The second one had
its front feet and head out, and was struggling frantically to
free its shoulders. A fresh wet spot on the top of another cocoon,
where the moth had ejected the acid with which it is provided to
soften the spinning, was heaving with the pushing head of the
third.
Molly-Cotton was in sympathy with the imprisoned moths.
"Why don't you get something sharp, and split the cocoons so they
can get out?" she demanded. "Just look at them struggle! They
will kill themselves!"
Then I explained to her that if we wanted big, perfect moths we
must not touch them. That the evolution of species was complete to
the minutest detail. The providence that supplied the acid,
required that the moths make the fight necessary to emerge alone,
in order to strengthen them so they would be able to walk and
cling with their feet, while the wings drooped and dried properly.
That if I cut a case, and took out a moth with no effort on its
part, it would be too weak to walk, or bear its weight, and so
would fall to the floor.
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