There is no part of their lives that makes such pictures
of mother-love as birds and animals afford. The male finds a mate
and disappears. The female places her eggs and goes out before her
caterpillars break their shells. The caterpillar transforms to the
moth without its consent, the matter in one upbuilding the other.
The entire process is utterly devoid of sentiment, attachment or
volition on the part of the creatures involved. They work out a
law as inevitable as that which swings suns, moons, and planets
in their courses. They are the most fragile and beautiful result
of natural law with which I am acquainted.
CHAPTER III The Robin Moth: Cecropia
When only a little child, wandering alone among the fruits and flowers
of our country garden, on a dead peach limb beside the fence I found
it--my first Cecropia. I was the friend of every bird, flower, and
butterfly. I carried crumbs to the warblers in the sweetbrier; was
lifted for surreptitious peeps at the hummingbird nesting in the
honeysuckle; sat within a few feet of the robin in the catalpa;
bugged the currant bushes for the phoebe that had built for years
under the roof of the corn bin; and fed young blackbirds in the
hemlock with worms gathered from the cabbages.
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