Seventeen years is a long, long time to be getting ready to fly; yet
that is what the Seventeen-year Locusts, or Cicadas, have to expect.
First, they lie for a long time in eggs, down in the earth. Then, when
they awaken, and crawl out of their shells, they must grow strong enough
to dig before they can make their way out to where the beautiful green
grass is growing and waving in the wind.
The Cicada who got so very much puzzled had not been long out of his
home in the warm, brown earth. He was the only Cicada anywhere around,
and it was very lonely for him. However, he did not mind that so much
when he was eating, or singing, or resting in the sunshine, and as he
was either eating, or singing, or resting in the sunshine most of the
time, he got along fairly well.
Because he was young and healthy he grew fast. He grew so very fast that
after a while he began to feel heavy and stiff, and more like sitting
still than like crawling around. Beside all this, his skin got tight,
and you can imagine how uncomfortable it must be to have one's skin too
tight. He was sitting on the branch of a bush one day, thinking about
the wonderful great world, when--pop!--his skin had cracked open right
down the middle of his back! The poor Cicada was badly frightened at
first, but then it seemed so good and roomy that he took a deep breath,
and--pop!--the crack was longer still!
The Cicada found that he had another whole skin under the outside one
which had cracked, so he thought, "How much cooler and more comfortable
I shall be if I crawl out of this broken covering," and out he crawled.
It wasn't very easy work, because he didn't have anybody to help him. He
had to hook the claws of his outer skin into the bark of the branch,
hook them in so hard that they couldn't pull out, and then he began to
wriggle out of the back of his own skin. It was exceedingly hard work,
and the hardest of all was the pulling his legs out of their cases. He
was so tired when he got free that he could hardly think, and his new
skin was so soft and tender that he felt limp and queer. He found that
he had wings of a pretty green, the same color as his legs. He knew
these wings must have been growing under his old skin, and he stretched
them slowly out to see how big they were. This was in the morning, and
after he had stretched his wings he went to sleep for a long time.
When he awakened, the sun was in the western sky, and he tried to think
who he was. He looked at himself, and instead of being green he was a
dull brown and black. Then he saw his old skin clinging to the branch
and staring him in the face. It was just the same shape as when he was
in it, and he thought for a minute that he was dreaming. He rubbed his
head hard with his front legs to make sure he was awake, and then he
began to wonder which one he was. Sometimes he thought that the old skin
which clung to the bush was the Cicada that had lain so long in the
ground, and sometimes he thought that the soft, fat, new-looking one
was the Cicada. Or were both of them the Cicada? If he were only one of
the two, what would he do with the other?
While he was wondering about this in a sleepy way, an old Cicada from
across the river flew down beside him. He thought he would ask her, so
he waved his feelers as politely as he knew how, and said, "Excuse me,
Madam Cicada, for I am much puzzled. It took me seventeen years to grow
into a strong, crawling Cicada, and then in one day I separated. The
thinking, moving part of me is here, but the outside shell of me is
there on that branch. Now, which part is the real Cicada?"
"Why, that is easy enough," said the Madam Cicada; "You are _you_, of
course. The part that you cast off and left clinging to the branch was
very useful once. It kept you warm on cold days and cool on warm days,
and you needed it while you were only a crawling creature. But when
your wings were ready to carry you off to a higher and happier life,
then the skin that had been a help was in your way, and you did right to
wriggle out of it. It is no longer useful to you. Leave it where it is
and fly off to enjoy your new life. You will never have trouble if you
remember that the thinking part is the real _you_."
And then Madam Cicada and her new friend flew away to her home over the
river, and he saw many strange sights before he returned to the meadow.
[Illustration]