“Maybe you can’t,” was the short answer, “and I dare say you can’t tell how we use our snouts either. We punch holes with them in plums, peaches, cherries, and other fruits, not to mention nuts and the bark of trees. I am a peach curculio, but that is not important. We all work in the same way—that is, drop an egg in the hole made by our snout, then use the snout again to push the egg down. Mrs. Plum Weevil is busy now in the plum orchard back of us; so of course she couldn’t come to this meeting. ‘Duty before pleasure,’ she said. She will lay eggs in quite a number of plums, and the plums will drop from the trees before they are ripe.” “And there’ll be a lump of gum on them!” cried Ruth, clapping her hands. The weevil looked at her with approval. “You do notice some things,” she said. “The gum oozes out of the hole made by our snouts. Of course our egg hatches inside the fruit, and the baby has its dinner all around it. As it hasn’t a leg to walk on——” “Dear! dear!” sighed the elater. “You seem to forget that we are trying to keep to the main issue. As I said before——” “You are always saying what you said before,” snapped Mrs. Sawyer. “Now, they are beginning again,” thought Ruth, but the elater paid no attention to Mrs. Sawyer. “As I said before,” he repeated, “we have reason to be proud, for though we build no cities, like ants, wasps, and bees, and make no honey or wax, or have, in fact, any special trades, yet we are interesting and beautiful. The ancient Egyptians thought some of us sacred and worshipped us.” “There!” cried Mrs. Tumble Bug, literally tumbling into their midst. “I couldn’t come at a better time.” Ruth gave a little scream of delight when she saw her, and Mrs. Tumble Bug nodded with the air of an old friend. As usual, her black dress looked neat and clean, though she and her husband had rolled and tumbled all over the road in their effort to get their ball to what they considered the best place for it. They had succeeded, and Mrs. Tumble Bug’s shovel-shaped face wore a broad smile in consequence. “I knew about this meeting,” she said, “but my husband and I agreed that duty should come before pleasure.” “She heard me say that,” whispered the little peach weevil to her nearest neighbour. “I didn’t,” answered Mrs. Tumble Bug. “I have just come. We only found a safe place for our ball a little while ago.” “That ball!” said Mrs. Sawyer in disgusted tones. “I should think you would be tired of it.” “Tired of our ball?” repeated Mrs. Tumble Bug. “Why, our ball is the most important thing in the world. This was a big one, too. We made it in Farmer Brown’s barnyard, and then I laid my eggs in it, and we rolled it all the way here. Of course it grew on the road, and I couldn’t have moved it alone, but my mate helped me. He always helps. Indeed it seems to me tumble bugs are the only husbands in the insect world who care about their children’s future.”