch to branch. 
But nothing lives for itself alone. All this luxuriance 
of tender foliage has scarcely appeared when the 
Caterpillar is ready to eat it, for the Butterfly had 
laid her eggs on the naked branch before the leaves 
were out. Green Crickets, too, with insatiable appetites, 
are under the leaves, trying not to be seen, and birds 
with hungry families, are hunting for them. Leaf 
