2
It was now past mid-day and the nightingale in the syringa-bush could not bear to sing in so great a heat. So he stopped and took an afternoon nap. The swallow flew up aloft to get a breath of fresh air, the ant carried her little white eggs up into the sun and the gardener sat under the big walnut-tree and had his dinner with his wife and children.
But the caterpillar went on eating indefatigably.
Suddenly a multitude of small black dots appeared in the air over the kitchen-garden. They danced up and down and up and down. At last, they hung low down, just above the caterpillar, and he could see that they were nice little animals, with fine, bright wings.
“Who are you? What do you want?” asked the caterpillar.
“We are mothers,” replied the little animals, “and we have come out to look for a place for our children.”
“Well, that’s right and proper enough,” said the caterpillar, who was thinking of what the ant had said. “But I don’t like you, for all that.”
“That’s very sad,” said the animalcules, “for we just happen to be so awfully fond of you.”
And, at that moment, a number of them settled on the caterpillar’s back.
“Oh! Oh!” he screamed. “Murder! Help! Police!”
The little animals flew up again, but remained hovering in the air above the caterpillar.
“But who are you?” he asked and writhed with pain. “What have I done to you that you should ill-treat me so?”
“Every one provides for himself and his,” replied the animalcules, “and we have now provided for our children. We are parasitic flies and our name is Ichneumon: it is not a pretty one, but it happens to be the best we have. For the rest, we are relations of the ants, if you happen to know them.”
“It’s a good enough family,” said the caterpillar and sighed. “But I don’t know why everybody should scold at me and sting me and scoff at me. What is this that you have done to me now?”
“You’ll know soon enough,” said the ichneumons. “Good-bye for the present and thank you.”
Then they soared up aloft and became little black dots again and, at last, disappeared altogether.
But the caterpillar heaved long and deep sighs and ate twice as much cabbage to console himself. Nevertheless, he could not keep from thinking of the uncomfortable visit he had had:
“I have a suspicion,” he said to himself. “An awkward suspicion. If only I could make something of it!”