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Updated: May 10, 2025
The canvas of the flowers and caterpillar picture lay on the counter, for the man had just taken it out of the frame. "No," said the dealer, "there is no paper or any kind of lining in the frame just a simple wood backing, you see. It is unusual to back at all, but it is done now and again" and he tapped the loose frame all round. "It is an expensive frame, well made, and with good gilding.
Moreover, the question of health may well be involved. There is nothing to tell us that the Spider, that treat for the Pompilus, is not poison, or at least unwholesome food, to the Bembex, the lover of Gad-flies; that the Ammophila's succulent caterpillar is not repugnant to the stomach of the Sphex fed upon the dry Acridian.
He had already seen such a thing once, at Campemuret, in Orne, where he had been for six years. In this case the caterpillar had gone through the head and out at the nose. But the man remained deaf in that ear ever after, the drum having been pierced. "It's more likely to be a worm," said the priest.
"I'm sure of that," said John, gratefully. "You don't look particularly bucked-up. A grin improves your face, my dear fellow." At this John burst into explosive speech. Those beasts had got hold of Caesar. The Caterpillar stared; he had never heard John let himself go. John's vocabulary surprised him. "Whew-w-w!" he whistled. "Gad! Jonathan, you do pile on the agony. Caesar's all right.
Here, take this gold-dust from my wings as a reward. Oh, how dizzy I am! Caterpillar! you will remember about the food " And with these words the butterfly drooped her wings and died. The green caterpillar, who had not had the opportunity of even saying "yes" or "no" to the request, was left standing alone by the side of the butterfly's eggs.
"I fink," breathed The Seraph, stroking the caterpillar the wrong way, and then looking at his fingers, "I fink that he's witin' to father to tell on you. So there!" I waited to hear no more. Casting my care behind me I sped lightly along the passage between the houses, crossed the Bishop's lawn, and sought Jane in the garden.
To be sure, she was no stranger here at my studio even now there are two of her yonder beneath the spider-nest and was, moreover, an old friend, whose ways were perfectly familiar to me; but this time the insect engaged my particular attention because it was not alone, being accompanied by a green caterpillar bigger than herself, which she held beneath her body as she travelled along on the window-sill so near my face.
Who would suspect this strange atom would turn into a Crab! Well, nobody did. It was called a zoea; but you can call it a Crab caterpillar or larva. The maggot is the larva of the fly, and the zoea is the larva of the Crab. With crowds of its brothers and sisters, the zoea kicks about on the surface of the sea. Fishes, and even great whales, swallow these tiny things by the million.
The caterpillar, gorged with the spoil of the lindens on Chestnut, and weaving his own shroud about him in his lodgment on the brick-work, records the passing of summer by mid-July; and if after that comes August, its breath is thick and short, and September is upon the sojourner before he has fairly had time to philosophise the character of the town out of season.
To conduct his metamorphosis in some quiet corner where he is not poked every morning to see if he is getting stiffer is what your caterpillar really wants. Mine had no private life to mention. They were as much before the world as royalty or an actress. And even those who brought off the first event safely never emerged into the butterfly world. Something would always happen to them.
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