The speaker was a hairy caterpillar, chestnut brown in the middle, and black at each end.
“That’s the woolly bear,” explained the sphinx. “Just pick him up, and see what will happen.”
“I know,” answered Ruth, but nevertheless she took the little brown fellow in her hand, whereupon he promptly curled up in a tight ball and rolled to the ground.
“I will do it every time,” said the caterpillar. “I have been called the hedge hog because of that cute trick.”
“It is cute,” agreed Ruth, “but what do you mean by your blanket?”
“Oh, as to that, I don’t fool after cocoons, or pupa cases, or the rest of it. I simply take off my hair when I am ready for my long sleep, and make it into a blanket, which covers me snugly.”
“But it is a cocoon just the same,” persisted Ruth.
“Well, you may call it what you please, I say it is a blanket. When I wake from my sleep under it I am no longer a caterpillar, but a moth.”
“Like me,” added a dull yellow moth, spreading her black dotted wings. “I am the Isabella, if you care to know.”
“So you see,” rejoined the woolly bear, “it really doesn’t matter whether it is a cocoon, a pupa case, or a blanket which encloses the glory of our transformation, the marvel of it is just the same.”