He
looked carefully at it; the needles moved. He went closer and saw a mass
of grayish-white caterpillars creeping along the branches, gnawing off
the needles. Every branch was covered with them. The crunch, crunch in
the trees came from the working of their busy little jaws. Gnawed-off
needles fell to the ground in a continuous shower, and from the poor
pines there came such a strong odour that the dog suffered from it.
"What can be the meaning of this?" wondered Karr. "It's too bad about
the pretty trees! Soon they'll have no beauty left."
He walked from tree to tree, trying with his poor eyesight to see if all
was well with them.
"There's a pine they haven't touched," he thought. But they had taken
possession of it, too. "And here's a birch--no, this also! The
game-keeper will not be pleased with this," observed Karr.
He ran deeper into the thickets, to learn how far the destruction had
spread. Wherever he went, he heard the same ticking; scented the same
odour; saw the same needle rain. There was no need of his pausing to
investigate. He understood it all by these signs. The little
caterpillars were everywhere. The whole forest was being ravaged by
them!
All of a sudden he came to a tract where there was no odour, and where
all was still.
"Here's the end of their domain," thought the dog, as he paused and
glanced about.
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