At the time for going home, each easily recovers either his own thread or one or other of the neighbouring threads, spread fanwise by the diverging herd; one by one the scattered tribe line up on the common ribbon, which started from the nest; and the sated caravan finds its way back to the manor with absolute certainty.
Longer expeditions are made in the daytime, even in winter, if the weather be fine.

Our caterpillars then come down from the tree, venture on the ground, march in procession for a distance of thirty yards or so.

The object of these sallies is not to look for food, for the native pine-tree is far from being exhausted: the shorn branches hardly count amid the vast leafage.

Moreover, the caterpillars observe complete abstinence till nightfall.

The trippers have no other object than a constitutional, a pilgrimage to the outskirts to see what these are like, possibly an inspection of the locality where, later on, they mean to bury themselves in the sand for their metamorphosis.
It goes without saying that, in these greater evolutions, the guiding cord is not neglected.