ombined their skilful mimicry. Its colour was the green of the sallow;
its form, the form of the sallow-leaf.

For fifteen days it hung unchanged and motionless. On the sixteenth change
was obviously impending. The upper segments had lengthened, the lower
segments had darkened. On the twentieth day came the last great change of
all.

[Illustration: HE CHOSE THE LOFTIEST BRANCH OF THE LOFTIEST OAK IN THE
FOREST.]

It was a normal July day. Thunder was over the Downs. Now and again great
rain-drops struck the sallow. They were few and far between, however. The
thunder was content to grumble on the hills, leaving the valley to the
sunshine. For all the midday heat the air was laden with moisture. This
was at once both good and bad for the little Emperor, good because it made
the bursting of his cerement easy, bad because it made the drying of his
wings slow.

Still he had no choice in the matter; his time had come, and he must make
the best of it.

[Illustration: WHITES.]

Barely a minute passed between the first yielding of the shell and his
complete emergence. He issued head foremost, groping with bewildered legs
for something to cling to. He struck the only thing within his reach, the
chrysalis case itself. To this he clung with desperation, and he had need
to. As yet he had no means of flight.

There is no room for wing expanse inside a chrysalis. Material for wings
was lying ready on his shoulders, it was moisture laden, packed in
crumpled folds, and lifeless.

* * * * *

[Illustration: BRIMSTONES.]

The thunder passed away seawards, drawing the valley moisture in its
train. From eastward came a gentle drying breeze. It crept from leaf to
leaf with its soft-whispered message until it reached the leaf that most
had need of it.

The little Emperor trembled with excitement. His wings were coming into
being. One by one, like petals of an opening flower, the clinging folds
relaxed and told their secret. One by one the branching nervures hardened.

By sundown the great change of all was over. The Emperor, no longer
little, was fit to mount his throne. Westward, as if in sympathy, the sky
was flooded with imperial purple.

* * * * *

He chose the loftiest branch of the loftiest oak in the forest. Before him
stretched an acre of clearing, thronged with his subjects. Every class was
represented, or rather every class but one. Ages ago the Swallow t