“So hungry that they make a dash for the tender young leaves and opening flowers, and in less than no time strip an orchard bare. If the nests are very numerous whole forests are browsed to the last leaf.” “And then?” “To prevent these ravages the mayor’s notice is heeded. Some time in the winter these terrible bags of dry leaves and silk are detached from the trees, hedges, and bushes, and the nests with their occupants are burned. In spring it would be too late: the caterpillars would all have left their quarters.” CHAPTER XLI ENEMIES OF THE GRAPEVINE One morning Jules was sent to the mill to give notice that his uncle’s wheat was ready to be ground. After he had left the village his road ran along beside a vineyard that showed signs of neglect, weeds and thistles springing up unchecked. Nevertheless the vines were pleasing to the eye in the spring freshness of their tender green shoots, with their clusters of blossoms still in the bud and their delicate tendrils reaching out for something to cling to. Here and there leaves of faded and ragged appearance, with others that were dried up and shriveled, took away somewhat from the general effect; but they were not very numerous and Jules failed to notice them at first. Afterward, for the last half of the way along the vineyard, these withered leaves became so abundant that the young vine shoots looked as if they had been swept by a fire. “Some ravager is at work here,” said the boy to himself, for his eyes were daily becoming more keenly observant. “Let’s look into this a little.” The vines were pitiful to behold, their young shoots showing more and more toward the growing end, where the grape clusters were forming, dried and crumpled leaves, some of these being rolled up like cigars. Under closer scrutiny there was often to be seen an insect with a long beak, a weevil of a brilliant metallic green color. Without question this beautiful weevil was the cause of the mischief. Insects and cigars, especially the former, sparkling creatures in the bright light of the sun, were soon collected by Jules as specimens to take home. Just then One-eyed John, the owner of the vineyard, came along. “What are you doing there?” he demanded. “Catching a few of these insects that are ruining your vines,” the boy replied. “Let me see them.” “Here they are.” “And you say they are ruining my vines?” “I think so. I have just seen some of them making these cigars.” “Oh, bosh, you silly! Do you think they would take the trouble to make cigars out of leaves? They don’t smoke. It’s the moon that has burned my vines, the moon.” And so, satisfied with his explanation, One-eyed John turned on his heel and went off, whistling a tune. But he would stop whistling when, three years later, he had to pull up those vines, exhausted as they were by the cigar-rollers. Nevertheless he would not take back what he had said: the moon had caused all the mischief.