But against the blackbeetles she was prejudiced. Therefore, when
my wife informed her that MacShaughnassy's aunt had given us an
infallible recipe for their annihilation, she rejoiced.
We purchased the materials, manufactured the mixture, and put it about.
The beetles came and ate it. They seemed to like it. They finished it
all up, and were evidently vexed that there was not more. But they did
not die.
We told these facts to MacShaughnassy. He smiled, a very grim smile, and
said in a low tone, full of meaning, "Let them eat!"
It appeared that this was one of those slow, insidious poisons. It did
not kill the beetle off immediately, but it undermined his constitution.
Day by day he would sink and droop without being able to tell what was
the matter with himself, until one morning we should enter the kitchen to
find him lying cold and very still.
So we made more stuff and laid it round each night, and the blackbeetles
from all about the parish swarmed to it. Each night they came in greater
quantities. They fetched up all their friends and relations. Strange
beetles--beetles from other families, with no claim on us whatever--got
to hear about the thing, and came in hordes, and tried to rob our
blackbeetles of it. By the end of a week we had lured into our kitchen
every beetle that wasn't lame for miles round.
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