"Do you know how it hurts to have your leg torn off, boy? Do you know,
children?"
"No," came in a chorus.
The guide took out a piece of paper and drew a picture on it. "There,
every part of that little fellow's body I've drawn has muscles, such
fine muscles no naked eye could ever see them. I'll show them to you
under the microscope in my cabin. Those muscles move the body, and each
muscle is controlled by threads, still more fine, called nerves."
The old man reached out like a flash and pinched Jimmie.
"Ouch!" cried the boy, and there was a shout of laughter from the
children.
"You felt that?"
"I guess I did," said Jim, sulkily.
"Well, that's because you're made something the same way this butterfly
is. When anything hurts us it's because some of our nerves are hurt, and
quick as a flash the news travels to the brain, and we try to get away
from the thing that causes pain--a pinch, perhaps, or, still worse, the
hurt of a poor leg that has been torn off."
"But a butterfly hasn't any brain," objected Jimmie, who was still
cross.
"Hasn't it? Well, we'll see. Now, you watch my pencil." He pointed to
the head of the butterfly. "This little fellow has a very tiny brain
there. Also running through the body, from end to end, is a little tube
through which the food passes. It is in the head above this tube where
the tiny brain is, and from which two little threads run down around
the tube and join to form another little knot of nerve cells like that
of the brain. Then, from this second one there runs a series of little
knots united by fine threads the entire length of the body, one in each
ring of the body. Do you understand that?"
"Yes," piped up Betty, "mother told us an insect is made up of rings,
and--and--" she stammered, surprised at her own boldness, "the word
means cut up into parts."
"Good! Why, that's a real bright girl. Well, from each one of these
knots nerves go to the muscles of the body."
"It's just like a lot of beads on a string," said Hope Stanton.
"So it is, child. So, you see, if we handle an insect roughly, squeezing
it too hard, or breaking a leg or a wing, a message is sent to one of
these little beads or knots or nerve cells, and the poor, helpless
creature suffers pain."
"But I didn't mean to hurt that butterfly!"
"No, of course you didn't. The only way to do," said the old man, "is to
catch them in a net. Make it of bobinet with a rounded bottom, sewing it
to a wire ring and fastening it to a handle that is the right weight and
length for your arm."
"But then, after you caught it, how could you keep it, sir?" asked
Betty.
"There are two merciful ways," said the old man, "of killing insects,
but neither way is safe for children to try. Put a few drops of
chloroform on a piece of cotton under a tumbler turned upside down. Put
the insect inside. It will soon fall asleep without pain. The other is a
cyanide bottle. I have one down at the cabin. It must be kept tightly
corked and never smelled. The cyanide in the bottle is hard and dry.
Several insects may be put into the bottle at the same time. Once there
they die very quickly. After large insects are killed the wings should
be folded over the back, and they should be placed in a little case like
this. See, I'm folding a piece of paper to form a three-cornered case.
Then I bend down one edge to keep the little case closed."
At this moment out flew Lizzie with a curtain which she was going to
shake.
"Here, here!" shouted the old man, "don't shake that; catch that
caterpillar on it. I want it."
Lizzie made a good-natured grab at the caterpillar, and then there was a
cry of pain. "Oh, begorra, begorra, I'm stung by a wasp, I am! Ow!" But
she still kept tight hold of the caterpillar as she danced about.
"No," said the guide, "you're not stung by any wasp. Bring me that!
There, open your hand. You see, the caterpillar stung you."
"Oh my, what a beauty!" exclaimed the children. "But caterpillars don't
sting."
"Oh yes, they do," continued Ben Gile, with a twinkle in his eye; "ask
Lizzie." Lizzie was looking at the palm of her hand, which showed how
badly it had been stung.
"Now, you see, we'll need something to pick up these little creatures
with--a pair of forceps or something of that kind. At least, you must be
very careful."
"And what else do we need?" asked the children.
"A little hand lens will magnify the small parts of an insect a great
deal. It will show you all the tiny hairs on the body, and the little
rings and the feelers and the facets of the eyes, and many another
wonderful thing."
"What are we going to put the bugs in?" inquired Jimmie.
"Lizzie will get you a small wooden box," said Mrs. Reece.
Lizzie went off grumbling something about guides and bites and insects,
but soon she came back with a nice box, and in a minute all the
children's heads were clustered about Ben Gile as he showed them how to
line the box with a layer of cork, how to steam the insects a little if
they were dry, and then how to put the long, slender pins through the
chest of the insect and stick it into the cork.