“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.