CHAPTER XVII
THE LOCUSTS: THEIR FUNCTION; THEIR ORGAN OF SOUND
“Mind you are ready, children, to-morrow morning, before the sun gets too hot: we are going Locust-hunting.”
This announcement throws the household into great excitement at bed-time. What do my little helpmates see in their dreams? Blue wings, red wings, suddenly flung out fanwise; long, saw-toothed legs, pale-blue or pink, which kick out when we hold their owners in our fingers; great shanks acting as springs that make the insect leap forward like a projectile shot from some dwarf catapult hidden in the grass.
What they behold in sleep’s sweet magic lantern I also happen to see. Life lulls us with the same simple things in its first stages and its last.
If there be one peaceful and safe form of hunting, one that comes within the powers of [[355]]old age and childhood alike, it is Locust-hunting. Oh, what delicious mornings we owe to it! What happy moments when the mulberries are black and allow my assistants to go pilfering here and there in the bushes! What memorable excursions on the slopes covered with sparse grass, tough and burnt yellow by the sun! I retain a vivid recollection of all this; and my children will do the same.
Little Paul has nimble legs, a ready hand and a piercing eye. He inspects the clumps of everlastings where the Tryxalis solemnly nods his sugar-loaf head; he scrutinizes the bushes out of which the big Grey Locust suddenly flies like a little bird surprised by the hunter. Great disappointment on the part of the latter, who, after first rushing off at full speed, stops and gazes in wonder at this mock Swallow flying far away. He will have better luck another time. We shall not go home without a few of those magnificent prizes.
Younger than her brother, Marie Pauline patiently watches for the Italian Locust, with his pink wings and carmine hind-legs; but she really prefers another jumper, the most elegantly attired of all. Her favourite wears [[356]]a St. Andrew’s cross on the small of his back, which is marked by four white, slanting stripes. His livery has patches of verdigris, the exact colour of the patina on old bronze medals. With her hand raised in the air, ready to swoop down, she approaches very softly, stooping low. Whoosh! That’s done it! Quick, a screw of paper to receive the treasure, which, thrust head first into the opening, plunges with one bound to the bottom of the funnel.
Thus are our bags distended one by one; thus are our boxes filled. Before the heat becomes too great to bear, we are in possession of a number of varied specimens which, raised in captivity, will perhaps teach us something, if we know how to question them. Thereupon we go home again. The Locust has made three people happy at a small cost.
The first question that I put to my boarders is this: