Alive it certainly was, this exquisite green moth, which rose on shimmering wings at Ruth’s touch. No wonder Ruth almost screamed aloud in her surprised delight.

“Are you a moonbeam?” she asked. “You are just lovely enough for one.”

“No, I am not a moonbeam,” was the answer, “but I am the moon moth, the Luna. I am a messenger for the night-blooming flowers, for only the long tongues of the moths may reach through the deep tubes to their honeyed hearts. I was taking my day nap when you touched me.”

“I didn’t know you were there,” said Ruth, “you looked so much like a leaf.”

“That is what I wished to look like. Many others are sleeping the same way. You wouldn’t know them unless they moved. Our larvÆ are not sleeping, however. I can answer for that. They are quite awake and busy eating the leaves of hickory, walnut, and other trees of that family. Maybe you have seen them? They are large and handsome, and they spin very snug cocoons of silk, wrapped about with a dead leaf, very much like those made by the polyphemus babies.”

“Now you know your cocoon never had the quantity of silk in it that mine had,” said a yellowish-brown moth, rising from the trunk of a nearby tree.

She was very handsome. There were window-like spots on her wings, and dusky bands edged with pink. Not far away were her larvÆ, having a good time chewing the leaves of a plumb tree. They were light green, with an oblique yellow line on each side, and a purplish-brown V-shaped mark near the end of their bodies.

“You may always know the polyphemus children by that mark,” said Mrs. Polyphemus, for it was she who had interrupted the Luna’s remarks. “Now, speaking of cocoons,” she went on, “as I said before, ours contain a great deal of silk. They have been used in the making of silk too. Shall I tell you my story?”

Of course Ruth wanted to hear it.

“Very well,” said Mrs. Polyphemus. “I belong to the family of giant silkworms, though, of course, we are not worms. I began my life on an elm leaf. It was a lovely morning in May when I was hatched, and the world seemed a beautiful place to live in. I did not spend much time admiring the scenery, though, for I was hungry. I ate the shell of my egg for the first course, then I began to chew elm leaves, and I kept it up steadily. Naturally I grew, and I changed my skin five times. When I was ready to make my cocoon I found a twig on the ground among the dead leaves, and spun a fluffy mass of gray-white silk all about it, and this wrapped in a dead leaf——”

“What?” interrupted Mrs. Cecropia, “spin your cocoon on the ground? What a careless habit. Why not fasten it to the twig of a tree or——”

“Inside a curled leaf?” added Mrs. Promethea. “That is the safest way. The wind will rock it and——,”

“I said nothing about curled leaves,” answered Mrs. Cecropia. “I never use a curled leaf. I leave that for the leaf rollers. I——”

“Well, I know swinging would make me ill,” declared Mrs. Polyphemus, “and I prefer the ground for my cocoon.”

“Quite right,” agreed Mrs. Hummingbird Moth. “The ground for me, too. Our children always go down and——”

“Gracious! you don’t suppose my children would go down in the ground?” asked Mrs. Polyphemus. “No, indeed; they will sleep in their cocoons, among the fallen leaves on top. It is snug and cozy too, this cocoon, or it will be, I should rather say, for it isn’t made yet. I remember mine though. A mass of coarse silk first, and a coating of varnish inside, then more silk, and another coating of varnish. I slept soundly, I can tell you, and when I awoke in the Spring I had only to send from my body a milky fluid, which softened the varnish and silk, until a doorway was made for me to come out of. I felt very weak, miserable, and forlorn just at first. I had but six legs, and my wings seemed of no use whatever, but after I had hung a while to a twig, and my wings had grown dry and strong, I was a different being. My body was lighter and smaller too. Do you know why?”

The question came suddenly, and Ruth, though she had been listening intently, could think of no answer.

“Because the fluids from it were pumped into my wings,” said Mrs. Polyphemus. “The next time you see a moth just out of its cocoon, hanging by its feet and waving its wings to and fro, you may know it is pumping fluids into them, so they may grow big and strong. You may see many wonderful things if you only keep your eyes open. Well, to go back to my story: After my wings were strong, I could fly and be as happy as I pleased. Now it is time for me to lay my eggs.”

“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.

“Because when the larvÆ come out they break the thread. And now perhaps you understand how very useful we are, for all the silks, satins, ribbons, and velvets in the world are made by us.”

Ruth’s eyes grew wide with astonishment.

“It is a big boast, isn’t it?” said a very small straw-coloured moth, flitting rapidly about. “It is a true one, though. My children make cocoons too, and I made one myself, but it was quite unlike a silkworm’s, and I have an idea we are not considered useful either. I do not work among the flowers. I belong to the Wool Exchange, at least that is what somebody said about me once. My eggs will not be laid on a plant, or any growing thing. I shall choose carpet, or fine cloth, or something of that sort, and when my babies hatch they will gnaw away the fibres of the cloth, and eat and eat. Then what they don’t eat they will use to cover themselves with, binding the threads together with silk from their own bodies.”

“I know you, anyway,” said Ruth. “You ate my Winter dress full of holes. At least it was some moths like you.”

“No, my dear, not moths, but their caterpillar babies did the eating.”

“Well, it wasn’t nice, whoever did it,” declared Ruth, with some heat.

“Nice?” repeated Mrs. Clothes Moth. “I suppose it is nice to kill the silkworm babies and make dresses from their cradles, and nice to do a lot of other things that I could mention. I guess you had better not talk.”

Ruth was silent. She felt she had the worst of the argument.

“You must not mind,” whispered a large and beautiful moth whose wings were of many delicate shades of ash-gray marked with black.

Ruth turned to the speaker.

“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.”

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.”

Long after they had drifted by, that gay company of butterflies and moths, Ruth sat thinking of the wonder of it all.

“Didn’t I tell you, Belinda,” she whispered, “didn’t I tell you it was really living in Fairyland, and now, when we can hear what they say, and they tell us such interesting things, it is more Fairyland than ever. The Wind told us to watch and listen, and we will do that. We will watch and listen with all our might, for oh! Belinda, there is such a lot to learn yet.”