“Inside a curled leaf?” added Mrs. Promethea. “That is the safest way. The wind will rock it and——,” “I said nothing about curled leaves,” answered Mrs. Cecropia. “I never use a curled leaf. I leave that for the leaf rollers. I——” “Well, I know swinging would make me ill,” declared Mrs. Polyphemus, “and I prefer the ground for my cocoon.” “Quite right,” agreed Mrs. Hummingbird Moth. “The ground for me, too. Our children always go down and——” “Gracious! you don’t suppose my children would go down in the ground?” asked Mrs. Polyphemus. “No, indeed; they will sleep in their cocoons, among the fallen leaves on top. It is snug and cozy too, this cocoon, or it will be, I should rather say, for it isn’t made yet. I remember mine though. A mass of coarse silk first, and a coating of varnish inside, then more silk, and another coating of varnish. I slept soundly, I can tell you, and when I awoke in the Spring I had only to send from my body a milky fluid, which softened the varnish and silk, until a doorway was made for me to come out of. I felt very weak, miserable, and forlorn just at first. I had but six legs, and my wings seemed of no use whatever, but after I had hung a while to a twig, and my wings had grown dry and strong, I was a different being. My body was lighter and smaller too. Do you know why?” The question came suddenly, and Ruth, though she had been listening intently, could think of no answer. “Because the fluids from it were pumped into my wings,” said Mrs. Polyphemus. “The next time you see a moth just out of its cocoon, hanging by its feet and waving its wings to and fro, you may know it is pumping fluids into them, so they may grow big and strong. You may see many wonderful things if you only keep your eyes open. Well, to go back to my story: After my wings were strong, I could fly and be as happy as I pleased. Now it is time for me to lay my eggs.”