“I wondered if you ever meant to stop talking,” said Mrs. Promethea. “There are others, you know. I really can’t see how you Polyphemuses grow up, considering the careless way your cocoons lie about on the ground. Perhaps the people who say that caterpillar children are not cared for have you in mind. Generally I believe it is better for children to help themselves. You never hear caterpillars say, ‘I can’t do this, and will some one please help me to change my skin, or some one spin my cocoon for me?’ No, they do these things for themselves, and ask no advice about them either. Still I do believe one can’t be too careful about cocoons, for once you are in one and asleep you can’t defend yourself. It is much better to make them safe to begin with. That was what I thought when I made mine. I enclosed it in a leaf, and then to make sure the leaf wouldn’t fall in the Winter winds, I fastened it to a branch of the tree with a thread of silk. No wind or anything else could break that thread. It was so strong. Just try it,” she added to Ruth, “the next time you find a Promethean cocoon. You will probably see a number together, but all will have the same strong fastenings. Another thing, I didn’t have to make a hole to get out by, as Mrs. Polyphemus told us she did. My cocoon had a valve in the top, and I had only to crawl through that. Talk about difference in looks! My mate is so unlike me you would think he belonged to another species. Our children are very handsome. Fully two inches long and blue-green in colour, not to mention the row of lovely black knobs along their bodies.”
“They can’t compare with ours,” said a fine cecropia, settling on a branch and spreading her beautiful wings.
She was very large and very handsome. Her wings were grayish, with many markings of white, brick-red, pink, and violet, and with splendid eye spots on each.
“We are the largest of the giant silkworms,” she said, “and our larvæ are as handsome in their way as we are in ours. You can see them on the plum trees over there. They are wearing their last suits, of course, for, like all caterpillars, they eat so much they need bigger skins every little while.”
“They are pretty for caterpillars,” agreed Ruth, looking at the blue-green creatures, with their knobs of red, yellow, and blue, all bearing black bristles.
“They are pretty enough for anything,” declared Mrs. Cecropia, with decision. “Our cocoon is large and fine too. Indeed, everything about us is first class. We never enclose our cocoon in a leaf, though sometimes a dead leaf may cling to the outside. We spin it along a branch, to which it is securely fastened. Some are larger and looser than others, but all are beauties.”
“Well, I can’t boast of fine clothes,” said a plainly dressed little moth, who was quietly hiding on a shrub, “but I belong to a very old family, and a very useful one. We were known and appreciated in Asia more than four thousand years ago. I, too, came from a tiny egg. My body was black, covered by stiff hairs, and of course I was hungry. I liked best the leaf of the mulberry tree, and I ate so much I had to change my dress often, as all caterpillars do. They all get too big for their skins, and that is what I did, but, finally, I lost my appetite, and I knew the time had come for me to spin my silken cradle. And now I may boast with good reason, for I am the true silkworm. My cocoon is spun in one thread a quarter of a mile long.”
“Indeed!” said Mrs. Cecropia. “I should like to know how you measured it.”
“I haven’t measured it,” the silkworm answered, “but the wise men have. Not my particular cocoon, you understand, but those of our family, and they are said to average that. They are very pretty too, these cocoons. I suppose you have all seen them? I was nine days making mine, and three days after that I cast off my baby clothes and went to sleep. I was very weak when I awoke and left my cocoon cradle, but I soon grew stronger and could walk, for you must know that the family to which I belong is not in the habit of flying. Its members are homebodies and seldom use their wings. Many of us, I may say the majority, do not live to be moths, for our cocoons are so precious, because of the long silk thread, that the larvæ are killed before they come out.”
“Why?” said Ruth.