At the end of May, and in June, the period of egg-laying, let us inspect the still green and tender peas.  Nearly all the peas invaded show us the multiple perforations already observed on the dry peas abandoned by the weevils.  Does this actually mean that there are several grubs in the pea?  Yes.  Skin the peas in question, separate the cotyledons, and break them up as may be necessary.  We shall discover several grubs, extremely youthful, curled up comma-wise, fat and lively, each in a little round niche in the body of the pea.

Peace and welfare seem to reign in the little community.  There is no quarrelling, no jealousy between neighbors.  The feast has commenced; food is abundant, and the feasters are separated one from another by the walls of uneaten substance.  With this isolation in separate cells no conflicts need be feared; no sudden bite of the mandibles, whether intentional or accidental.  All the occupants enjoy the same rights of property, the same appetite, and the same strength.  How does this communal feast terminate?

Having first opened them, I place a number of peas which are found to be well peopled in a glass test-tube.  I open others daily.  In this way I keep myself informed as to the progress of the various larvae.  At first nothing noteworthy is to be seen.  Isolated in its narrow chamber, each grub nibbles the substance around it, peacefully and parsimoniously.  It is still very small; a mere speck of food is a feast; but the contents of one pea will not suffice the whole number to the end.  Famine is ahead, and all but one must perish.

Soon, indeed, the aspect of things is entirely changed.  One of the grubs—­that which occupies the central position in the pea—­begins to grow more quickly than the others.  Scarcely has it surpassed the others in size when the latter cease to eat, and no longer attempt to burrow forwards.  They lie motionless and resigned; they die that gentle death which comes to unconscious lives.  Henceforth the entire pea belongs to the sole survivor.  Now what has happened that these lives around the privileged one should be thus annihilated?  In default of a satisfactory reply, I will propose a suggestion.

In the centre of the pea, less ripened than the rest of the seed by the chemistry of the sun, may there not be a softer pulp, of a quality better adapted to the infantile digestion of the grub?  There, perhaps, being nourished by tenderer, sweeter, and perhaps, more tasty tissues, the stomach becomes more vigorous, until it is fit to undertake less easily digested food.  A nursling is fed on milk before proceeding to bread and broth.  May not the central portion of the pea be the feeding-bottle of the Bruchid?

With equal rights, fired by an equal ambition, all the occupants of the pea bore their way towards the delicious morsel.  The journey is laborious, and the grubs must rest frequently in their provisional niches.  They rest; while resting they frugally gnaw the riper tissues surrounding them; they gnaw rather to open a way than to fill their stomachs.