“But that would put people out, to have to leave their business and go and hunt for caterpillar-nests and burn them. At least, that’s what One-eyed John said when he read the mayor’s notice.” “Leave their business, you say? Is it leaving one’s business to go and save the crops when they are threatened? Laws, my young friend, are rules made for the general good, and we should all obey them scrupulously. If there are any narrow-minded objectors or stupid grumblers—any One-eyed Johns, in short—that choose to take offense, so much the worse for them: they will have to obey in any event, for the common interest is not to be compromised by the foolishness of a few. “The mayor’s notice had especial reference to a caterpillar whose ravages are, in some seasons, truly calamitous. So abundant is this caterpillar in central and northern France that it is called, briefly, the common caterpillar. It is encountered everywhere, on fruit-trees and forest trees, in garden walks and on plants and hedges, and even on the bark of trees, sometimes in countless legions. “It is dark brown in color with six rows of little tubercles or pimples of the same hue, each bearing a tuft of long, red hair. The ring-like segment to which is attached the last pair of false legs, and also the following segment, have each a plump red nipple which can at the caterpillar’s pleasure recede under the skin or stand out prominently. The butterfly developing from this caterpillar is pure white except on the abdomen, which is brown. Furthermore, the female has a thick tuft of red hair at the end of the abdomen. Its purpose is shown when the eggs are laid: after these are deposited, to the number of three or four hundred, the butterfly rubs off the hair and places it over the eggs. The laying takes place in July and the eggs, deposited in a little heap on a leaf, are rose red.” “But if they are on a leaf,” objected Emile, “they must fall from the tree when the leaves fall, and then the wind might blow them away.” “The butterfly that lays its eggs on a leaf knows very well what it is about. On the other hand, those butterflies that lay eggs that are to go through the winter and hatch in the spring are very careful not to entrust their eggs to a leaf, which will soon fall to the ground. They make their eggs fast to the bark. But whence do they get their knowledge of the future? Who told them the leaves would fall and therefore would be insecure resting-places for the eggs? They do not learn this by experience, for they have never seen the autumnal shedding of leaves, having been born when the foliage is already well advanced for their nourishment, and laying their eggs and dying while it is still on the trees. If, then, experience cannot account for it, we must ascribe the insect’s mysterious foreknowledge to the incomprehensible inspiration of instinct, which sees the invisible and knows the unknown because there is a Sovereign Intelligence that knows all and orders all.