“You are something like the sphinx moth,” she said.
“Yes. I am a sphinx,” was the answer. “All of us look somewhat alike, though some are smaller than others, and colours vary. But our wings are always clear cut, our scales close fitting, and our colours quiet; a tailormade air about us, as it were. We are sometimes called hawk moths, because our wings are narrow, long, and strong, and sometimes hummingbird moths, because we fly at twilight, and poise above a flower while extracting its honey, just as hummingbirds do.”
“But why are you named the sphinx?” asked Ruth. “You haven’t told me that.”
“Well, you see, our larvæ have a queer habit of rearing themselves up in front and remaining in that position, and the wise men thought they looked something like the old Egyptian Sphinx. There’s a sphinx moth caterpillar on that tomato vine.”
“He is awful fat and green,” said Ruth. “Can you show me his cocoon?”
Even the larva laughed when Ruth asked this question.
“Dear, dear! what ignorance!” said the moth. “Just put your hand in that soft earth and take out what is there.”
Ruth obeyed, and presently brought up a dark brown case, pointed at each end.
“That is our pupa case,” explained the moth, “and in it is wrought our wonderful transformation. We do not weave cocoons, but the little brown case holds the same miracle of life and growth.”
“Well, there is just as much life and growth under my old blanket as in any pupa case, or cocoon, that was ever made.”