Woodland Tales Part 3

It was Adam's favourite tree, they say, in the Garden of Eden. And it grew so high, flowered so wonderfully, and gave so much pleasure that Diablo, who is also called the Devil, wanted to kill it. He made up his mind that he would blight and scatter every s.h.i.+ning leaf of its snowy bloom. So one dark night he climbed a Honey Locust tree near the gate, and swung by his tail over the wall, intending to tear off all the lovely blossoms. But he got a shock when he found that every flower was in the _shape of a cross_, which put them beyond his power to blight. He was furious at not being able to destroy its beauty, so did the worst he could. Keeping away from the cross he bit a piece out of the edge of every snowy flower leaf, and then jumped back to the Honey Locust tree.

The Locust was ashamed when she found that she had helped Diablo to do such a mean bit of mischief, so she grew a bristling necklace of strong spikes to wear; they were so long and sharp that no one since, not even Diablo himself, has ever been able to climb that Honey Locust tree.

But it was too late to save the Dogwood bloom. The bites were out, and they never healed up again, as you can see to this very day.

TALE 9

The Woolly-bear

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Woolly-bear (the moth is 1-1/4 life size)]

Do you know the Woolly-bear Caterpillar? It is divided into three parts; the middle one brown, the two ends black. Everyone notices the Woolly-bear, because it comes out in early spring, as soon as the frost is over, and crawls on the fences and sidewalks as though they belonged to it. It does not seem to be afraid of any one or anything. It will march across the road in front of a motor car, or crawl up the leg of your boot. Sometimes when you brush it off with your hand, little hairs are left sticking in your fingers, because it is really like a small porcupine, protected by short spears sticking out of its skin in all directions. Here at the side of the picture, is one of these hairs seen under a microscope.

Where did the Woolly-bear come from? It was hatched from an egg last summer.

And now what is going to happen? It will stuff itself with rib-gra.s.s or other low plants, till it has grown bigger; then it will get a warning from the All-mother to prepare for the great change. In some low dry place under a log, stone or fence-rail, it will spin a coc.o.o.n with its own spikey hairs outside for a protector. In this rough hairy coffin it will roll itself up, for its "little death," as the Indians call it, and Mother Carey will come along with her sleeping wand, and touch it, so it will go into sound sleep, but for only a few days. One bright sunny morning old Mother Carey comes around again, touches the Woolly-bear bundle-baby, and out of it comes the Woolly-bear, only now it is changed like the Prince in the story into a beautiful Moth called the Tiger-Moth! Out he comes, and if you look up at one end of the coffin he is leaving, you may see the graveclothes he wore when first he went to sleep. Away he flies now to seek his beautiful mate, and soon she lays a lot of eggs, from each of which will come another little Woolly-bear to grow into a big Woolly-bear, and do it all over again.

TALE 10

How the Violets Came

The Meadow she was sorry For her sister Sky, you see, 'Cause, though her robe of blue was bright, 'Twas plain as it could be.

And so she sent a skylark up To trim the Sky robe right With daisies from the Meadow (You can see them best at night).

And every sc.r.a.p of blue cut out To make those daisies set Came tumbling down upon the gra.s.s And grew a violet.

TALE 11

Coc.o.o.ns

Everyone loves to go a-hunting. Our forebears were hunters for so many ages that the hunting spirit is strong in all of us, even though held in check by the horror of giving pain to a fellow being. But the pleasure of being outdoors, of seeking for hidden treasures, of finding something that looks at first like old rubbish, and then turns out to be a precious and beautiful thing, that is ours by right of the old law--finders, keepers. That is a kind of hunting that every healthy being loves, and there are many ways and chances for you to enjoy it.

Go out any time between October and April, and look in all the low trees and high bushes for the little natural rag-bundles called "coc.o.o.ns."

Some are bundle-shaped and fast to a twig their whole length. Some hang like a Santa Claus bag on a Christmas tree; but all may be known by their hairiness or the strong, close cover of fine gray or brown fibre or silk, without seams and woven to keep out the wet.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Coc.o.o.ns]

They are so strongly fastened on, that you will have to break the twig to get the bundle down. If it seems very light, and rattled when you shake it, you will likely see one or more small, sharp, round holes in it. This means that an insect enemy has destroyed the little creature sleeping within. If the Coc.o.o.n is perfect and seems solid and heavy, take it home, and put it in a cardboard, or wooden box, which has a wire screen, or gauze cover. Keep it in a light place, not too dry, till the springtime comes; then one day a miracle will take place. The case will be cut open from within, and out will come a gorgeous Moth. It is like the dull, dark grave opening up at the resurrection to let forth a new-born, different being with wings to fly in the heavens above.

In the drawing I have shown five different kinds of bundle-baby, then at the bottom have added the jug-handled bundle-baby of the Tomato worm; it does not make a Coc.o.o.n but buries itself in the ground when the time comes for the Great Sleep. Kind Mother Earth protects it as she does the Hickory Horn-Devil, so it does not need to make a Coc.o.o.n at all.

There is a wonderful story about each of these bundle-babies. You will never get weary if you follow and learn them, for each one differs from the last. Some of them I hope to tell you in this book, and before we begin I want you to know some of the things that men of science have learned, and why a b.u.t.terfly is not a Moth.

TALE 12

b.u.t.terflies and Moths

Do you remember the dear old fairy tale of Beauty and the Beast? How Beauty had to marry the Beast to save her father's life? But as soon as she had bravely agreed to sacrifice herself--as soon as she gave the fateful "Yes" the Beast stood up on his hind legs, his horns, hoofs and hide rolled off, and he was turned back into his true shape, a splendid young Prince whom she could not help loving; and they lived happy ever after.

Do you know that just such transformations and happy weddings are going on about us all the time? The Beast is an ugly Caterpillar, the Princess Beauty is the b.u.t.terfly or the Moth. And when the Beast is changed into the Prince Charming and meets with Princess Beauty, they are just as madly happy as they tell it in the fairy books. I know it, for I have seen the transformation, and I have seen the pair go off on their wedding flight.

Men of science have been trying to explain these strange transformations, and to discover why the Prince and Princess do not need to eat or drink, once they have won their highest form, their life of wings and joy. But they have not got much farther than giving names to the things we have long loved and seen as children, dividing the winged wonders into two big families called b.u.t.terflies and Moths.

Do you know the difference between a b.u.t.terfly and a Moth?

Taken together they make a large group that are called Scale-wings, because they alone among insects, have scales or tiny feathers like dust on the wings. b.u.t.terflies are Scale-wings that fly by day, and have club-shaped feelers; they mostly fold one wing against the other when they alight, and in the chrysalis, or bundle-baby stage, they are naked and look like an African ear-drop.

Moths are Scale-wings that fly by night, and have switch or feather-shaped feelers; they keep their wings spread open when they alight, and in the bundle-baby stage, they are wrapped in a coc.o.o.n.

There are some that do not keep to these rules, but they are rare, and the shape of the feelers will tell whether it is a Moth or a b.u.t.terfly.

All of these Scale-wings are hatched from eggs, and come first, as a worm, grub, or caterpillar; next as a chrysalis pupa or bundle-baby; last as the winged creature. That is, first a Beast and last a Beauty.

Each of them must at one time be the ugly one, before the great change comes. But I must tell you a truth that the Fairy Books left out, and which maybe you have guessed--Princess Beauty too was at one time forced to live and look like a Beast, till she had fought her own fight, had worked out her own high destiny, and won her way to wings.

TALE 13

The Mourning-cloak b.u.t.terfly, or the Camberwell Beauty

There was once a lady who dwelt in Camberwell. She was so good to see that people called her "The Camberwell Beauty." She dressed so magnificently that her robe was covered with gold, and spangled with precious stones of most amazing colours. Especially proud was she, of the row of big blue diamonds that formed the border; and she loved to go forth into the world to see and be seen; although she knew that the country was full of robbers who would be sure to steal her jewels if they could. Then she made a clever plan, she kept on the beautiful things that she loved to dress in, but over all she hung a black velvet mourning cloak which n.o.body could possibly want to steal. Then she went up and down the roads as much as she pleased.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Mourning-cloak b.u.t.terfly (3/4 life size)]

Well, this story may be not quite true, but it is partly true, and the beautiful lady is known to-day as the Mourning-cloak b.u.t.terfly. There it is, plain to be seen, the black mourning cloak, but peeping from under it, you can see the golden border and some of the blue diamonds too, if you look very carefully.

In the North Woods where I spent my young days, the first b.u.t.terfly to be seen in the springtime was the Mourning-cloak, and the reason we saw it so early in the season, yes, even in the snowtime, was because this is one of the b.u.t.terflies that sometimes sleep all winter, and so live in two different seasons.

Its eggs are laid on the willows, elms, or poplars, in early springtime.

The young soon hatch, and eat so much, and grow so fast, that five weeks after the eggs are laid, and three after they are hatched, the caterpillar is full grown, and hangs itself up as a chrysalis under some sheltering board or rail. In two weeks more, the wonderful event takes place, the perfect b.u.t.terfly comes forth; and there is another Mourning-cloak to liven the roadside, and amaze us with its half-hidden beauty.

TALE 14

The Wandering Monarch

Did you ever read the old Greek story of Ulysses, King of Ithaca, the Wandering Monarch, who for twenty years roamed over sea and land away from home--always trying to get back, but doomed to keep on travelling, homesick and weary, but still moving on; until his name became a byword for wandering?

[Ill.u.s.tration: MONARCH b.u.t.tERFLY

"The Wanderer" in Three Stages: Coc.o.o.n, Caterpillar, and b.u.t.terfly]

In our own woods and our own fields in America we have a Wandering Monarch--the "Big Red b.u.t.terfly" as we children called it--the "Monarch"