“But it doesn’t seem to be very nice,” began Ruth. Then she stopped, for Mrs. Sawyer was looking at her and the borers were nodding their heads again. “Our children do not saw,” said the borers, “but they do bore, and it is pretty much the same thing for the tree.” “My friends,” broke in a very solemn voice. Every beetle stopped talking, and Ruth jumped to her feet, then flopped down on the grass again, waiting for what was coming. The speaker, a large, clean-looking beetle, had just flown to a twig in the very middle of the meeting. He was black in colour, well sprinkled above and below with pale straw yellow in dots and points, but the queer thing about him was the two oval velvety black spots, each with a narrow line of straw colour around it, on his thorax. They were like great eyes, and made him look very wise. “He is the eyed-elater,” whispered Mrs. Sawyer to Ruth. “There he is speaking again.” “My friends,” the big beetle was saying in tones as solemn, as before, “the important thing in any meeting is to keep to the main issue.” “The main issue?” said the goldsmith beetle, a beautiful little creature with wing covers of golden yellow, and a body of metallic green covered with white, woolly fuzz. “What is the main issue?” “Dinner,” replied the tiger beetle, returning to his old place. “If it isn’t breakfast or supper.” “No, my friend,” said the eyed-elater, with a grave glance, “the main issue is——” Then he stopped and fixed his two real eyes and the two spots which looked like eyes on some small beetles which were leaping in the air, turning somersaults, and making quite a noise. “Will you be still?” he said in his sternest voice. “How foolish,” said Mrs. Sawyer, “to expect click beetles to be still!” But Ruth was all curiosity. “I’ve seen you before,” she said, going closer and touching one of the funny little fellows. Suddenly it curled up its legs, dropped as if shot, then lay like one dead. “Here, here!” called the elater. “No more of that! We know all about your tricks!” “All right,” said the would-be dead one, and he gave a click, popped into the air several inches, and came down on his back. “That won’t do at all,” he said, and, clicking and popping once more, he came down on his feet. “There,” he added, “you need to have patience with click beetles. You ought to know that, friend elater, for you are one of us.” “Well, I’m bigger, and not so foolish, and my children are not so harmful as yours. Think of being a parent of those dreadful wire worms! That is what you click beetles are, and you know the farmer hasn’t a worse enemy. Now we must get back to the main issue.” “_Back?_” said Mrs. Sawyer. “Were we ever there to begin with? You can’t scare me,” she added, “no matter how hard you stare. You haven’t any more eyes than the rest of us. Those two spots are not real eyes, and you know it.” “The main issue,” repeated the elater in a very loud voice, “is, What makes us beetles?”