Little Paul has nimble legs, a ready hand and a piercing eye. He inspects the clumps of everlastings where the Tryxalis solemnly nods his sugar-loaf head; he scrutinizes the bushes out of which the big Grey Locust suddenly flies like a little bird surprised by the hunter. Great disappointment on the part of the latter, who, after first rushing off at full speed, stops and gazes in wonder at this mock Swallow flying far away. He will have better luck another time. We shall not go home without a few of those magnificent prizes. Younger than her brother, Marie Pauline patiently watches for the Italian Locust, with his pink wings and carmine hind-legs; but she really prefers another jumper, the most elegantly attired of all. Her favourite wears a St. Andrew’s cross on the small of his back, which is marked by four white, slanting stripes. His livery has patches of verdigris, the exact colour of the patina on old bronze medals. With her hand raised in the air, ready to swoop down, she approaches very softly, stooping low. Whoosh! That’s done it! Quick, a screw of paper to receive the treasure, which, thrust head first into the opening, plunges with one bound to the bottom of the funnel. Thus are our bags distended one by one; thus are our boxes filled. Before the heat becomes too great to bear, we are in possession of a number of varied specimens which, raised in captivity, will perhaps teach us something, if we know how to question them. Thereupon we go home again. The Locust has made three people happy at a small cost. The first question that I put to my boarders is this: “What function do you perform in the fields?” You have a bad reputation, I know; the text-books describe you as noxious. Do you deserve this reproach? I take the liberty of doubting it, except, of course, in the case of the terrible ravagers who form the scourge of Africa and the east. The ill repute of those voracious eaters has left its mark on you all, though I look upon you as much more useful than injurious. Never, so far as I know, have our peasants complained of you. What damage could they lay to your charge? You nibble the tops of the tough grasses which the Sheep refuses to touch; you prefer the lean swards to the fat pastures; you browse on sterile land where none but you would find the wherewithal to feed himself; you live upon what could never be used without the aid of your healthy stomach. Besides, by the time that you frequent the fields, the only thing that might tempt you, the green wheat, has long since yielded its grain and disappeared. If you happen to get into the kitchen-gardens and levy toll on them to some slight extent, it is not a rank offence. A man can console himself for a piece bitten out of a leaf or two of salad.