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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/39206-8.txt b/39206-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9889862 --- /dev/null +++ b/39206-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5082 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Insect Stories, by Vernon L. Kellogg + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license + + +Title: Insect Stories + +Author: Vernon L. Kellogg + +Illustrator: Mary Wellman + Maud Lanktree + Sekko Shimada + +Release Date: March 19, 2012 [EBook #39206] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INSECT STORIES *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Matthew Wheaton and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + American Nature Series + + Group V. Diversions from Nature + + + + + INSECT STORIES + + BY + + VERNON L. KELLOGG + + + _With Illustrations_ + + BY + + MARY WELLMAN, MAUD LANKTREE, AND SEKKO SHIMADA + + + NEW YORK + HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY + 1908 + + + COPYRIGHT, 1908, + BY HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY + Published June, 1908 + + + ROBERT DRUMMOND COMPANY, PRINTERS, NEW YORK + + + TO + DOROTHY S., ANNA F., AND MARY L. + WHO ARE MARY + + + + +PREFATORY NOTE + + +In these days many strange, true stories about animals are being +written and read, but it seems to me that some of our most intimate +and interesting animal companions are being overlooked. So I have +tried to write about a few of them. These stories are true. I know +this, for Mary and I have really seen almost everything I have told; +and they seem to us strange. If there have slipped into the stories +occasional slight attempts to show some reason for the strange things +or to point an unobtrusive moral, it is because the teacher's habit +has overcome the story-teller's intention. So the slips may be +pardoned. + +Of course I recognize that it is taking great chances nowadays with +one's reputation for honesty and truth-telling to write or tell +stories about animal behavior. Nature writers seem to be held, as a +class, not to be above suspicion. But is a truthful man to be kept +silent by criticism or abuse, or, on the other hand, is he to +surrender, even for cash, to bad examples? I call out, "No!" and beat +on the table as I say this until the pens and paper hop, and Mary +asks, "No what?" Which reminds me that I must make some exception to +my sweeping declaration of the truth of the whole of this little book. +I am not responsible for Mary! She is, bless her, a child of dreams, +and sometimes her dreams get into her talk. So some of Mary in this +book is fancy; but the beasties and their doings are--I say it +again--true, quite true. + + V. L. K. +STANFORD UNIVERSITY, CALIFORNIA. + + + + + LIST OF STORIES + + + A NARROW-WAISTED MOTHER + RED AND BLACK AGAINST WHITE + THE VENDETTA + THE TRUE STORY OF THE PIT OF MORROWBIE JUKES + ARGIOPE OF THE SILVER SHIELD + THE ORANGE-DWELLERS + THE DRAGON OF LAGUNITA + A SUMMER INVASION + A CLEVER LITTLE BROWN ANT + AN HOUR OF LIVING; OR, THE DANCE OF DEATH + IN FUZZY'S GLASS HOUSE + THE ANIMATED HONEY-JARS + HOUSES OF OAK + +[Illustration: A NARROW-WAISTED MOTHER] + + + + +A NARROW-WAISTED MOTHER + + +I first got acquainted with Mary when she was collecting tarantula +holes. This appealed to me strongly. It was so much more interesting +than collecting postmarks or even postage-stamps. + +It is part of my work, the part which is really my play--to go out and +look at things. To do the same, I found out, is Mary's play--which is, +of course, her most serious employment. We easily got acquainted when +we first met, and made an arrangement to go out and look at things, +and collect some of them, together. So after Mary had shown me that +collecting tarantula holes is really quite simple--although at first +thought of it you may not think so--I proposed to her to come along +and help me collect a few wasp holes. They are smaller of course than +tarantula holes and do not make quite such a fine showing when you get +them home, but they have several real advantages over the spider +burrows, only one of which I need tell you now. This one is, that you +can watch the wasps make their holes because they do it in the +daytime, while you can't watch the tarantula make its hole because it +does it at night. So Mary and I went together to the place of the +wasps. + +I ought to tell you right away that Mary and I live in California. +This explains to you partly why we are so happy in our rambles, +because for any one whose work or whose play it is to go out and look +at things, California is a wonderfully good place to live in. In fact, +I know of none better. But I should tell you more of where we live, +because California is so many places at once, that is, so many +different kinds of places, such as high mountains, burning deserts, +great forests, fertile plains, salt lakes, blue ocean, low soft hills, +wide level marshes, fragrant orchards, brilliant flower gardens, hot +springs and volcanic cones, deep caņons and rushing rivers,--O, +indeed, almost all the kinds of places that the physical geography +tells about. + +Mary and I live in a beautiful valley between two ranges of mountains +and very near the marsh-lined shores of a great ocean bay. Over beyond +one range of mountains is the ocean itself stretching blue and ripply +all the way to China, while beyond the other range of mountains is a +desert with jackrabbits and burrowing owls and cactuses. Not the +worst--or best--sort of desert like that far south toward Mexico, but +one that gets a little rain, and hence is called a "Land of Great +Possibilities" by men who sell pieces of it now and then to people +from Maine. + +It is easy for us to get from the little town in which we live to +several very good places for looking at things. The foothills and +mountain sides with their forests and coverts and swift little brooks; +the orchards and flower gardens and grain and grass fields; the wide +flat marshes with their salt-grass and pickle-weed, their wide +channels and pools, and finally the bay itself; all are near by and +all are fine places for observing and collecting things. + +When I met Mary first--the time she was collecting tarantula holes--we +were on the gentle slopes of the lower foothills of the mountains. The +big hairy tarantulas are very numerous there, although one rarely sees +them because they mostly stay in their holes in daytime. There are +tarantula hawks there too, enormous black and rusty-red wasps with +wings stretching three inches from tip to tip. Mary and I saw one of +these giant wasps swoop down on a big tarantula just as he came out of +his hole one evening after sundown, and that was a battle to remember, +and it had a very strange ending. The tarantula--but I must save that +battle for another chapter all to itself. I must try and stick to the +wasp holes in this one. + +It was a day in September. This month in California is the last one of +the long, rainless, sun-filled summer, and everywhere it is very dry +and brown. The valley floors and foothill slopes lie thirsty and +cracking under the ardent sun, and a thin cover of fine dust lies on +all the leaves of the live-oak and eucalyptus trees. Everything out of +doors is waiting for the first rain. The birds are still and the frogs +all hidden away. The insects buzz about rather heavily and keep pretty +well under cover. If one wants to see much lowly life it is necessary +to go to the banks of the few persisting streams or lakes or to the +shores of bay or ocean. So Mary and I left the dry foothill slopes and +their many silk-lined holes with a big black hairy tarantula sitting +quietly at the bottom of each, and took the gently dropping dusty +road to the marshes. + +I like the salt marshes of California. They are a change and relief, +in their soothing monotony and simple plant life, from the lush and +variegated flower fields, the dense and hostile chaparral thickets, +the dark forests of great trees, and the miles of artificial +plantations of orchards and vines. On the marshes you are greater and +more important than the plants. In an orchard or a giant-tree forest, +you feel second-rate someway. The fruit-trees have men for servants, +while to the giant trees with their outlook from a height of three +hundred feet and their memories of two thousand years, a man is no +more than an ant. But in the marshes you feel that you are much more +important a kind of creature than the pickle-weed, and that is almost +the only plant that grows there. + +There are many curious little bare dry spots in the marshes where we +know it. Flat, smooth, salt-encrusted, clean white spots rather +circular in outline, and perhaps twenty feet in diameter. All around +is the low thick growth of fat-leaved pickle-weed, but for some reason +it doesn't invade these pretty little empty rooms. Mary and I like to +lie on the clean dry floor of one of these unroofed rooms and look up +at the blue sky and out beyond the low side walls of pickle-weed far +across the flat marsh stretches, over the shining bay, and on through +the quivering blue to the beautiful mountains that bound our views on +both sides. On clear afternoons we can see a gleaming white speck on +the top of the highest mountain in the eastern range. That is the +famous Lick Observatory, where the astronomers are looking always into +the sky to read the riddle of the stars and planets and comets. We +feel rather small, Mary and I, when we realize that we are only +loafing or at best watching insignificant little insects and +collecting wasp holes that lie at our noses' ends, while those men up +there are looking at wonders millions of miles away. But we are so +interested and contented with our small doings and small wonders that +we do not at all envy the astronomers on the mountain top. While they +watch the conflagrations of the stars and the mighty sailing of the +planets through the blackness of space, we watch the work and play and +living of our lowly companions on the sun-flooded marshes. They like +the cold glittering sky; we like the warm brown earth. + +We had been lying quietly on the white salt sand in one of the +unroofed marsh rooms for some time this September day before we saw +the first wasp begin to work. She was standing on her head, +apparently, and biting most energetically with her jaws, cutting a +little circle in the salt crust. When she got the circle all cut, she +tugged and buzzed until she dug up, unbroken, the little circular +piece (perhaps one-third of an inch across) of crust. She dragged +this about three inches away. Then she returned to the spot thus +cleaned and dug out with her sharp jaws a bit or pellet of soil. +Holding this in her mouth, she flew away about a foot and dropped it. +Then came back. Then dug out another pellet of soil and carried and +dropped it a foot or so away. Then back again and so on until it was +plain that she was digging out a little cylindrical vertical hole or +burrow. As the hole got deeper, the wasp had to crawl down into it, +first with head and fore legs, then with head and half her body; +finally her whole body, long legs, wings and all, was hidden as she +dug deeper and deeper. She had to come out of the hole of course to +carry away each bit of dug up soil. She always backed upward out of +the burrow, and all the while she was digging she kept up a low +humming sound. It was this humming sound that attracted our attention +to other narrow-waisted wasps like the first one. By moving about +cautiously and listening and looking carefully, we found more than a +dozen others digging holes, each one going about the work just like +every other one. + +When our first wasp had made its hole deep enough--this took a pretty +long time; we found out later that it was about three inches deep--she +brought back the first little circular piece of salt crust and +carefully put it over the top of the burrow, thus covering it up +entirely and making it look as if no hole were there. Then she flew +away, out of the little bare room and off into the pickle-weed +somewhere. We waited several minutes but she didn't come back, so we +turned our eyes to another wasp near by which had its hole only just +begun. It was interesting to see how closely like the first wasp this +second one worked. Prying and pulling with the jaws, the same +fluttering of the wings and humming, the same backing out of the hole +and the swift little flight for a foot or two feet away from the hole +to drop the pellet of soil. + +I tried to point out to Mary that this was the way animals do which +work by instinct and not by reason. That all the animals of the same +kind do things in the same way, and that they do them without any +teaching or imitating or reasoning out. They are born with the +knowledge and skill and the impulse to do the things in the particular +way they do. But Mary found this very tiresome and let her eyes rove, +and it is well she did or we might not have made our great discovery: +a really thrilling discovery it was for us, too. + +The first wasp had come back! But not empty handed, or rather not +empty mouthed, for in her pointed jaws she held a limp measuring-worm +about an inch and a quarter long. A measuring-worm or looper is the +caterpillar of a certain kind of moth, and it loops or measures when +it walks because it has no feet on the middle of the under side of +the body as other caterpillars have, and so has to draw its tail +pretty nearly up its head to take a step forward. This naturally makes +its body rise up in a fold or loop. "See," cried Mary, "the wasp is +going to put the measuring-worm into the hole." + +That is exactly what happened. How the wasp could tell where the hole +was, was surprising, for it had so carefully put the bit of salt crust +in place that you couldn't tell the top of the hole from the rest of +the crust-covered ground. But our wasp came straight to the right +place. Perhaps as a carrier-pigeon comes to its loft from a hundred +miles away, or a cat carried away in a bag to a strange place finds +its way quickly back home. + +Some of the other wasps that we watched later weren't so sure of their +holes, though, and other people who have watched digger-wasps in other +places have found them showing varying degrees of uncertainty about +locating their nests. Mr. and Mrs. Peckham, who have studied the +behavior of the various kinds of digger-wasps more than anybody else +in this country, have concluded that the wasps "are guided in their +movements by their memory of localities. They go from place to place +quite readily because they are familiar with the details of the +landscape in the district they inhabit. Fair eyesight and a moderately +good memory on their part are all that need be assumed in this simple +explanation of the problem." + +But quite different from this conclusion is that of Fabre, the +wonderful French observer of wasps, who experimented on them in regard +to this matter of finding and knowing their holes, by carrying them +away shut up in a dark box to the center of a village three kilometers +from the nesting ground, and releasing them after being kept all night +in the dark boxes. These wasps when released in the busy town, +certainly a place never visited by them before, immediately mounted +vertically to above the roofs and then instantly and energetically +flew south, which was the direction of their holes. Nine separate +wasps released one at a time did this without a moment's hesitation, +and the next day Fabre found them all at work again at their +hole-digging. He knew them by two spots of white paint he had put on +each one. + +"Are the wasps guided by memory when placed by man beyond their +bearings and carried to great distances into regions with which they +are unacquainted and in unknown directions?" asks Fabre. "By memory so +quick that when, having reached a certain height at which they can in +some sort take their bearings, they launch themselves with all their +power of wing towards that part of the horizon where their nests are? +Is it memory which traces their aerial way across regions seen for the +first time? Evidently not," emphatically declares Fabre. So there you +are. Where doctors (of science) fall out it is not for you or me to +decide. + +But Mary was growing excited. "See, she has put the worm down and is +prying up the top of the hole. She has got it off. She is--" + +"Ss-h," say I, for wasps can hear. Or, wait; that's quite dogmatic. +Wasps fly away when you talk too loud. That's better. That's not +judging wasp doing by what we can do. That is just telling an observed +fact. + +Mary "ssh"-ed, but she pointed a plump little finger; a finger +trembling with excitement. The wasp had gone down into the uncovered +hole with the worm. Then she backed out, found the lid, covered up the +hole and flew away into the pickle-weed again! + +In twenty minutes she came back, _with another limp measuring-worm_, +straight to the covered hole; worm dropped on the ground; lid taken +off; worm dragged in; wasp backed out; lid carefully replaced; flight +to the distant jungle of pickle-weed again! + +O, this was exciting. Mary fairly exploded into exclamations and +questions after the wasp was well away. What are the worms for? Are +they dead? The second one seemed to wriggle feebly a little on the +ground by the nest while the wasp was getting off the lid. Will she +bring more? Will she fill the hole full of worms? Now I knew the +answers to some of these questions, for I had been in this happy place +before, but I wanted Mary to find out, to discover--exquisite and +prideful pleasure--for herself. So I remained dumb. + +Three more times the wasp brought worms. Three more times went through +all the performance. But the last time she didn't come up for a long +time; that is, for several minutes, and when she did come, instead of +putting the salt crust on the hole, she got a little pellet of soil +and dropped it in; and then another, and many others. Sometimes she +scraped them in with her front feet, but there weren't many bits of +soil close enough for that, for she had carried them all a foot or so +away as she brought them out of the hole. She worked very +industriously: jumping and running about, making little buzzing leaps +and flights, until she had quite filled up the hole with the five dead +worms in the bottom. + +Then she did the most wonderful thing. With her fore feet she pawed +and raked the surface until it was quite smooth, and with her jaws and +horny head she pressed down and tamped the fine bits of soil until +they were a little below the surface of the salt crust around the +hole, and then she brought again the little circular lid or top of +salt crust and carefully put it in the little depression on the top +of the filled-in burrow, so that it fitted perfectly with the hard +uncut salt crust around the hole's edge! + +This is true. Does it seem wonderful to you? Why? Because we think +that other animals cannot do what would be a very simple thing indeed +for us? Our wasp was evidently concealing the whereabouts of her +worm-stored burrow. I don't say that she _wanted_ to conceal it; or +_decided_ to conceal it; or even _intended_ to conceal it. She was +simply, I say, concealing it. That seems quite certain, doesn't it? +Well, this action of cutting out and replacing the bit of salt crust +over the burrow was about the simplest and most effective way of +concealing the hole that could be reasoned out, if we ourselves were +to undertake it. The wasp, and all the other wasps of the same kind in +our marshes, concealed their holes in the way that our reason would +suggest to us as the best way. But I do not say anything about the +wasp's mental processes toward getting at this behavior. One thing is +pretty sure. Among a score or hundred of us doing this work, there +would be pretty sure to be some to do it in a different sort of way +from the others. The wasps of the same kind all do it alike. Perhaps +that is the chief difference between reason and instinct. + +But if our digger-wasp--whose name is Ammophila, the sand-lover--made +Mary's and my eyes bulge out by her cleverness, what shall we think of +that other Ammophila that Dr. Williston watched on the plains of +Kansas, or that other one still which the Peckhams studied in +Wisconsin? These other Ammophilas, instead of using their hard heads +to tamp down the soil in the hole, hunted about until they found a +suitable little stone which, held tightly in the jaws, was used as a +tool to pack and smooth the dirt! And the Kansas wasp did another odd +thing. Instead of making its hole of the same caliber or width all +the way down, the upper half-inch or so was made of greater diameter +than the rest of the burrow so that a little circular shelf ran around +the inside of the hole half an inch below the top. Now when the clever +Kansas wasp closed the burrow each time it went away to hunt for +measuring-worms, it did it in a curious way. I quote the exact words +of Professor Williston, the observer: "When the excavation had been +carried to the required depth"--this is our professional way of +saying, when the hole had been dug deep enough--"the wasp, after +surveying the premises, flying away, soon returned with a large pebble +in its mandibles, which it carefully deposited within the opening; +then, standing over the entrance upon her four posterior feet, she +rapidly and most amusingly scraped the dust, 'hand over hand' back +beneath her till she had filled the hole above the stone to the top. +[The stone of course was resting on the little circular shelf half an +inch down in the hole.] ... When she had heaped up the dirt to her +satisfaction, she again flew away and immediately returned with a +smaller pebble, perhaps an eighth of an inch in diameter, and then +standing more nearly erect, with the front feet folded beneath her, +she pressed down the dust all over and about the opening, smoothing +off the surface and accompanying the action with a peculiar rasping +sound." + +Is this not a creature of wits, this Kansas wasp? And an undaunted +worker? For each time she went away to get a nice fat looper, she +covered up her hole in this elaborate way, and each time she came +back, she had to remove the half-inch of tamped-down soil and the +little covering stone resting on the shelf in the hole. + +The Peckhams, too, saw an Ammophila in Wisconsin use a pebble as a +tool, and what is especially interesting and important, this wasp was +only a single individual of several others watched by the observers, +all these wasps being of one kind, that is, belonging to the same +species. The tool-user thus revealed an individuality that made its +actions seem to be dictated by something else than rigid instinct; +certainly so if instinct is to be defined as untaught and unreasoned +behavior common to all the individuals of a kind. In fact the Peckhams +(most persistent, practised and intelligent observers) insist that "in +all the processes of Ammophila the character of the work differs with +the individual." + +But where is Mary in all this digression of mine? Never fear for Mary. +While I was mumbling about instinct and reason and automatism and +individual idiosyncrasy, Mary was crawling slowly and cautiously about +over the salt-crust floor of our room, counting the wasp holes in +course of making, and she was making a second discovery. The +measuring-worms, limp and lifeless as they appeared, were really not +dead! She had seen at least two, left lying on the ground by the hole +while the wasp prized off the cover, give feeble wriggles, and one +that she poked with a pin squirmed rather energetically. That is, it +did if she poked it at one end, but not if she poked it in the middle, +which is such a great discovery that it really gets to be science! + +Now as one is entitled to take violent measures for the sake of +science, Mary and I decided after considerable serious discussion to +"collect" the hole which our wasp had finished and apparently left for +good. So we dug it up, and on the spot we examined it and all of its +insides. And we found it quite true that the loopers were not dead, +but they were _paralyzed_! When we poked a head or tail, each worm +could squirm just a little, but if we touched them in the middle, they +didn't know it, and on one of them, the top one, we found a little +shining white speck. + +Mary's excitement became merged into an intense thoughtfulness. Then +she cried aloud with eyes shining: "My, it's the egg! the egg of the +wasp! and the worms are for food for the young wasp when it hatches!" + +Ah, Mary, you have wits! Have you ever heard any one tell about this? +Did you really guess it, or not guess it, but actually reason it out +for yourself? Mary, I have great hopes of you. + +For it is quite true what Mary says. The little white seed-like thing +glued on to the last looper's body is the egg of the wasp, and the +stung and paralyzed but not killed measuring-worms are the food stored +up by this extremely clever narrow-waisted mother for the wingless, +footless, blind, almost helpless wasp grub, when it shall hatch from +the egg. Down in the darkness of the cell, there will be a horrible +tragedy. For days and weeks together the wasp grub will nibble away +on the helpless loopers until all five are eaten alive! Then the grub +will change to a winged wasp with strong sharp jaws with which she +will dig her way up and out of the noisome prison and into the free +air and sunlight of the marsh room. And she will then dig holes of her +own, find and sting and store loopers, lay an egg on one, and close up +the hole just as her mother did. Or at least all this would happen if +we hadn't collected the hole. But it will happen in the other holes. + +But why should the loopers be only paralyzed instead of killed? Isn't +it plain that if killed they would only be decaying carrion by the +time the wasp grub was ready to eat them, and young wasps must have +fresh meat, not dead and decayed flesh. And if the loopers were simply +put in alive, not paralyzed, wouldn't their violent squirming in the +hole surely crush the delicate egg or the more delicate newly hatched +wasp grub? Or wouldn't they simply dig their way with their heavy +jaws out of the hole and away? Or, indeed, could the slender-bodied +mother wasp carry and handle successfully a strong squirming looper +over an inch long? The reason for the paralyzing of the worms is plain +then. But how is this extraordinary condition brought about? And the +answer to this, which Mary and I didn't discover for ourselves, but +had to find out from the accounts of the men who did, like Fabre and +others, reveals the most extraordinary thing that our wasps do. Most +people think the wasps that live in communities or large families in +big paper nests (the yellow-jackets and hornets) are the most +interesting and most intelligent or clever of the wasps. But Mary and +I do not think so. The solitary wasps do the most wonderful things, +and of all they do, the paralyzing of the insects they store up as +food for their young is the hardest to explain on any basis except +that of wasp reasoning. But of course we don't have to explain it, +which is fortunate for the high record of truth we are trying to +establish in this book. + +Fabre, the patient Frenchman, waited for years and years for a chance +to see just how the Ammophila paralyzes her victims, and at last he +saw and understood it. To understand the matter from Fabre's account +of it, we must remember that the measuring-worm's body is made up of a +series of rings or body segments, in each of which (except the very +last) is a little nerve center or brain situated just under the skin +on the under side of the body. And all this row of brains is connected +by a slender nerve cord running along the middle line of the under +side of the long body. Now Fabre saw that the wasp darted its sting +into each looper, "once for all at the fifth or sixth segment of the +victim." And when he pricked the stung worms with a needle in various +parts of the body, he found, just as Mary did, that the needle could +entirely pierce the middle of the body (which is where the fifth and +sixth segments are), without causing any movement of the worm. "But +prick even slightly a segment in front or behind and the caterpillar +struggles with a violence proportioned to the distance from the +poisoned segment." + +Now what is the reason, asks Fabre, for the wasp's selecting this +particular spot for stinging the worm, and he answers his own question +as follows: + +"The loopers have the following organization, counting the head as the +first segment: Three pairs of true feet on rings two, three, and four; +four pairs of membranous feet on rings seven, eight, nine, and ten, +and a last similar pair set on the thirteenth and final ring; in all +eight pairs of feet, the first seven making two marked groups--one of +three, the other of four pairs. These two groups are divided by two +segments without feet, which are the fifth and sixth. + +"Now, to deprive the caterpillar of means of escape, and to render it +motionless, will the Hymenopteron [that's the wasp] dart its sting +into each of the eight rings provided with feet? Especially will it do +so when the prey is small and weak? Certainly not: a single stab will +suffice if given in a central spot, whence the torpor produced by the +venomous droplet can spread gradually with as little delay as possible +into the midst of those segments which bear feet. There can be no +doubt which to choose for this single inoculation; it must be the +fifth or sixth, which separate the two groups of locomotive rings. The +point indicated by rational deduction is also the one adopted by +instinct. Finally, let us add that the egg of the Ammophila is +invariably laid on the paralyzed ring. There, and there alone, can the +young larva bite without inducing dangerous contortions; where a +needle prick has no effect, the bite of a grub will have none either, +and the prey will remain immovable until the nursling has gained +strength and can bite farther on without danger." + +But some Ammophilas catch much larger caterpillars than the inch-long, +slender, little loopers. Fabre found a wasp dragging to its nest a +caterpillar weighing fifteen times the weight of the wasp. Does one +stab suffice for such a giant caterpillar? Here is what Fabre saw: An +Ammophila was noticed scratching in the ground around the crown of a +plant. She was "pulling up little grass roots, and poking her head +under the tiny clods which she raised up, and running hurriedly, now +here, now there, round the thyme, visiting every crack which gave +access under it; yet she was not digging a burrow, but hunting +something hidden underground, as was shown by manoeuvres like those +of a dog trying to get a rabbit out of its hole. And presently, +disturbed by what was going on overhead and closely tracked by the +Ammophila, a big gray worm made up his mind to quit his abode and +come up to daylight. It is all over with him; the hunter is instantly +on the spot, gripping the nape of his neck and holding on in spite of +his contortions. Settled on the monster's back, the Ammophila bends +her abdomen, and, methodically, deliberately--like a surgeon +thoroughly familiar with the anatomy of his subject--plunges a lancet +into the ventral surface of every segment, from the first to the last. +Not one ring is omitted; with or without feet each is stabbed in due +order from the front to the back." + +This is what the patient, careful observer saw, with all the "leisure +and ease required for an irreproachable observation." "The wasp acts," +says Fabre, "with a precision of which science might be jealous; it +knows what man but rarely knows; it is acquainted with the complex +nervous system of its victim, and keeps repeated stabs for those with +numerous ganglia. I said 'It knows; is acquainted'; what I ought to +say is, 'It acts as if it did.' What it does is suggested to it; the +creature obeys, impelled by instinct, without reasoning on what it +does. But whence comes this sublime instinct? Can theories of atavism, +of selection, of the struggle for life, interpret it reasonably?" + +When I had finished reading this to Mary she looked up and said +softly: "Of course I don't understand all this that he says about +'avatism and selection' and so on, but I think the wasp knows. Don't +you?" + +"Mary," I reply promptly, "the word is 'atavism,' not 'avatism,' +please remember!" + +"I hope I can," said Mary. + +[Illustration: RED AND BLACK AGAINST WHITE] + + + + +RED AND BLACK AGAINST WHITE + + +The meadow lark on the fence post behind my house is unusually voluble +this uncertain morning; maybe he is getting his day's singing off +before the sun shall hide, discomfited, behind the unrolling cloud +furls. A solemn grackle, with yellow eyes and bronzed neck, stalks +with cocking head in the wet green of the well-groomed front lawn; a +whisking bevy of goldfinches, which chat to each other in high-pitched +hurried phrases, disposes itself with much concern in the bare tree +across the road, and swinging along overhead, a woodpecker cries its +harsh greetings. But the life here on the street is tame and usual +compared to that busy living and to those eventful happenings taking +place in a remoter corner of the garden. There where the warm dust is +figured with the dainty tracks of the quail hosts and the flower-flies +hum their contentedest note; there in that half-artificial, half-wild +covert of odorous vegetation, a life in miniature, with the excitement +and stresses, the failures and successes and the inevitable comedies +and tragedies of any world of life is going on, with the history of it +all unrecorded. + +Mary has just come to call on me, bringing an unkempt bouquet of +Scotch broom from the garden. On these branches of broom are many +conspicuous white spots. They are not flowers, for it is not broom +flower time, and the flowers are yellow when their time does come. But +these white spots, soft little cottony masses, like little pillows or +cushions, and with regular tiny flutings along the top, have puzzled +Mary, and she has come to ask me about them, for I am supposed to know +all things. Well, luckily, I do happen to know about these, but I +suggest that we go into the garden together and see if we can find +out. The truth is, I am glad of an excuse to get away from this +tiresome German book about _Entwicklungslehre_. And then, too, I want +to look at things and talk with Mary. + +Mary has such a fascinatingly serious way of doing things that aren't +serious at all. She has got the curious notion lately that many little +people live among the grasses, the grass people she calls them, and +that that is the reason there are so many very little white flowers +coming up in my lawn. My own notion had been that some rascally +seedsman had sold me unclean grass seed, but Mary's notion that the +grass people are planting and raising these little flowers for their +own special delectation is, of course, a much wiser one. So when we +walk on the lawn, we go very slowly, and I have to poke constantly +among the grasses with my stick as we move along so that the little +people may know we are coming and have time to scurry away from under +our great boots. + +When we got out to the row of brooms, we found many of the soft white +cushions on all the bushes. But some of them were torn and +dishevelled. And in these torn masses many tiny round particles could +be seen. These little black specks are simply eggs, insect eggs, as I +told Mary, and soon she had discovered among them some slightly larger +but still very small red spots which were waving tiny black feet and +feelers about. They were of course the baby insects just hatching from +the eggs. + +"Does the mother lay the eggs in these little white cushions and then +go away and leave them?" asks Mary. + +"No, she stays right by them," I answer. + +"But where is she then? I can't--Yes I can too," cries Mary in great +triumph. "Here she is at one end of the egg cushion. She is a part of +it." + +"Well, no, not exactly," I have to say. "It is part of _her_, or +rather she spins the cushion, which is really a sac or soft box of +white wax, in which to lay her eggs. Something the way the spiders do, +you know. Only their egg box is made of silk and usually fastened to a +fence rail or on the bark of a tree and left there. But some of the +spiders, the large, swiftly running, black kinds that live under +stones, carry the silken ball with the eggs inside about with them, +fastened to the end of the body. Well, this cottony cushion scale +insect--that's its right name--keeps its waxen sac of eggs fastened to +it, but as the egg sac is much larger than the insect itself, it can't +run about any more, but has to stay for all the rest of the time until +it dies in the spot where it makes the sac. However, as it gets all +the food it wants by sticking its slender little beak into the broom +or other plant it is on and sucking up the fresh sap, it gets on very +well." + +"But what makes some of the egg cushions--how pretty they are, +too!--so torn and pulled open," asks Mary, who has listened to my long +speech very nicely. She often gets impatient when I lecture for too +many minutes together. + +"That is for you to find out," I say. "There is a dreadful thing going +on here if you can only see it. But a rather good thing too. Good for +the broom bushes anyway, and as they are _my_ broom bushes and I like +their flowers, good for me." + +Just then a very stubby, round-backed, quick little red beetle with +black spots walked off a broom stem on to Mary's hand. She didn't +scream, of course, nor even jerk her hand away. She may learn when she +is older to be frightened when pretty, harmless, little lady-bird +beetles walk on her. But now she likes all sorts of small animals, and +is not afraid at all. + +Mary is not at all slow to understand things, and when this +hard-bodied little beetle, with a body like half a red-and-black +pill, walked off the broom on to her hand, she guessed that he might +have something to do with the torn-up egg cushions. So it didn't take +her long to find another little beast like him actually nosing about +in an egg sac and voraciously snapping up all the unfortunate tiny, +red, black-legged baby scale insects. He ate the eggs, too, and seemed +to take some bites at the mother insect herself, and then Mary found +more of the lady-bird beetles, and still more. They were on all the +broom bushes where the white cushions were. And so one of the dreadful +tragedies going on in my garden was soon quite plain to Mary, and she +was very sorry for the helpless white insects. + +"Where did the red beetles come from?" she asked pretty soon. + +"From Australia," I answered. "Or rather their +great-great-grandparents did. These particular beetles were probably +born right here in the garden, because a colony of them live here. +But they couldn't if there were not some cottony cushion scale insects +here too. For this particular kind of lady-bird beetle can't live on +any other food--at least they don't--except this particular kind of +scale insect and its eggs, which is surely a curious thing, isn't it?" + +But Mary is so used to finding that the insects have extremely unusual +and curious habits--that is, habits different from ours--that she +doesn't get excited any more when I tell her about them. She does +though when she finds them out for herself, which makes me wonder if I +haven't wasted a good deal of time in my life giving lectures to +students about things instead of always making them find out for +themselves. And maybe I am wasting some more time now while I am +writing! + +"How did they come from Australia?" asks Mary. For she knows that +Australia is several thousand miles away across the ocean from +California, and lady-bird beetles do not swim. At least not from +Australia to America. So I have to give Mary another informing +lecture, and this is it: + +"Years and years ago, there lived in some fragrant-leaved orange-trees +in Australia some white cottony cushion insects whose life was +untroubled by other cares than those of eating and of looking after +the children. As each insect was fastened for life on the leaf or twig +that supplied it with all the food it needed, which was simply an +occasional drink of sap, and as the white insects always died before +their children were born, neither of these cares was very harassing. +On thousands of other similar fragrant-leaved orange-trees in +Australia lived millions of other similar white insects. And for a +long time this race of white insects enjoyed life. Those were happy +days. But on a time there came into one of the trees a few small red +beetles, who eagerly and persistently set about the awful business of +eating the defenceless white insects. From this tree the red beetles, +or the children of them, went to other trees where white insects +lived, and with unrelenting rapacity and uncloyed appetite ate all the +white insects they could find. And so in other trees; and finally, +with years, the red beetles had invaded all of the thousands of +fragrant-leaved orange-trees in Australia, and had eaten nearly all of +the millions of white insects. + +"One day a very small orange-tree was taken out of the ground in +Australia and sent with many others across the ocean to California. On +this small tree there were a few of the white insects. The little tree +was planted again in California and soon put out many fresh fragrant +leaves. The white insects were astonished and rejoiced that day after +day went by without the appearance of any red beetles. The white +insects increased in numbers; there were thousands of fragrant-leaved +orange-trees in California, and in a few years there were millions of +white insects in them. One morning a man stood among the trees and +said, 'Confound these bugs; they'll ruin me; what shall I do?' and a +man who knew said, 'Get some red beetles from Australia.' So this +orange-grower, with some others, paid a man to go to Australia and +collect some live red beetles. The collector went across the ocean, +three weeks' steady steaming, and sent back a few of the voracious +little beetles in a pill box. They were put into a tree in a +California orange-orchard in which there were many cottony cushion +scale insects. The red insects promptly began eating the white ones; +and their children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren have kept +up this eating ever since. And so the orange-growers never tire of +telling how the red beetles (whose name is Vedalia) were brought from +Australia to save them from ruin by the white insects (whose name is +Icerya)." + +Now there are not many cottony cushion scales left in California. A +very promising colony of them seems to have sprung up in my Scotch +broom bushes. But the red beetles have found their way there already, +as Mary and I discovered to-day, and so we think that by the time the +broom flowers come, there will be few white insects left in the +bushes. + +[Illustration: THE VENDETTA] + + + + +THE VENDETTA + + +This is the story of a fight. In the first story of this book, I said +that Mary and I had seen a remarkable fight one evening at sundown on +the slopes of the bare brown foothills west of the campus. It was not +a battle of armies--we have seen that, too, in the little world we +watch,--but a combat of gladiators, a struggle between two champions +born and bred for fighting, and particularly for fighting each other. +One champion was Eurypelma, the great, black, hairy, eight-legged, +strong-fanged tarantula of California, and the other was Pepsis, a +mighty wasp in dull-blue mail, with rusty-red wings and a poisonous +javelin of a sting that might well frighten either you or me. Do you +have any wasp in your neighborhood of the ferocity and strength and +size of Pepsis? If not, you can hardly realize what a terrible +creature she is. With her strong hard-cased body an inch and a half +long, borne on powerful wings that expand fully three inches, and her +long and strong needle-pointed sting that darts in and out like a +flash and is always full of virulent poison, Pepsis is certainly queen +of all the wasp amazons. But if that is so, no less is Eurypelma +greatest, most dreadful, and fiercest, and hence king, of all the +spiders in this country. In South America and perhaps elsewhere in the +tropics, live the fierce bird-spiders with thick legs extending three +inches or more on each side of their ugly hairy bodies. Eurypelma, the +California tarantula, is not quite so large as that, nor does he +stalk, pounce on and kill little birds as his South American cousin is +said to do, but he is nevertheless a tremendous and fear-inspiring +creature among the small beasties of field and meadow. + +But not all Eurypelmas are so ferocious; or at least are not ferocious +all the time. There are individual differences among them. Perhaps it +is a matter of age or health. Anyway, I had a pet tarantula which I +kept in an open jar in my room for several weeks, and I could handle +him with impunity. He would sit gently on my hand, or walk +deliberately up my arm, with his eight, fixed, shining, little reddish +eyes staring hard at me, and his long seven-jointed hairy legs +swinging gently and rhythmically along, without a sign of hesitation +or excitement. His hair was almost gray and perhaps this hoariness and +general sedateness betokened a ripe old age. But his great fangs were +unblunted, his supply of poison undiminished, and his skill in +striking and killing his prey still perfect, as often proved at his +feeding times. He is quite the largest Eurypelma I have ever seen. He +measures--for I still have his body, carefully stuffed, and fastened +on a block with legs all spread out--five inches from tip to tip of +opposite legs. + +At the same time that I had this hoary old tarantula, I had another +smaller, coal-black fellow who went into a perfect ecstasy of anger +and ferocity every time any one came near him. He would stand on his +hind legs and paw wildly with fore legs and palpi, and lunge forward +fiercely at my inquisitive pencil. I found him originally in the +middle of an entry into a classroom, holding at bay an entire excited +class of art students armed with mahl-sticks and paint-brushes. The +students were mostly women, and I was hailed as deliverer and greatest +_dompteur_ of beasts when I scooped Eurypelma up in a bottle and +walked off with him. + +But this is not telling of the sundown fight that Mary and I saw +together. We had been over to the sand-cut by the golf links, after +mining-bees, and were coming home with a fine lot of their holes and +some of the bees themselves, when Mary suddenly called to me to "see +the nice tarantula." + +Perhaps nice isn't the best word for him, but he certainly was an +unusually imposing and fluffy-haired and fierce-looking brute of a +tarantula. He had rather an owly way about him, as if he had come out +from his hole too early and was dazed and half-blinded by the light. +Tarantulas are night prowlers; they do all their hunting after dark, +dig their holes and, indeed, carry on all the various businesses of +their life in the night-time. The occasional one found walking about +in daytime has made a mistake, someway, and he blunders around quite +like an owl in the sunshine. + +All of a sudden, while Mary and I were smiling at this too early bird +of a tarantula, he went up on his hind legs in fighting attitude, and +at the same instant down darted a great tarantula hawk, that is, a +Pepsis wasp. Her armored body glinted cool and metallic in the red +sunset light, and her great wings had a suggestive shining of dull +fire about them. She checked her swoop just before reaching Eurypelma, +and made a quick dart over him, and then a quick turn back, intending +to catch the tarantula in the rear. But lethargic and owly as +Eurypelma had been a moment before, he was now all alertness and +agility. He had to be. He was defending his life. One full fair stab +of the poisoned javelin, sheathed but ready at the tip of the +flexible, blue-black body hovering over him, and it would be over with +Eurypelma. And he knew it. Or perhaps he didn't. But he acted as if he +did. He was going to do his best not to be stabbed; that was sure. And +Pepsis was going to do her best to stab; that also was quickly +certain. + +At the same time Pepsis knew--or anyway acted as if she did--that to +be struck by one or both of those terrible vertical, poison-filled +fangs was sure death. It would be like a blow from a battle-axe, with +the added horror of mortal poison poured into the wound. + +So Eurypelma about-faced like a flash, and Pepsis was foiled in her +strategy. She flew up and a yard away, then returned to the attack. +She flew about in swift circles over his head, preparatory to darting +in again. But Eurypelma was ready. As she swooped viciously down, he +lunged up and forward with a half-leap, half-forward fall, and came +within an ace of striking the trailing blue-black abdomen with his +reaching fangs. Indeed it seemed to Mary and me as if they really +grazed the metallic body. But evidently they had not pierced the +smooth armor. Nor had Pepsis in that breathless moment of close +quarters been able to plant her lance. She whirled up, high this time +but immediately back, although a little more wary evidently, for she +checked her downward plunge three or four inches from the dancing +champion on the ground. And so for wild minute after minute it went +on; Eurypelma always up and tip-toeing on those strong hind legs, with +open, armed mouth always toward the point of attack, and Pepsis ever +darting down, up, over, across, and in and out in dizzy dashes, but +never quite closing. + +Were Mary and I excited? Not a word could we utter; only now and then +a swift intake of breath; a stifled "O" or "Ah" or "See." And then of +a sudden came the end. Pepsis saw her chance. A lightning swoop +carried her right on to the hairy champion. The quivering lance shot +home. The poison coursed into the great soft body. But at the same +moment the terrible fangs struck fair on the blue armor and crashed +through it. Two awful wounds, and the wings of dull fire beat +violently only to strike up a little cloud of dust and whirl the +mangled body around and around. Fortunately Death was merciful, and +the brave amazon made a quick end. + +But what of Eurypelma, the killer? Was it well with him? The +sting-made wound itself was of little moment; it closed as soon as the +lancet withdrew. But not before the delicate poison sac at its base +inside the wasp-body had contracted and squirted down the slender +hollow of the sting a drop of liquid fire. And so it was not well with +Eurypelma in his insides. Victor he seemed to be, but if he could +think, he must have had grave doubts about the joys of victory. + +For a curious drowsiness was coming over him. Perhaps, disquieting +thought, it was the approaching stupor of the poison's working. His +strong long legs became limp, they would not work regularly, they +could not hold his heavy hairy body up from the ground. He would get +into his hole and rest. But it was too late. And after a few uneven +steps, victor Eurypelma settled heavily down beside his amazon +victim, inert and forevermore beyond fighting. He was paralyzed. + +And so Mary and I brought him home in our collecting box, together +with the torn body of Pepsis with her wings of slow fire dulled by the +dust of her last struggles. And though it is a whole month now since +Eurypelma received his stab from the poisoned javelin of Pepsis, he +has not recovered; nor will he ever. When you touch him, he draws up +slowly one leg after another, or moves a palpus feebly. But it is +living death; a hopeless paralytic is the king. + +Dear reader, you are of course as bright as Mary, and so you have +noticed, as she did right away, the close parallel between what +happened to Eurypelma and what happened to the measuring-worms brought +by Ammophila to her nest burrow as described in the first story in +this book. And so, like Mary, you realize that the vendetta or life +feud between the tarantula family and the family of Pepsis, the +tarantula hawk, is based on reasons of domestic economy rather than on +those of sentiment, which determine vendettas in Corsica and feuds in +Kentucky. + +To be quite plain, Pepsis fights Eurypelma to get his huge, juicy body +for food for her young; and Eurypelma fights Pepsis to keep from +becoming paralyzed provender. If Pepsis had escaped unhurt in the +combat at which Mary and I "assisted," as the French say, as +enthralled spectators, we should have seen her drag by mighty effort +the limp, paralyzed, spider giant to her nest hole not far distant--a +great hole twelve inches deep and with a side chamber at the bottom. +There she would have thrust him down the throat of the burrow, and +then crawled in and laid an egg on the helpless beast, from which in +time would have hatched the carnivorous wasp grub. Pepsis has many +close allies among the wasps, all black or steely blue with smoky or +dull-bronze wings, and they all use spiders, stung and paralyzed, to +store their nest holes with. + +"Do the little black and blue wasps hunt the little spiders and the +larger ones the big spiders?" asks Mary. + +"Exactly," I respond, "and the giant wasp of them all, Pepsis, the +queen of the wasp amazons, hunts only the biggest spider of them all, +Eurypelma, the tarantula king, and we have seen her do it." + +"Well," says Mary, "even if she wants him for her children to eat, +it's a real vendetta, isn't it?" + +"Indeed it is," I answer, "it's more real, and fiercer, and more +relentless, and more persistent than any human vendetta that ever was. +For every Pepsis mother in the world is always hunting for Eurypelmas +to fight. And not _all_ Corsicans have a vendetta on hand, nor all +Kentuckians a feud." + +[Illustration: THE TRUE STORY OF THE PIT OF MORROWBIE JUKES] + + + + +THE TRUE STORY OF THE PIT OF MORROWBIE JUKES + + +"It seemed that some one was calling to me in a whisper--'Sahib! +Sahib! Sahib!' exactly as my bearer used to call me in the mornings. I +fancied that I was delirious until a handful of sand fell at my +feet. Then I looked up and saw a head peering down into the +amphitheater--the head of Dunnoo, my dog-boy, who attended to my +collies. As soon as he had attracted my attention, he held up his hand +and showed a rope. I motioned, staggering to and fro the while, that +he should throw it down. It was a couple of leather punkah-ropes +knotted together, with a loop at one end. I slipped the loop over my +head and under my arms; heard Dunnoo urge something forward; was +conscious that I was being dragged, face downward, up the steep +sand-slope, and the next instant found myself choked and half-fainting +on the sand-hills overlooking the crater." + +And then Mary broke in. We were lying in a sunny warm spot on an open +hillside a little way off the road, and I was reading aloud from a +favorite author. + +"That is a fairy story," said Mary, "and I thought we were not going +to read any more fairy stories now that I am grown up." + +Mary's idea of being grown up is to be more than three feet eleven +inches high and to have her hair no longer in two braids. + +"Not exactly a fairy story," I replied. "For Kipling rather prefers +soldiers to fairies and machines to caps of invisibility. Of course, +though, he wrote the Mowgli stories." + +"But those are not fairy stories," interrupted Mary. "Those were about +a real boy and real animals only a long way off and different from +ours." + +"Ah-um, real? Well, perhaps; anyway, the Mowgli animals seem more real +than most real animals. But this story of the sand-pit and the man +sliding down into it and not being able to get out isn't impossible at +all. Only the other people down in the bottom seem a little unusual." + +"No, there can't be any such place," said Mary positively, "and as +there can't be any such place, nobody could have slid into it or been +in the bottom, and so it is a fairy story. Any story that isn't so is +a fairy story." + +"Well, that makes it easy to tell a fairy story from the other kinds, +and I never knew exactly how before. But I once saw a place much like +the sand-pit that Morrowbie Jukes slid into, or that Kipling says he +slid into. It is on the side of a great mountain in Oregon; Mt. Hood +its name is. I had climbed far above timber line, that is, above where +all the trees and bushes stop because it is too cold for them to live, +and there is only bare rocks and snow and ice, and had sat down to +rest near a great snowbank a mile long. As I looked back down the +mountain I saw a curious yellowish smoke rising in little puffs and +curls. I decided to find out about this smoke on my way down; perhaps +it was the beginning of a forest fire, and ought to be put out. + +"Well, when I got to it there was no fire; the puffs and curls were +not smoke. It was a real Morrowbie Jukes pit; a great crater-like hole +in the mountain, with its side so steep that the loose volcanic sand +and rocks (for the whole mountain is an old volcano) kept slipping +down in little avalanches from which puffs and curls of fine yellow +dust kept rising and drifting lazily away. If I had made the mistake +of going too close to the edge, I should certainly have started one +of these avalanches and gone slipping and sliding, faster and faster, +to the very bottom, a thousand feet below." + +"My!" said Mary; "and were there horrible people in the bottom, and +crows?" + +"Well, really, Mary, I couldn't see on account of the dust-smoke." + +"Of course there weren't, probably," said Mary thoughtfully and a +little wistfully. + +"Probably not," I had to reply regretfully. + +But a bright thought came to me. I remembered something. Several days +before I had tramped along this hillside road near which Mary and I +were lying and I had seen--well, just wait. So I said to Mary: "But I +know where there is a Morrowbie Jukes pit, several of them, indeed, +near here. Sha'n't we go and see them?" + +"Why, of course," said Mary rather severely. + +"Let us go galloping as Morrowbie Jukes did," said I. So we took hold +of hands and as soon as we got out of the chaparral, we went +galloping, hop, hop, hoppity, hop, down the road. I must confess that +I got out of breath pretty soon and my knees seemed to creak a little. +And when a swift motor-car came exploding by, going up the hill, all +the people stared and smiled to see an elderly gentleman with +spectacles and a long coat hop-hopping along with a yellow-haired +red-cheeked little girl in knee skirts. But we don't mind people much! +They simply don't know all the things that go with being happy. + +Pretty soon--and it was high time, for I had only three breaths +left--we came to a place where the road bent sharply around the +hillside and was especially broad. + +"Now, Mary," I said, "be careful and don't fall in. I'm afraid I +could not get you out." + +"Fall in where? Get me out of what?" asked Mary, quite puzzled. She +was staring about excitedly, looking most of the time down into the +caņon with its spiry redwood trees pushing far up from the bottom. And +then suddenly she saw. She flopped down on her hands and knees in the +warm sand by the roadside and cried out, "What funny little holes!" + +"Why, Mary," I said with pained surprise. "You don't really mean to +call these awful Morrowbie Jukes pits 'funny little holes'! That isn't +fair after all we've done to find them. Especially after my galloping +all the way right to the very edge of this largest one." + +As I spoke I pointed it out with the toe of my shoe, but inadvertently +filled it all up by poking a couple of tablespoonfuls of sand and dust +into it. But size is quite a relative matter, and for the tiny +creatures with whom Mary and I have to deal, the little crater-like +holes in the sand of the roadside are large and dangerous pits. We +sprawled down on our stomachs among the pits to see what we could see. + +Mary saw first. Ah, those bright eyes! My spectacles are rather in the +way out-of-doors, I find. But if I keep on getting younger--and I +certainly am younger since I got acquainted with Mary--I shall be able +soon to leave them at home in my study when I go out to see things. + +Mary, then, saw first. What she saw were two very small shining, +brown, gently curved, sharp-pointed, sickle-like jaws sticking up out +of the loose sand in the very bottom of one of the pits. They moved +once, these curved and pointed jaws, and that movement caught Mary's +eye. + +"It's the dragon of the pit," I cried. "Dig him out!" + +So Mary dug him out. He was very spry and had a strong tendency to +shuffle backwards down into the hiding sand. But it takes a keen +dragon to get away from Mary, and this one wasn't and didn't. + +He was an ugly little brute, squat and hump-backed, with sand sticking +to his thinly haired body. But he was fierce-looking for all his +diminutiveness. Remember again that whether a thing is big or little +to you depends on whether you are big or little. This dragon of the +sand-pit was little to us. He is terribly big to the ants. + +When Mary got him out and had put him down on the sand near the pit, +he trotted about very actively but always backwards. He seems to have +got so used to pulling backwards against the frantic struggles of his +prey to get up and out of the pit, that he can now only move that way. +After we watched him a while, we "collected" him; that is, put him +into a bottle, with some sand, to take home and see if we could keep +him in our room of live things. Then we turned our attention to +another crater. It was about three inches across at the top and about +two inches deep; a symmetrical little broad-mouthed funnel with the +loose sand-slopes just as steep as they could be. The slightest +disturbance, a touch with a pencil-point for example, would start +little sand avalanches down the slopes anywhere. It is, of course, +easy to see how this horrible pit-trap works. And, in fact, in the +very next moment we saw actually how it did work. + +A foraging brown ant that was running swiftly over the ground plunged +squarely over the verge of the crater before she could stop. She +certainly tried hard to stop when once over, but it was too late. +Slipping and sliding with the rolling sand-grains, down she went right +toward those waiting scimitar-like jaws. + +Now, these jaws deserve a word of description. Because, horrible as +they may seem to the unfortunate ants, they are so well arranged for +their particular purpose that they must attract our admiration. The +dragon of the pit, ant-lion he is usually called, has no open, yawning +mouth behind those projecting jaws, as might be expected. Indeed there +is no mouth at all, just a throat, thirsty for ant blood! The slender +scimitar jaws have each a groove on the concave inner side, and down +this groove runs the blood of the struggling victim, held impaled on +the sharp points of the curving mandibles. The two fine grooves lead +directly into the throat, and thus there is no need of open mouth with +lips and tongue, such as other insects have. + +"But see," cried Mary, "the ant has stopped sliding. It is going to +get out!" + +Ah, Mary, you are not making allowance for all the resources of this +dreadful dragon of the pit. Not only is the pit a nearly perfect trap, +and the eager jaws at the bottom more deadly than any array of spikes +or spears at the bottom of an elephant pit, but there is another most +effective thing about this fatal dragon's trap, and that is this: it +is not merely a passive trap, but an active one. Already it is in +action. And Mary sees now how hopeless it is with the ant. For a +shower of sand is being thrown up from the bottom of the pit against +the ant and it is again sliding down. The dragon has a flat, broad +head and powerful neck muscles, and has wit enough to shovel up and +hurl masses of dry sand-grains against the victim on the loose slopes. +And this starts the avalanche again, and so down slides the frantic +ant. + +What follows is too painful for Mary and me to watch and certainly too +cruel to describe. But one must live, and why not ant-lions as well as +ants? If truth must be told, many ants have as cruel habits and as +bloodthirsty tastes as the ant-dragon. Indeed, more cruel and +revolting habits. For ants have a gastronomic fondness for the babies +of other ants, which is a fondness quite different from that which +they ought to have. It means that they like these babies--to eat. Some +communities of ants, indeed, spend most of their time fighting other +communities just to rob them of their babies, which they carry off to +their own nests and use in horrible cannibalistic feasts. + +Mary and I had seen enough of the Morrowbie Jukes pits. So we went +back to our little open sunny spot in the chaparral on the hillside +and lay quiet and silent for a long time. Then Mary murmured, "I +wonder how the ant-lion digs its pit." + +"I can tell you, Mary," I replied. "For a man who once saw one digging +told me. It is this way: First he makes a circular groove the full +circumference of the top of the pit. Then he burrows into the sand +inside of the groove and piles sand-grains on top of his flat, horny, +shovel-like head with his fore feet. This sand he tosses over the +groove so that it will fall outside. He works his way all around the +groove, doing this over and over, and then makes another groove inside +the first, and digs up and tosses the sand out as before. And so on, +groove after groove, each inside the one made before, thus gradually +making a conical pit with the sides as steep as the loose sand will +lie. The pit must always be made in a dry sandy spot, and is usually +located in a warm sunny place at the foot of a large rock. This man +said that it is easy to get the ant-lions to dig pits in boxes of sand +in the house, and so we can try with our 'collected' fellow." + +Mary was silent some moments. Then she said softly, "But how will he +get anything to eat?" + +"Why," said I, "of course we can give him--" Mary looked up at me in a +special way she has. I go on, more slowly, but still without very +much hesitation: "But, of course, we sha'n't do that, shall we?" + +And Mary said quietly: "No, we sha'n't." + +We rested our chins on our hands and lay still, looking down over the +chaparral-covered hillside and far out across the hazy valley. On the +distant bay were little white specks, small schooners that carry wood +and tan-bark and hay from the bay towns to San Francisco; and across +the blue bay lifted the bare, brown mountains of the Coast Range, with +always that gleaming white spot of the Observatory a-tiptop of the +highest peak. It was a soft, languid, lazy day. Such a peace-giving, +relaxing, healing day! And we were so enveloped by it, Mary and I, +that we simply lay still and happy, with hardly a word. I had, of +course, intended to give Mary an informing lecture about how the ugly, +horrid ant-lion finally stops preying on ants and rolls himself up in +a neat little silk-and-sand ball, and changes into a beautiful, +slender-bodied, gauzy-winged creature without any resemblance at all +to its earlier incarnation. But I didn't. It was too fine a day to +spoil with informing lectures. + +And so Mary and I lay still and happy. Finally it was time to go. As +we went down the road we passed again the place of the pits, and Mary +looked once more at the neat little craters with their patient waiting +jaws at the bottom. + +"I wonder," she said, musingly, "if Mr. Kipling ever saw an ant-lion +pit." + +"I wonder," said I. + +[Illustration: ARGIOPE OF THE SILVER SHIELD] + + + + +ARGIOPE OF THE SILVER SHIELD + + +Argiope of the Silver Shield is the handsomest spider that Mary and I +know. Do you know a handsomer? Or are you of those who have +prejudices, and hold all spiders to be ugly, hateful things? We are so +sorry for you if you are, for that means you can never enjoy having a +pet Argiope. The truth is, Mary and I like clever and skillful people, +but when we can't find that kind, we rather prefer clever and skillful +spiders and wasps or other lowly beasties to the other sort of people, +which shows just how far a fancy for nature may lead one. + +It _is_ rather bad, of course, to prefer to chum with a spider, even +such a wonderfully handsome and clever one as Argiope, instead of +with a human soul. But that isn't our situation exactly. We prefer +human souls to anything else on earth, but not human stomachs and +livers and human bones and muscles and sick human nerves. And, +someway, too many people leave on one an impression of bowels or sore +eyes rather than one of mind and soul. So we rush to the fields or +woods or roads after such an experience and live a while with the keen +bright eyes, the sensitive feelers, the dexterous feet and claws and +teeth, and the sharp wits of the small folk who, while not human, are +nevertheless inhabitants and possessors of this earth, side by side +with us, and are truly our blood-cousins, though some incredible +number of generations removed. + +Mary and I scraped acquaintance with our Argiope in a cypress-tree. +That is, Argiope had her abiding-place there; she was there on her +great symmetrical orb-web, with its long strong foundation lines, +its delicate radii and its many circles with their thousands of +tiny drops of viscid stuff to make them sticky. In the center was the +hub, her resting-place, whence the radii ran out, and where she had +spun a broad zigzaggy band of white silk on which she stood or sat +head downward. Her eight long, slender, sensitive legs were +outstretched and rested by their tips lightly on the bases of the taut +radii so that they could feel the slightest disturbance in the web. +These many radii, besides supporting the sticky circles or spiral, +which was the real catching part of the web, acted like so many +telegraph lines to carry news of the catching to waiting Argiope at +the center. + +I have said that Mary and I think Argiope of the Silver Shield +the most handsome spider we know. There are, however, other +Argiopes to dispute the glory with our favorite; for example, a +golden-yellow-and-black one and another beautiful silver-and-russet +one. Other people, too, may fancy other spiders; perhaps the little +pink-and-white crab-spiders of the flower-cups, or the curious spiny +Acrosomas and Gasteracanthas with their brilliant colors and bizarre +patterns and shape. Others may like the strawberry Epeira, or the +diadem-spider, or the beautiful Nephilas. There are enough kinds and +colors and shapes of spiders to satisfy all tastes. But we like best +and admire most the long-legged, agile, graceful Argiopes, and +particularly her of the silver shield. Her full, firm body with its +flat, shield-shaped back, all shining silver and crossed by staring +black-and-yellow stripes, the long tapering legs softly ringed with +brown and yellow, the shining black eyes on their little rounded +hillock of a forehead, and the broad, brown under body with eight +circular silver spots; all go to make our Argiope a richly dressed and +stately queen of spiders. But the royal consort--O, the less said of +him, the better. A veritable dwarf; insignificant, inconspicuous and +afraid for his life of his glorious mate. How such a queen could +ever--but there, how tiresome, for that is what gets said of most +matches, royal or plebeian. + +Mary and I brought Argiope in from her home in the cypress-tree and +put her in a fine, roomy, light and airy cage, where she could live +quietly and unmolested by enemies, and where we could see to it that +she should not lack for food. There are many of the small creatures +with which we get acquainted that do not object at all to being +brought into our well-lighted, well-ventilated, warm vivarium--that +means live-room. Creatures of sedentary habits, and all the web-making +spiders are of course that, ought not to object at all and usually do +not seem to. For they get two things that they cannot be sure of +outside: protection and plenty of food. Argiope seemed perfectly +content and settled right down to spinning a glistening new web, a +marvel of symmetry and skillful construction, in her roomy cage, and +in a day or two was seated quietly but watchfully on the broad-banded +hub in the center, with her toes on her telegraph lines, ready for +good news. It was, of course, our duty to see that she was not +disappointed. + +The message she wanted was from some struggling fly fastened anywhere +in the broad expanse of web. So we tossed in a fly. It buzzed about a +moment, then blundered into the web which it shook violently in its +struggle to escape. Argiope rushed at once out upon the web. + +"How can she run about on the sticky web without getting caught, too?" +interrupts Mary. + +I think a moment, then with some dignity reply: "Pretty soon, please, +Mary." + +Argiope, I repeat, rushed at once out upon the web, seized the fly in +her jaws and ran back to the hub with it, where she appeared to wet +it all over, squeeze it into a ball and then proceed to feed upon it, +holding and manipulating it skillfully all the time in her jaws. +Evidently Argiope was very hungry, for as you will see, this is not +her usual way of taking care of her prey. + +"Now, Mary, what was it you asked?" + +"Oh, just how the spider can run around so fast on the web without +sticking to it and getting caught or tearing it all to pieces." + +"Ah,--ah, yes. Well, Mary, I don't know! that is, exactly; or, well +not even very close to exactly. But she does it, you see." + +"Yes, I see," said Mary, demurely, and--can it be that Mary is +slightly winking one eye? I do hope not. + +"Of course you know, Mary, that the web is made of two kinds of silk +or rather two kinds of lines? Oh, you didn't know?" Mary has shaken +her head. + +"Well it is," I continue, with my usual manner of teacher-who-knows +somewhat restored again. "The foundation lines, the radii and a first +set of circles are all made of lines without any sticky stuff on them. +As you see"--and I touch my pencil confidently to a radius, with the +manner of a parlor magician. "Then the spider, on this foundation, +spins in another long spiral, the present circles of the web, which is +liberally supplied with tiny, shining droplets of viscid silk that +never dries, but stays moist and very sticky all the time. This is the +true catching part of the web." + +"We surely must watch her spin a web sometime," breaks in eager Mary. + +"We certainly must," say I, and continue. "Now perhaps when Argiope +runs out on the web from her watching-place at the hub, she only puts +her long delicate feet on the unsticky radii. Or perhaps her feet are +made in some peculiar way so that they do not stick to the circles. As +a matter of fact, a spider's foot is remarkably fashioned, with +curious toothed claws, and hosts of odd hairs, some knobbed, some +curved and hook-like, and some forming dense little brushes. But after +all, Mary, the truth is, I don't know really how it is that spiders +can run about over their webs without getting stuck to them." + +After my long discursus about web-making and spider's feet, it seemed +time to give Argiope another fly. Indeed her bright little black eyes +seemed to Mary to be shining with eagerness for more fly, although she +still had the remains of the first one in her jaws--gracious, +Argiope's jaws, please, not Mary's! + +So we tossed in another fly. We hope you won't think this cruel. But +flies are what Argiope eats, and if she was out in the garden, she +would be catching them, and, what is worse, they would not be the +disgusting and dangerous house-flies and bluebottles that we feed her, +but all sorts of innocent and beautiful little picture-winged +flower-flies and pomace-flies and what not. House-flies and +stable-flies and bluebottles are truly dangerous because they help +spread human diseases, especially typhoid fever. So if we are to live +safely they should be killed. Or, better, prevented from hatching and +growing at all. + +So we tossed in another fly. Argiope immediately dropped the nearly +finished first fly into the web, ran out to the new one and pounced on +it, seizing it with her fore legs. Then she doubled her abdomen +quickly underneath her and there issued from the spinnerets at its tip +a jet, a flat jet of silk, which was caught up by the hind feet and +wrapped around the fly as it was rolled over and over by the front +feet. She tumbled it about, all the time wrapping it with the issuing +band of silk, until it was completely enswathed. Then she left it +fastened in the web, went back to the hub, and resumed her feeding on +the first fly. But soon she finished this entirely, dropped the wreck +out of the web and went out and got the second fly, bringing it back +to the hub to eat. + +"But why," asked Mary, "does Argiope wrap the fly up so carefully in +silk? Why not just kill it by biting, and then leave it in the web +until she wants it?" + +"Perhaps," I answer, "she wants to make it helpless before she comes +to close quarters with it. You notice she holds it away from her body +with her fore feet and pulls the silk band out far with her hind feet +so that her body does not touch the fly at all while she wraps it. +Perhaps she is not sure that it isn't a bee or some other stinging +insect. It buzzes loud enough to make me think it a bee." + +So Mary and I decided to try some experiments with our Argiope to find +out, if possible, first, if she could tell a bee from a fly, and +second, if so, whether she treated it differently, and third, why she +wraps her prey up so carefully before coming to too close quarters +with it. We feel quite proud of these experiments because we seemed to +be doing something really scientific; and we know that Experimental +Zoology, that is, studying animals by experimenting with them, is +quite the most scientific thing going nowadays among professional +naturalists. So here are our notes exactly as we wrote them during our +experimenting. This is, of course, the correct manner for publishing +real scientific observations, because it gives the critical reader a +chance to detect flaws in our technique! + + +OUR NOTES ON THE BEHAVIOR OF ARGIOPE + +"Nov. 18, 4:45 P.M.; released a fly in the cage. The spider pounced +upon it, seized it with fore and third pair of legs, threw out a band +of silk and enswathed it, tumbling it over and over with her hind feet +about thirteen times, hence enswathed it in thirteen wrappings of +silk. The fly was then disconnected from the web, the spider making +but little attempt to mend the gap. It was carried to the hub and +eaten. While the feast was going on, a honey-bee [with sting +extracted; we didn't want to run any risks with Argiope!] was +liberated in the cage. As soon as it touched the web, the spider was +upon it, throwing out a band of silk in a sheet a quarter of an inch +broad. ['Drawing out' would be more accurate, for the spinnerets +cannot spurt out silk; silk is drawn out and given its band character +by lightning-like movements of the comb-toothed hind feet.] With her +hind legs Argiope turned the bee over and over twenty-five or +twenty-six times, thus enswathing it with twenty-five or twenty-six +wrappings of the silken sheet. + +"No sooner was the bee enswathed than a second bee was liberated in +the cage and caught in the web. This was treated by the spider like +bee No. 1. + +"Nov. 20, 8:15 A.M.; Argiope perfectly still in center of hub, +feeding on bee No. 2. The only thing that reveals the feeding is a +slight moving of the bee's body as the juices are sucked up. Remains +of bee No. 1 dropped to the bottom of the cage. + +"Fed all day, 8:15 A.M. to 5 P.M., on bee No. 2. + +"At 2:30 P.M., a box-elder bug, which is very ill-smelling, was thrown +into the web. Argiope did nothing for three minutes, then went out on +the web to it and wrapped, making five complete turns; then went away. +Probably not hungry, as she has had two bees and a fly in three days. + +"Nov. 21, 8:15 A.M.; box-elder bug finished during last night. Old web +replaced by a new one with twenty-nine radii, eleven complete spirals +and several partial spirals. The hub is formed of fine irregular +webbing about an inch and a half in diameter, without the viscid +droplets that cover the spirals. An open space of about a half-inch +intervenes between the hub and the beginning of the spirals. + +"4:30 P.M.; liberated a fly in the cage. Argiope pounced upon it and +began to eat immediately, not taking time or trouble to enswath it. + +"While the fly was being devoured, we liberated a strong-smelling +box-elder bug in the cage. It flew into the web. Argiope, by a quick +movement, turned on the hub toward the bug and stood in halting +position for eight seconds, then approached the bug slowly, hesitated +for a second or two, then wrapped it about with five wrappings, halted +again, and finally finished with five more wrappings. The bug was then +attached to the web where it had first touched, the spider passing +back to the center and resuming her meal. + +"When the fly was finished, Argiope walked over to the bug, grasped it +in her mandibles, walked up to the hub, turned herself about so that +her head was downward, manipulated the bug with her fore and third +pair of feet until it seemed to be in right position for her with +reference to the hub of the web, and began to feed. + +"5 P.M.; bee liberated in cage _with sting not extracted_. Argiope +leaped instantaneously to the spot where it was caught, enswathed it +with great rapidity thirty-seven times, then bit at it, and enswathed +it five times more, making forty-two complete wrappings in all, then +left it fastened in the web and resumed feeding upon the bug. All the +time she was wrapping it, Argiope kept her body well clear of the +bee's body, the spinnerets being fully one-half an inch from the bee, +making the broad band of issuing silk very noticeable. In biting it, +which she seemed to do with marked caution, she of course had to bite +through the silken covering. + +"A few minutes later a second bee, with sting, was liberated in the +cage, caught in the web and rapidly pounced on by the spider. As +before, she turned it over and over with great rapidity, using +apparently all of her legs. She enswathed it fifty times, bit it, and +then wrapped it with five more silken sheets, making fifty-five +wrappings in all. Leaving it hung to the web, she went back to the +bug. + +"Before Argiope had reached the bug, bee No. 3 was caught in the web +at the exact spot where bee No. 2 was hung up. In its efforts to +disentangle its feet, it shook the whole web violently. In spite of +the violent vibration of the web, Argiope pursued her course to the +bug at the hub of the web, adjusted herself with head downward, and +resumed feeding. + +"Query: Did Argiope think the web-shaking due to futile struggles of +the well-wrapped bee No. 2, and hence needing no attention? + +"Vibration of the web continued. After several seconds had elapsed, +Argiope seemed suddenly to realize that her efforts were called for +out on the web, for she pounced down as rapidly as before and rolled +and tumbled _both bees together_, enswathing both in the same sheet of +silk, never stopping until she had given them fifty-five wrappings. +After biting twice, she wrapped them with five more turns, bit again, +and wrapped again with seven more turns, making sixty-seven in all. +Argiope then returned to her bug. + +"Query: Does Argiope distinguish bees from flies? + +"Further query: Does Argiope distinguish bees _with stings_ from bees +with _stings extracted_? + +"Nov. 22, 9:45 A.M.; Argiope feeding at hub on bees Nos. 2 and 3 +introduced into cage yesterday afternoon. With her right second leg +she holds taut a line connected with bee No. 1. + +"10:25 A.M.; packet dropped to the bottom of the cage, the juices of +only one of the bees having been sucked out. The web is constructed +at an angle so that anything dropped from the center falls free of it. + +"5 P.M.; began feeding again on bee No. 1. + +"Nov. 23, 9:30 A.M.; another bee released in cage, caught in web and +enswathed approximately thirty turns by Argiope. + +"Nov. 25, 8:30 A.M.; the web has been destroyed during the night. + +"Nov. 26, Argiope has made an entirely new web. + +"Nov. 30, 2 P.M.; gave Argiope a bee with sting. It was wrapped +forty-seven times, but not so expeditiously as has been her wont. +Later another bee was liberated in the cage, caught and wrapped about +forty-five times. + +"Dec. 2, 11 A.M.; the body of a live bee was bathed in fluid from the +freshly crushed body of a box-elder bug [very malodorous], and the bee +liberated in Argiope's cage, and soon caught in the web. The bee was +not very lively and did not shake the web violently, but Argiope +rushed to it without hesitation, wrapped it with twenty-five turns of +silk and returned to the hub of the web. + +"Dec. 3; Argiope stayed all day in the upper part of the web, on +foundation lines, with head downward. + +"Dec. 5; yesterday Argiope moved down to her normal place on the hub. +To-day she is on the hub, but in reversed position [head up], and with +legs bent and limp, not straight out and stiffened as usual. + +"Dec. 6; Argiope hung all day from foundation lines of upper part of +web, in reversed position [head up], with legs limp and bent. + +"Dec. 7; Argiope hanging by first and second right legs, from upper +part of web; barely alive. + +"Dec. 8; Argiope dead." + +[Illustration: THE ORANGE-DWELLERS.] + + + + +THE ORANGE-DWELLERS + + +An entire colony of those strange little people, the Orange-dwellers, +were killed in our town yesterday morning. And not a newspaper +reporter found it out! Just one of the Orange-dwellers escaped, and as +Mary and I were the means of saving his life, and are taking care of +him as well as we can (Mary has him now on a small piece of +orange-rind in a pill box), he has told us the story of his life and +something about the other orange-dwelling people. Some of the +Orange-dwellers live in Mexico; some live in Florida, and some in +California; in fact they are to be found wherever oranges grow. Of +course, you have guessed already that the Orange-dwellers are not +human beings; they are not really people; they are insects. + +The name of the Orange-dweller we had saved, and with whom we became +very well acquainted, is so long and strange that I shall tell you +merely his nickname, which is Citrinus. The oranges on which Citrinus +and a great many of his brothers and sisters and cousins lived grew in +Mexico, and when these oranges were ripe, they were gathered and +packed into boxes and sent to our town. Imagine if you can the fearful +strangeness of it! To have one's world plucked from its place in +space, wrapped up in tissue-paper, and packed into a great box with a +lot of other worlds; then sent off through space to some other place +where enormous giants were waiting impatiently for breakfast! When +Citrinus's world reached our town, one of these giants, who is my +brother, took it up, and saying, "See, what a specked orange," +straightway began unwittingly to kill all of the Orange-dwellers on it +by vigorously rubbing and scraping it. For Citrinus and his +companions were the specks! That is all an Orange-dweller seems to be +when carelessly looked at; simply a little circular, scale-like, +blackish or reddish-brown speck on the shining surface of the orange, +his world. You can find the Orange-dwellers almost any morning at +breakfast. + +When my brother began to scrape off the specks, I hastily interfered, +but only in time to save one of the little people, Citrinus, whom, as +I have said, Mary has since faithfully cared for. He will soon die, +however, for he has lived already nearly three months, and that is a +ripe age for an Orange-dweller. But he has had time enough to tell me +a great deal about his life, and as it is such a curious story, and is +undoubtedly true, I venture to repeat it here to you. As a matter of +fact I must confess--still Mary says that _of course_ Citrinus can +talk, because he talks with other Orange-dwellers later in the story, +and so of course can talk to us now. + +Citrinus has lived for almost his whole life on the orange on which we +found him. His mother lived on one of the fragrant leaves of the tree +on which the orange grew. She was, as Citrinus is now, simply a +reddish-brown circular speck on the bright-green orange-leaf; and +because she couldn't walk, she had to get all her food in a peculiar +way. She had a long (that is, long for such a tiny creature), slender, +pointed hollow beak or sucking-tube, which she thrust right into the +tender orange-leaf, and through which she sucked up the rich sap or +juice which kept flowing into the leaf from the twig it hung on. She +had thus a constant supply of food always ready and convenient; +whenever she was hungry she simply sucked orange-sap into her mouth +until she was satisfied. This is the way all the Orange-dwellers get +their food, the very youngest of the family being able to take care of +itself from the day of its birth. They never taste any other kind of +food but the juice from the leaf or twig or golden orange on which +they live. + +Citrinus is one of a large number of brothers and sisters, more than +fifty indeed, who were hatched from tiny reddish eggs which the mother +laid under her own body. Before laying the eggs, Citrinus's mother had +built a thin shell or roof of wax over her back, and after the eggs +were laid she soon died and her body shriveled up, leaving the eggs +safely housed under the waxen roof. When the baby Orange-dwellers were +hatched, each had six legs and a delicate little sucking-beak +projecting from his small plump body. Citrinus and his brothers and +sisters scrambled out from under the wax shell and started out each +for himself to explore the world. First, however, each thrust his beak +into the leaf and took a good drink of sap. Then they were ready to +begin their journeying. But a terrible thing happened! + +Just as Citrinus was pulling his beak out of the soft leaf, he saw a +great six-legged beast, in shape like a turtle, with shining +red-and-black back and fearful snapping jaws. On each side of its +head, which it moved slowly from side to side, it had an immense eye, +which looked like a hemispherical window, with hundreds of panes of +glass in it. The beast's legs were large and powerful, and on each +foot there were two claws, each of them as long as the whole body of +Citrinus. Truly this was an appalling sight, and all of the little +Orange-dwellers ran as fast as they could, which, unfortunately, +wasn't very fast. The beast leisurely caught up in its great jaws one +after another of Citrinus's brothers and sisters, and crushed and tore +their tender bodies to pieces and ate them! + +Now this beast, which seemed so large to Citrinus, was what is to us a +very small and pretty insect, one of the lady-bird beetles. These +beetles care for no other food than plump Orange-dwellers and other +equally toothsome small insects; and instead of being sorry for its +victims, we are glad it eats them! This seems very cruel indeed, but +there are so many, many millions of the Orange-dwellers all sucking +the juice of orange-trees that although they are so small, and each +one drinks so little sap, yet altogether they do a great amount of +damage to the orange-trees, often killing all the trees in a large +orchard. So the lady-birds are a great help to the orange-growers. + +Little Citrinus escaped from the Beetle by crawling into a small, dark +hole in the surface of the leaf; but he was badly frightened. This was +his first experience with the terrible dangers of the world, with the +struggle for life, which is going on so bitterly among the people of +his kind, the insects. For although there would seem to be enough +plants and trees to serve as food for all of them, many insects find +it easier or prefer to eat other insects than to live on plant food. +Now because the insects which live on plant food do injury to our +fruit-trees and vegetables and grain crops by their eating, we call +them injurious insects; while we call the insect-eating kinds +beneficial insects, because they destroy the injurious insects. + +But little Citrinus didn't look at the matter at all in this light. He +thought the lady-bird beetle a very cruel and wicked being, and +resolved to warn every Orange-dweller he met in his travels to beware +of the cruel, turtle-shaped beast with the shining black-and-red back. +As he wandered on from leaf to leaf along the tender twigs in the top +of the tree, he met many other Orange-dwellers, whom he would have +told all about the Beetle, but he found that all of them had had +experiences as sad as his; in fact he soon learned that of all the +Orange-dwellers who are born, only a very, very few escape the Beetles +and other devouring beasts who pursue them. And he was highly +indignant when one shrewd Orange-dweller told him that it really was a +good thing for the race of Orange-dwellers that so many of them were +killed. For, the shrewd Orange-dweller said, if all of us who are born +should live and have families, and not die until old age came on, +there would soon be so many of us that we should eat all the +orange-trees in the world, and then we should all starve to death. And +this is quite true. + +Finally Citrinus came to a remarkable being, a very beautiful being +indeed. It had two long, slender, waving feelers on its head, four +large ball-shaped eyes, and, strangest of all, two delicate gauzy +wings. This beautiful creature greeted Citrinus kindly and asked him +where he was going. Citrinus, who was at first a little afraid of the +strange creature, was reassured by its kind greeting, and answered +simply, "I don't know. My brothers and sisters were all eaten by the +Beetle; my father and mother I have never seen; and no one has told me +where to go." + +The stranger smiled a little sadly and said, "That is the common story +among us Orange-dwellers. Our fathers and mothers always die before we +are born. It is a great pity. Yes, before my little Orange-dweller +children are born--" + +"What," cried Citrinus, "are you an Orange-dweller; you, who are so +different from me?" + +"Indeed I am," replied the gauzy-winged creature. "I am an old +Orange-dweller. Oh, I know it seems strange to you," he continued, +noticing the look of astonishment on Citrinus's face, "but some day +you will look just like me. You will have wings, and be able to fly; +and will have long feelers on your head to hear and to smell with, and +big eyes to see all around you with. You will have some strange +experiences, though, before you become like me." + +"But as I had started to say, we fathers, and the mothers too for that +matter, always die before you youngsters are hatched out of your eggs. +Now I shall probably die to-morrow or next day, because I have lived +three days already, and that is a long time to live without eating." + +Little Citrinus could hardly believe his senses. It was so wonderful. +"But why don't you eat," urged Citrinus, who felt very badly to think +of any one's going without food for three days. He always took a drink +of sap every few minutes. + +"Why, how absurd," replied the winged Orange-dweller, "don't you see I +have nothing to eat with? No sucking-beak, no mouth at all. When I get +my wings and my four eyes, I lose my mouth, and can't eat or drink any +more." + +This was incredible; but when Citrinus looked at the head of his +companion, he saw it was perfectly true. He had no mouth. Citrinus +gently waved his little sucking-beak, to be sure he still had it. +Suddenly he began to cry; a sad thought had come to him. "And did my +mother starve to death too?" he sobbed. + +"Not at all, little one," rather impatiently exclaimed the other. +Little Citrinus seemed to know so very little, indeed. "Your mother +was not at all like me. When she was full-grown she had no wings, no +legs, and no eyes, but she had a very long beak, and could suck up a +great deal of orange-sap. If you will listen and not interrupt, I will +tell you how we Orange-dwellers grow. When we are hatched from our +eggs we are all alike, brothers and sisters. We each have a plump +little body, six legs, two eyes, and a sucking-beak to get food with. +We walk about for a few days, and finally stop on some nice green leaf +or juicy orange, and stick our beaks far in and go to sleep, or do +something very like it. We never walk about any more. Indeed, if you +are a girl Orange-dweller you never leave this spot, but live all the +rest of your life and die here. However, I am getting too far along in +my story. While we are asleep we shed all of our skin, fold it up into +a little ball or cushion and put it on our backs, together with some +wax which comes out of small holes in our bodies. While shedding our +skin we make a great change in our bodies. We lose our legs! So we +simply remain where we went to sleep, with our beaks stuck into the +leaf, sucking the sap. After a few days we go to sleep again, and +again we shed our skins and fold them on our backs. But at this time +something even more wonderful than before happens to our bodies. That +is, to the bodies of the boy Orange-dwellers. For this time we lose +our sucking-beaks, but we regain our six legs, and in addition we get +a second pair of eyes, we find on our heads a pair of long, slender, +hairy feelers, and, most pleasing of all, we have been provided with a +pair of wings. Our wings are not yet full-grown or ready to fly with, +so we still remain quietly in our resting-place for a few days longer, +when we shed our skin once more, and then fly away, looking just as I +do now. Our sisters, though, when they shed their skins the second +time, make no change in their bodies, except to grow larger. They +remain with their sucking-beaks thrust into the leaf. They keep +increasing the size of the wax scale or shell over their backs, until +they are entirely covered by it. Now they look just as your mother +did. From above, all one can see is the flat circular wax scale with +two spots on it, where the folded-up cast skins are. Underneath the +scale lies the Orange-dweller, with its sucking-beak stuck into the +sap, but with no legs or wings or long, hairy feelers. After a while +she lays a lot of eggs under her body, and then dies. And soon the new +family is born. Now this is the way we grow, and all of the wonderful +things which have happened to me will happen to you,--if the Beetle +does not get you." + +With that the winged Orange-dweller flew away, and little Citrinus was +left alone, wondering over the strange story. After taking a drink of +sap from the leaf on which he was standing, he wandered aimlessly +about until he came to a large yellow ball hanging from the branch, +which gave out a delightful odor. Scrambling down the slender stem by +which it was suspended, he walked out on to the shining surface of the +orange; for, of course, that is what the yellow ball was. He tried a +drink of sap from the ball and found it delicious. He decided to stay +on the ball, the more readily as he was getting rather tired with his +long traveling, and a sort of sleepy feeling was coming over him. So +thrusting his beak far into the ball, he went to sleep. How long he +slept he doesn't know, but when he awoke he could hardly believe his +senses. He had no legs; and on his back there was a thin shell of wax +and a little packet. He realized, too, that he was bigger than he was +before he went to sleep. Then the strange story told him by the winged +Orange-dweller came back to him, and he knew that the stranger had +told the truth. The first great change had happened. He was delighted, +for he thought it would be very pleasant to have wings and fly about +wherever he wished, to see the world. + +Suddenly a great shock came: his World trembled, then shook violently, +and, with a quick wrench, started to move swiftly through space. Then +came a stop, a series of shocks and curious whirlings, and then a +filmy-white cloud settled down over it all, shutting out the sunlight +and the blue sky. Finally there came a few more shocks and wrenches, +and then total darkness and silence. Citrinus had held on to his world +all through this, because his beak was still thrust into the fragrant +surface, and now he felt thankful that he had come alive through these +series of world catastrophes and convulsions and still had all the +food he could possibly use. + +After a few days, when Citrinus's world all nicely wrapped in +tissue-paper and packed in a box with ninety-nine other similar worlds +had traveled a thousand miles, the sunlight came again, and soon after +came that greatest danger of all--that danger from which I saved him +by staying my brother's hand in its ruthless rubbing off of the specks +on his breakfast orange! Now Citrinus and Mary and I are all waiting +impatiently for the day when he shall get his beautiful wings and his +two pairs of eyes. + +[Illustration: THE DRAGON OF LAGUNITA] + + + + +THE DRAGON OF LAGUNITA + + +When Mary and I came to examine our ant-lion dragon the day after our +adventures among the Morrowbie Jukes pits, we found him dead in the +bottle of sand. Perhaps his haughty spirit of dragon could not stand +such ignominious bottling up, or perhaps there wasn't enough air. +Anyway, His Fierceness was dead. His cruel curved jaws would seize and +pierce no more foraging ants. His thirsty throat would never again be +laved by the fresh blood of victims. _Vale_ dragon! + +But there are more dragons than one in our world. Not only more +ant-lion dragons, but more other kinds of dragons. And this is one of +the great advantages that Mary and I enjoy in our looking about in +the fields and woods for interesting things. If we were looking for +the dragons of fairy stories, we could only expect to find one +kind--if, indeed, we could expect to find any kind at all in these +days when so few fairies are left. If we _could_ find it, however, it +would be a monstrous beast in a forest cavern, with scaled body and +clawed feet and great ugly head that breathed fire and smoke from its +gaping mouth. That would be an interesting sort of dragon to see, we +confess, more interesting than the great one, a hundred yards long, +that we saw in a Chinese procession in Oakland, with two excited +Chinamen jumping about in front of its head and jabbing at its eyes +with spears. And more interesting than the one that roars and spits at +Siegfried on the stage while the big orchestra goes off into wild +clamors of O-see-the-dragon music. But we do not expect ever to find a +real fairy-story dragon any more, and so we content ourselves with +trying to find as many different kinds of real dragons as we can in +our world of little folk on the campus. These dragons are rather +small, but they are unusually fierce and voracious, to make up for +their lack of size. And so they serve very well to interest us. + +To make up for the death of the ant-lion dragon of the sand-pits, I +promised to take Mary to see the Dragon of Lagunita. Or rather the +dragons, for there are many in Lagunita, and indeed many in several +other places on the campus. Have I explained that Lagunita is a pretty +Spanish word for "little lake," and that our Lagunita is just what its +name means, and besides is as pretty as its name? There is only one +trouble about it. And that is, that every year, in the long, rainless, +sun-filled summer, it dries up to nothing but a shallow, parched +hollow in the ground, and all the dragons have to move. But this +moving is a remarkable performance. For while during the spring the +Lagunita dragons live rather inactively in their lairs under the +water, when summer comes they all transform themselves into great +flying dragons of the air, and swoop and swirl about in a manner very +terrifying to see. + +The morning we were to make our journey to Lagunita, I came to Mary's +house with a rake over my shoulder. + +"But what are you going to do with the rake?" said Mary. + +"One doesn't go to seek a dragon without weapons," I replied with +dignity. "And a rake is a much more formidable weapon in the hands of +a man who knows how to rake than a gun in the hands of a man who +doesn't know how to shoot." I am something of an amateur gardener, but +not at all the holder of a record at clay pigeons nor king of a +_Schützen-verein_. So I carried my rake. + +"Then what weapon shall I carry?" asks Mary. + +I ponder seriously. + +"A tin lunch-pail," I finally reply. + +"With luncheon in?" asks Mary. + +"Empty," I say. + +So we start. + +I have already said that Lagunita is a pretty little lake. It lies +just under the first of the foothills that rise ridge after ridge into +the forested mountains that separate us from the ocean. Indeed, it is +on the first low step up from the valley floor, and from its enclosing +bank or shore one gets a good view of the level, reaching valley +thickly set with live-oak trees and houses and fields. Around the +little lake have grown up pines, willows and other beautiful trees, +and at one side a tiny stream comes in during the wet season. There is +no regular outlet, but the water which usually begins to come in about +November keeps filling the shallow bowl of the lake higher and higher +until by spring it is nearly bank full and may even overflow. Then as +the long dry summer season sets in, the level of the water grows +lower and lower until in August or September there is only left a +small muddy puddle crammed with surprised and despairing little fishes +and salamanders and water-beetles and the like, who are not at all +accustomed to such behavior on the part of a lake. And then a few days +later they are all gasping their last breaths there together on the +scum-covered, waterless bottom. + +But when Lagunita is really a lake, it is a very pretty one, and Mary +and I love to go there and sit on the bank under the willows near the +horse paddocks and watch the college boys rowing about in their +graceful, narrow, long-oared shells. These swift-darting boats look +like great water-skaters, only white instead of black. You know the +long-legged, active water-skaters or water-striders that skim about +over the surface of ponds or quiet backwater pools in streams in +summer time? + +So Mary and I went to Lagunita with our rake and tin lunch-pail to +hunt for dragons. No shining armor; no great two-handed sword; no cap +of invisibility. Just a rake and a tin lunch-pail. + +"Where, Mary, do you think is the likeliest place for the dragon?" I +ask. + +Mary answers promptly, "There at the foot of the steep stony bank +where the big willow-tree hangs over." + +We go there. I grasp my rake firmly with both hands. I reach far out +over the shallow water. Then I beat the rake suddenly down through the +water to the bottom, and with a quick strong pull I drag it out, +raking out with it a great mass of oozy mud and matted leaves. I drag +this well up on shore, and both Mary and I flop down on our knees and +begin pawing about in it. Suddenly Mary calls out, "I've got one," and +holds up in her fingers an extraordinary, kicking, twisting creature +with six legs, a big head, and a thick, ugly body on which seem to be +the beginnings of several fins or wings. It has, this creature, two +great staring eyes, and stout, sharp-pointed spines stick out from +various parts of the body. + +"Put him in the lunch-pail," I shout. I had already filled it +half-full of water from the lake. + +Then I found one; then Mary another, and then I still another. It was +truly great sport, this dragon-hunting. + +We put them all into the lunch-pail where they lay sullenly on the +bottom, glaring at each other, but not offering to fight, as we rather +hoped they would. + +Then, what to do? These dragons in their regular lairs at the bottom +of Lagunita might do a lot of most interesting things, but dredged up +in this summary way and deposited in a strange tin pail in the glaring +light of day, they seemed wholly indisposed to carry on any +performances of dragon for our benefit. So we decided to take them +home, and try to fix up for them a still smaller lakelet than +Lagunita; one, say, in a tub! Then, perhaps, they would feel more at +home and ease, and might do something for us. + +So we took them home. And we fixed a tub with sand in the bottom, +water over that, and over the top of the tub a screen of netting that +would let air and sunlight in, but not dragons out. Then we collected +some miscellaneous small water-beasties and a few water-plants, and +put them in, and so really had a very comfortable and home-like place +for the dragons. They seemed to take to it all right; we called our +new lakelet Monday Pond, because of some relation between the tub and +washday, I suppose, and we had very good fun with our dragons for +several weeks. Think of the advantage of having your dragon right at +home! If it is a bad day, or we are lazy, or there may be visitors who +stay too long so there is only a little time for ourselves, how +convenient it is to have a dragon--or indeed a whole brood of +dragons--right in your study. Much better, of course, than to have to +sail to a distant island and tramp through leagues of forest or thorny +bushes or over burning desert or among spouting volcanoes to find your +dragon, as most princes in fairy stories have to do. + +I can't, of course, venture to tell you of all the interesting things +that Mary and I saw our dragons do. Two or three will have to do. Or +my publisher will cry, "Cut it short; cut it short, I say." And that +will hurt me, for he is really a most forbearing publisher, and quite +in the way of a friend. The three things shall be, one, eating, and +what with; two, getting a new skin, and why; and third, changing from +an under-water, crawling, squirmy, ugly dragon into an aerial, +whizzing, flashing, dashing, beautiful-winged dragon, and when. Of +course one of the most important things about any dragon is what and +how he eats; and the other most important thing about Mary's and my +special kind of dragon is his remarkable change. This was to us much +more remarkable than having three heads or even getting a new head +every time an old one is cut off, which seems to be rather a usual +habit of fairy-book dragons. + +The dragons lay rather quietly on the sand at the bottom of Monday +Pond most of the time. Sometimes one would be up a little way on the +shore, that is, the side of the tub, or clinging to one of the +plant-stems. When poked with a pencil,--and we were fearless about +poking them, if the pencil were a long one,--they would half-walk, +half-swim away. But mostly they lay pretty well concealed, waiting for +something to happen. What would happen occasionally was this: a young +May-fly or a water-beetle would come swimming or walking along; if it +passed an inch away from the dragon, all right; but if its path +brought it closer, an extraordinary "catcher," rather like a pair of +long nippers or tongs, would shoot out like a flash from the head of +the dragon and seize on the unfortunate beastie. Then the "catcher" +would fold up in such a way as to bring the victim against the +dragon's mouth, which is provided with powerful, sharp-toothed jaws. +These jaws then had their turn. And that was the end of the May-fly. + +Mary was rather shocked when she saw the dragon first use its +"catcher." She wanted to rescue the poor May-fly. But after all she +has got pretty well used to seeing tragedies in insect life. They seem +to be necessary and normal. Many insects depend upon other animals for +food, just as we do. Only fortunately we don't have to catch and kill +our own steer or pig or lamb or chicken. We turn the bloody business +over to men who like--well, at least, who do it for us. But in the +world of lower animals each one is usually his own butcher. + +Mary soon wanted to see the dragon's "catcher," and so we dredged one +out of Monday Pond, and put him on the study-table. As he faced us +with his big eyes glaring from his broad heavy head, he looked very +fierce. But curiously enough, he didn't seem to have any jaws; nor +even a mouth. The whole front of his face was smooth and covered over +by a sort of mask, so that his terrible jaws and catching nippers were +invisible. However, we soon understood this. The mask was the +folded-up "catcher" so disposed that it served, when not in use, +actually to hide its own iniquity as well as that of the yawning mouth +behind. Only when some small insect, all unsuspecting this smooth +masked face, comes close, do the long tongs unfold, shoot out, and +reveal the waiting jaws and thirsty throat. A veritable dragon indeed; +sly and cruel and ever hungry for living prey. + +One day when we were looking into Monday Pond, Mary saw a curious +object that looked more like a hollow dragon than anything else. It +had all the shape and size of one of the dragons; the legs and eyes +and masked face, the pads on the back that looked like half-fledged +wings. But there was a transparency and emptiness about it that was +uncanny and ghost-like. Then, too, when we looked more closely there +was a great rent down the back. And that made the mystery plain. The +real dragon, the flesh and blood and breathing live dragon, had come +out of that long tear, leaving his skin behind! It was his complete +skin, too, back and sides and belly, out to the tips of his feelers +and down to his toes and claws. + +"But why should he shed his skin? Hasn't he any skin now?" asked Mary. + +"Of course he must have a skin. How could he keep his blood in, and +what would his muscles be fastened to, for he is a boneless dragon, +and his skeleton is his outside shell, with his muscles fastened to +it? So how could he live at all without a skin? He must have a new +skin." + +And, of course, that was exactly it. He had cast his old skin, as a +snake does, and had got a brand-new one. Why shouldn't a dragon change +his skin if a snake can? + +But Mary is persistent about her "whys," and I was quite ready for her +next question, which came after a moment of musing. + +"Why should he shed his old skin and get a new one? Is the new one +different; a different color or shape or something?" + +"No; not a different color or different shape especially, but a +different size. The dragon is growing up. He is like a boy who keeps +on wearing age-nine clothes until they are too short in the sleeves, +too tight in the back, and too high-water in the legs. Then one day +he sheds his age-nine suit and gets an age-eleven one. See?" + +"What a funny professor you are! Is that the way you lecture to your +classes?" + +"Gracious, no, Mary! This is the way: As the immature dragon grows +older, his constant assimilation of food tends to create a natural +increase in size. But the comparative inelasticity of his chitinized +cuticula prevents the actual expansion, to any considerable degree, of +his body mass. Thus all the cells of the body become turgid, and +altogether a great pressure is exerted outwards against the enclosing +cuticular wall. This wall then suddenly splits along the longimesial +line of the dorsum, and through this rent the dragon extricates itself +in soft and defenceless condition, but of markedly larger size. The +new cuticula, which is pale, elastic and thin at first, soon becomes +thicker, strongly chitinized and dark. The old cuticle, or exuvia, +which has been moulted, is curiously complete, and is a hollow or +shell-like replica of the external appearance of the dragon even to +the finest details. How is that, Mary?" + +"Very instruct--instructing"--with an effort--"indeed," replies Mary, +with grave face. "But I guess I understand the change from age-nine to +age-eleven clothes better." + +And then we saw the third wonderful happening in our dragon's life +that I said we should tell about. We saw one of the dragons getting +wings! That is, changing from an ugly, blackish, squat, crawling +creature into a glorious long-bodied, rainbow-tinted, flying dragon. +Another dragon had crawled up above the water on a plant-stem and was +also "moulting its chitinized cuticula." But it was coming out from +the old skin in very different shape and color. I had forgotten, when +I told Mary that they only changed in size after casting the skin, +about the last moulting. Each dragon casts its skin several times in +its life, but the last time it does it, it makes the wonderful change +I've already spoken about, from crawling to flying dragon. And it was +one of these last skin-castings that was going on now under our very +eyes. + +I can't describe all that happened. You must see it for yourself some +time. How, out of the great rent in the old skin along the back, the +soft damp body of the dragon squeezes slowly out, with its constant +revelation of delicate changing color and its graceful new shape; how +out of the odd shapeless pads on the back come four, long, narrow, +shining, transparent wings, with complex framework of fine little +veins, or ribs, and thin flexible glassy membrane stretched over them; +how the new head looks with its enormous, sparkling, iridescent eyes +making nearly two-thirds of it and so cleverly fitted on the body that +it can turn nearly entirely around on the neck. And then how the body +fills out and takes shape, and the wings get larger and larger, and +everything more and more beautifully colored! All this you will have +to see for yourself some time when you have a Monday Pond in your own +study, with a brood of dragons in. + +"It _is_ wonderful, isn't it, Mary? How would you like to see twenty, +thirty, forty, oh, a hundred dragons doing this all at once. We can if +we want to. All we have to do is to go over to Lagunita some morning +early, very early, just a little after sunrise--for that is their +favorite time--and we shall see scores of dragons crawling up out of +the water on stones, plants, sticks, anything convenient, and +sloughing off their dirty, dark, old skins and coming out in their +beautiful iridescent green and violet and purple new skins, with their +long slender body and great flashing wings. They sit quietly on the +stones and plant-stems until the warm rising sun dries them and their +new skins get firm and all nicely fitted, and then they begin their +new life,--wheeling and dashing over the lake and among the hills and +bushes and above the grasses and grain along the banks. Like eagles +and hawks they are seeking their prey. Watch that little gnat buzzing +there in the air. A flying dragon swoops by and there is no gnat there +any longer. It has been caught in the curious basket-like trap which +the dragon makes with its spiny legs all held together, and it is +being crushed and chewed by the great jaws. Still a dragon, you see, +for all of its new beauty!" + +Mary muses. "Not all beautiful things in the world are good, are +they?" she murmurs. + +"Mary, you are a philosopher," I say. + + * * * * * + +As I read this over I realize quite as keenly, I hope, as you do, my +reader, how little there is in this story. And yet finding out this +little was real pleasure to Mary and me. Now we must perforce +estimate the pleasures and pains, the likes and dislikes, of other +people by our own. And however untrue this estimate may be for any one +other person, it must be fairly true for any considerable number of +persons. Therefore--and this is the reason for putting down our simple +experiences with the insects for other people to read and perhaps to +be stirred by to see and do similar things--therefore, I say, other +people, some other people, also must be able to get pleasure from what +we do. + +Now if there is any way and any means of getting clean pleasure into +the crowded days of our living, then that way and means should be +suggested and opened to as many as possible. Mary and I, you see, have +the real proselyting spirit; we are missionaries of the religion of +the unroofed temples. And we want all to be saved! So we give +testimony willingly of our own experiences, and of the saving grace of +our belief. We have no names for our idols, nor any formulation of +our creed. But in various voice and word we do gladly confess over and +over again the reality of the happiness that comes to us from our +hours with the lowly world that we are coming to know better and +better. And any one of these happy hours may contain no more than the +little that has been told in this story of the "Dragon of Lagunita," +and yet be really and truly a happy hour. + +[Illustration: A SUMMER INVASION] + + + + +A SUMMER INVASION + + +"Are you comfortable, Mary?" I ask, "and shall I begin?" + +"Yes; in just a minute," Mary replies; "I want to sit so that I can +see both ways, Lagunita that way and the brown field with the +tarantula holes that way," and she sweeps half the horizon with a +chubby hand. + +We are half-sitting, half-lying, in the shade at the base of a +live-oak on a little knoll back of the campus, whence we can look down +on the red-tiled roofs and warm buffy walls of the Quadrangle, and on +beyond to the Arboretum with its great eucalyptuses sticking out above +the other trees. We can catch glimpses of the bay, too, and of the +white houses of the caretakers of the oyster-beds perched on piles +above the water like ancient Swiss lake-dwellers. + +Strolling about over the brown field of the tarantula holes and +carrying bundles of sticks, and stooping down now and then to strike +at the ground with one of the sticks, are several young men, +Sophomores by their hats, and one of them with a red jacket on: + + "Gowfin' a' the day, + Daein' nae wark ava'; + Rinnin' aboot wi' a peck o' sticks + Efter a wee bit ba'!" + +Mary recites this in a pretty singsong. + +"Why, Mary, where did you learn that?" I ask in surprise. + +"From the Scotch lady that I take of." + +"Take of! What is it you take of her? I hope not measles or smallpox, +or--" + +"Why no, of course not. Music. That's what all young ladies take." + +"Oh, I see! It _is_ catching, isn't it? I have seen some bad cases, +especially in small towns. Every young lady, even just girls"--I +glance sidewise at Mary--"down with it. But is that what those boys +over there are doing? I hope they won't interfere with the tarantulas. +They probably don't know what lively times there are at nights in that +field. Scores of big black tarantulas racing about, hunting, and +hundreds of beetles and things racing about, trying to keep from being +eaten. Well, I'd better begin, because we have to get back by luncheon +time. I have a most profound lecture to give on Orthogenesis and +Heterogenesis to that unfortunate Evolution class at two o'clock." + +"I'm all ready," said Mary, looking up at me with confidence. _She_ +appreciates the kind of lectures I give outdoors, even if the +lunch-gorged students don't appreciate my efforts _ex cathedra_. + +"Well this summer invasion that I promised to tell you about happened +when I was a boy in a little town in Kansas. It was in Centennial +year; the one-hundredth anniversary of the freedom of the United +States, and the summer of the Centennial Exposition at Philadelphia. + +"I was going down town one day in July to buy some meat for dinner. I +was going because my mother had sent me. Naturally this promised to be +a very uninteresting excursion. But you never can tell. + +"When I had got fairly down to Commercial Street, I saw that all the +people were greatly excited. Some were talking loudly, but most were +staring up toward the sun, shading their eyes with their hands. Then I +heard old Mr. Beasley say: 'That's surely them all right; doggon, +they'll eat us up.' + +"My heart jumped. Who could be coming from the sun to eat us up? I +burst into excited questions. 'Who are coming, Mr. Beasley? I can't +see anybody.' + +"'Hoppers is coming boy; see that sort o' shiny thin cloud up there +jest off the edge o' the sun? Well, them's hoppers.' + +"'But how'll they eat us up, Mr. Beasley? No grasshopper can eat me +up.' + +"'They'll eat us up with their doggoned terbaccy-spittin' mouths; +thet's how. And they'll eat _you_ up by eatin' everything you want to +eat; thet's how, too. Havin' nothin' to eat is jest about the same as +bein' et, accordin' to the way I looks at things.' + +"It is evident that Mr. Beasley was a philosopher and a pessimist; +that is, a man who sees the disagreeable sides of things, who doesn't +see the silvery lining to the dark clouds. In fact, in this particular +case Mr. Beasley was seeing a very dark lining to that silvery cloud +'jest off the edge o' the sun.' + +"I stared at the thin shining cloud for a long time, wondering if it +were really true that it was grasshoppers. People said the silvery +shimmer was made by the reflection of the sunlight from the gauzy +wings of the hosts of flying insects. It occurred to me that if the +hoppers were just off the edge of the sun, they would all be burned +up, or at least have their wings so scorched that they would fall to +the ground. However, as the sun is 90,000,000 miles away from the +earth, it would take a very long time for the scorched grasshoppers to +fall all the way. I guessed that we might have a rain of dead and +crippled hoppers about Christmas-time. Anyway there were no +grasshoppers now, dead or alive, in the street. And I decided, rather +disappointedly, that we probably shouldn't get to see any of the live +hoppers at all. Then I asked Mr. Beasley where they came from. + +"'Rocky Mountains,' he answered, shortly. + +"This seemed a bit steep, for the nearest of the Rocky Mountains are +nearly a thousand miles west of Kansas. And to think of grasshoppers +flying a thousand miles! A bit too much, that was. Still I thought I +ought to go home and tell the folks. But mother interrupted me in my +picturesque tale with a dry request for the meat. Oh, yes. Oh--well, I +had forgotten. So the first disagreeable result for me from the +grasshopper invasion of Kansas in the summer of 1876 was a painful +domestic incident. + +"But Mr. Beasley was right. The grasshoppers had come. Next morning +all the boys were out, each with a folded newspaper for flapper and a +cigar-box with lid tacked on and a small hole just large enough to +push a hopper through cut in one end. The rumor was we were to be paid +five cents for every hundred hoppers, dead or alive, that we brought +in. As a matter of fact nobody paid us, but we worked hard for nearly +half a day; that is as long as it was fun and novelty. By noon the +grasshoppers were an old story to us. And besides there were too many +of them. Hundreds, thousands, millions,--oh, billions and trillions I +suppose. And all eating, eating, eating! + +"First all the softer fresher green things. The vegetables in the +little backyard gardens; the sweet corn and green peas and tomato-and +potato-vines. Then the flowers and the grasses of the front yards. +Then the leaves of the dooryard trees. Then the fresh green twigs of +the trees! Then the bark on the younger branches!! + +"And you could hear them eat! Nipping and crunching, tearing and +chewing. It got to be terrible, and everybody so downcast and gloomy. +And the most awful stories of what was going on out in the great +corn-fields and meadows and pastures. Ruin, ruin, ruin was what the +hoppers were mumbling as they chewed. + +"And then the reports from the other states in the great Mississippi +Valley corn-belt came in by telegraph and letter. Over thousands and +thousands of square miles of the great granary of the land were +spread the hordes of hoppers. Farmers and stockmen were being ruined. +Then the storekeepers and bankers that sell things and lend money to +the farmers. Then the lawyers and doctors that depend on the farmers' +troubles to earn a living. Then the millers and stock-brokers and +capitalists of the great cities that make their fortunes out of +handling and buying and selling the grain the farmers send in long +trains to the centers of population. Everybody, the whole country, was +aghast and appalled at the havoc of the hopper. + +"What to do? How long will they keep up this devastation? Have they +come to settle and stay in Kansas and Nebraska and Iowa? What will the +country do in the future for corn and wheat and pigs and fat cattle? + +"Well, it would be too long a story to tell of how all the +entomologists went to work studying the grasshoppers and their ways: +their outsides and insides, their hopping and their flying, their +egg-laying and the growth and development of the little hoppers; how +the birds, and what kinds, stuffed on them, and the robber-flies and +the tachina flies and the red mites and the tiny braconids and +chalcids attacked them and laid eggs on them, and their grubs burrowed +into them; and everything else about them. But all the time the +hoppers kept right on eating; at least they did where there was +anything left to eat. Stories were told of their following roots of +plants and trees down into the ground to eat them; of how they +stripped great trees of bark and branches; of how they massed on the +warm rails of railroads at nights and stopped trains; of how +enterprising towns by offering rewards to farmers collected and killed +with kerosene great winrows and mounds composed of innumerable bushels +and tons of grasshoppers. + +"Some people of active mind and fertile imagination suggested that if +the grasshoppers were going to eat up all our usual food, we should +learn to eat _them_! And they got chemists to figure out how much +proteids and carbohydrates and hydrocarbons and ash, etc., there was +in every little hopper's body. And there was a remarkable dinner given +in St. Louis by a famous entomologist to some prominent men of that +city, in which grasshoppers were served in several different ways: +hopper _sauté_, hopper _au gratin_, hopper _escalloppé_, hopper +_soufflé_, and so on. The decision of the guests--those who lasted +through the dinner--was that 'the dry and chippy character of the +tibiæ was a serious objection to grasshoppers as food for man.' + +"But you want to know the end of it Mary, don't you? Well, it was a +very simple end. Simply, indeed, that the hoppers went back! Yes, +actually, when autumn came they all--that is, all that hadn't been +eaten by birds and toads and lizards, or collected by farmers and +burned, or hadn't got walked on by horses and people, or hadn't got +studied to death by entomologists--flew up into the air and sailed +back to the Rocky Mountains. Or at least they started that way. I +never heard if any of them really got all the thousand of miles back. +But whereas in the summer they had all been flying southeast, in the +fall they all began flying northwest. + +"But some of them had laid eggs in the ground in little +cornucopia-like packets before dying or flying away. And much alarm +was caused by predictions that millions of new hoppers would come out +of the ground in the coming spring and eat all the crops while young, +even if the old ones or more like them didn't come again in the summer +and eat the mature crops. But these predictions were only partly +fulfilled. Not many hatched out in the spring, and those that did +seemed to be more anxious to get back to the Rocky Mountains where +their brethren were than to eat the Kansas crops. Indeed as soon as +the young hoppers got their wings--and that takes several weeks after +they come from the egg--they began flying northwest. + +"So this remarkable and terrible invasion was over. And all the poor +farmers, and the bankrupt or about to be bankrupt storekeepers and +bankers and the idle lawyers and doctors and the terrified capitalists +and the hard-studying entomologists drew a long breath of relief +together." + +"But have the hoppers come back any time since 1876?" asks Mary. + +"No, that was the last invasion. There had been earlier ones, though, +one or two of them just as bad as the Centennial-year one. Indeed +Kansas was called the Grasshopper State on account of these terrible +summer invasions. There was a bad one in 1866 and another in 1874. The +invasions of 1874 and 1876 cost the farmers of the Mississippi Valley +at least fifty millions of dollars in crops eaten up." + +"But what made them come to Kansas? Why didn't they stay in the Rocky +Mountains? It's much more beautiful and interesting there than in +Kansas, isn't it?" + +"Much, Mary. But it probably wasn't a matter of scenery with these +tourist hoppers. Much more likely a matter of food. In those days +there were no farmers with irrigated fields on the great plateaus +along the eastern base of the Rocky Mountains in Colorado and Wyoming. +Nothing much but sage-brush and not overmuch of that grew there. And +probably there simply wasn't enough food for all the hoppers. So in +seasons when there were too many hoppers or too little food--and if +there was one, there was also the other--they flew up into the air, +spread their broad wings and sailed away on the winds from the +northwest for a thousand miles to Nebraska and Kansas and Texas. And +that made an invasion." + +"But, then, why didn't they stay there, where there were corn-fields +and wheatfields and vegetables?" persisted Mary. + +"Mary, I can only tell you what the hard-studying entomologists +decided about this, and published along with all the other things they +found out, or thought they did, in several big volumes devoted to the +grasshoppers. They found out that the hoppers tried to go back because +they couldn't stay! That is, odd as it may seem, either the climate or +the low altitude or something else uncomfortable about Kansas and +Missouri disagrees with the Rocky-Mountain hoppers and they can't live +there permanently. They can't raise a family there successfully; at +least it doesn't last for more than one generation. They have to live +on the high plateaus of the northern Rockies, but they can get on very +well for a single summer away from home. Then they must get back if +they can. And so it was that the hoppers that came to Kansas solved +the weighty problem and relieved the great anxiety of the farmers and +the whole country in general as to what was to become of the great +grain-fields of the Middle West, by going back home again. + +"And will they ever evade Kansas again?" + +"That, Mary, is not a question for a stick-to-what-is-known scientific +person like me to answer. But as ever since farms and grain-fields and +vegetable gardens have been established on the Rocky Mountain plateaus +by the farmers who keep moving west, the hoppers haven't come back to +Kansas, and as this is probably because they have enough food at home +in these Colorado and Wyoming fields, I should be very much surprised +if they ever come back to Kansas again." + +"Yes, but weren't you surprised that first time you saw them in the +Sentinel year?" + +"Mary, you are a quibbler. Well, then, I'll say that I don't think +they'll ever make another foreign invasion. There!" + +It is time for us to stroll home for luncheon. As we get up from under +the live-oak, a stumpy-bodied little grasshopper whirs away in front +of us. + +"To think that such a little thing could make a summer evasion one +thousand miles away from here," said Mary. + +"Much littler things have done much bigger things," I reply, with my +serious manner of lecturer-after-luncheon. + +[Illustration: A CLEVER LITTLE BROWN ANT] + + + + +A CLEVER LITTLE BROWN ANT + + +We were sitting in the warm sun on the very tip-top of Bungalow Hill. +This is a gentle crest that rises three hundred and fifty feet above +the campus level, and gives one a wonderful view far up and down the +beautiful valley and across the blue bay to the lifting mountains of +the Coast Range. Square-shouldered old Mt. Diablo standing as giant +warder just inside the Golden Gate, the ocean entrance to California, +looms massive and threatening directly to our east, while to its south +stretches the long brown range with its series of peaks, Mission, Mt. +Hamilton, Isabella, and so on, way down to the twin Pachecos that +guard the pass over into the desert. In the north rises Mt. Tamalpais, +the wonderful fog mountain that looks down on the busy life at its +feet of San Francisco, and its clustering child cities growing up +rapidly these days, while the mother is lying ill of her wounds by +earthquake and conflagration. To the south stretch the long orchard +leagues of the Santa Clara Valley, with the little white spots of +towns peeping out from the massed trees so jealous of every foot of +fertile ground. And to the west--ah, that is the view that Mary and I +lie hours long to look at and drink in and feel,--"our view," we call +it. + +We think we see things there that other people cannot. We see these +things especially well when we half-close our eyes, and describe what +we see in a sort of low, drowsy, monotone murmur. Then the fringe of +towering spiry redwoods along the crest of the mountain range that +lies between us and the great ocean and lifts its forested flanks full +two thousand feet above us, becomes a long row of giants' spears +sticking up above the battlements of a mighty castle. And the +shadow-filled somber slashes and tunnel-like holes of the dropping +caņons are the great entrances and doors to this castle. At our feet +the broad shallow caņada that stretches all along the foot of the +mountains and was made ages ago by some tremendous earthquake seems, +seen through our half-closed eyes, to be full of water and to be +really a broad moat shutting off all access to the castle. + +The giants themselves we have never yet seen. But some day when the +light is just right, and they are stirring themselves to look out at +the world, we probably shall. Perhaps if we had been up here that day +not long ago when the last earthquake came, we should have seen the +giants looking out to see who was knocking at their gates. For it will +take an earthquake's knocking ever to be felt in the heart of that +mountain castle where the giants keep themselves. + +The air was so clear this day that it seemed as if we could see each +individual great redwood, each red-trunked, glossy-leaved madroņo, +each thicket of crooked manzanita and purpling Ceanothus, on the whole +mountain side. Straight across through the clear blue-tinged +atmosphere above the caņada to the shoulders and caņons, the forests +and clear spaces and chaparral of the mountain flanks, we look. And it +rests our eyes that are so tired of reading. It is good to be +a-stretch on sunbathed Bungalow Hill this afternoon in October. The +rains will be coming in a few weeks and then we can't be out so much. +Or at any rate we can't lie close to the warm, brown, dry earth as we +can now. But the rains will bring the fresh, green grasses and the +flowers. If they come early enough the manzanitas will have on their +little trembling pink-white lily-of-the-valley bells by Christmas-day, +and the wild currants will be all green-and-rose color, with little +leaves and a myriad fragrant blossoms. + +But Mary has found something. She had turned over a little flattish +stone and under it was--life! Living things disturbed in their work, +their play, their laying up of riches, their care of their children; +little animate creatures revealed in all the intimacies of their +housekeeping and daily life. + +But they didn't lose their presence of mind, these active, knowing +little ants, when the Catastrophe came. There was work to be done at +once and wisely. First, the saving of the children; and so in the +moment that passed between Mary's overturning of the stone and our +immediate shifting into comfortable position on our stomachs, head in +hands, for watching, half of the racing workers had each a little +white parcel in its jaws and was speeding with it along the galleries +toward the underground chambers. + +"Ants' eggs," said Mary. + +"No," said I. "That's a popular delusion. These little white things +are not ants' eggs, but ants' babies. They are the already hatched and +partly grown young ants, the larvæ and pupæ, which are so well looked +after by the nurse ants. For these young ants are quite helpless, like +young bees in the brood-cells in a honey-bee hive. And they have to be +fed chewed food, and as they have no legs and so can't walk, they have +to be carried from the cool dark nurseries up into the warmer lighter +chambers for air and heat every day almost, and then carried back down +again. See how gently the nurse ant holds this baby in its jaws; jaws +that are sharp and strong and that can bite fiercely and hold on +grimly in battle." + +And I hand Mary my little pocket-lens through which she tries to look +with both eyes at once. She could, of course, if she would keep her +blessed eyes far enough away, but as she persists in holding the +glass at the tip of her nose as she has seen me do, and as she cannot +shut one eye and keep the other open, as I can, and have done now so +many years that I have wrinkles all round the shut-up eye, why, she +makes bad work of it. So she hands back the lens with a polite "thank +you," and sticks to her own keen unaided eyes. And sees more than I +do! + +For in the next breath she cries, with a little note of triumph in her +voice: "But some of the ant babies _are_ walking. See there! And you +said they have no legs. I can see them; little stumpy blackish legs +sticking out from their soft white body! And some of the ants are +carrying these babies with legs; I can see them!" + +I squirm around nearer Mary. True enough there are some little white +chubby creatures walking slowly around in the narrow runways. But I +_know_ they cannot be ant larvæ. For ant larvæ have no legs and +simply can't walk. What are they? I get out the little pocket-lens. +And the mystery is solved. They are the "ant-cattle," the curious +little mealy-bugs that many kinds of ants bring into their nests and +take care of for the sake of getting from them a constant supply of +"honey-dew." This "honey-dew" which the mealy-bugs make and give off +from their bodies is a sweetish syrupy fluid of which almost all ants, +even those most fiercely carnivorous, are very fond. And as the +mealy-bugs and plant-lice that make the honey-dew are quite +defenceless, soft-bodied, mostly wingless and rather sedentary +insects, the bright-witted ants establish colonies, or "herds," of +them in their nests, or visit and protect colonies of them living on +plants near the ant-nest. Some kinds of ants even build earthen +"sheds," or tents, over groups of honey-dew insects on plant-stems. +The mealy-bugs are white because they cover their soft little bodies +with delicate threads or flakes of glistening white wax which they +make in their bodies and pour out through tiny openings in the skin. + +We watch the busy, excited ants until they have carried all their +babies and cattle down into the underground nursery chambers, out of +harm's way. Then we put the stone carefully back in place, and roll +back again to where we can watch the wonderful mountains in the west. +The redwood-fringed crest stands so sharply out against the sky-line +that we really can distinguish every tree that lifts its head above +the crest, although they are several miles away from us. These great +trees, which are the giants' jagged spears, are one hundred and fifty +feet high, some of them, and as big around at the base as one of the +massive columns in the Cologne Cathedral. + +Finally I say, rather lazily, "Mary, shall I tell you about the +special way the clever little brown ant of the Illinois corn-fields +takes care of its cattle?" + +"Yes, please, if it isn't too long," says Mary. + +Mary and I are on perfectly frank terms. We are polite, but also +inclined to be honest. And Mary is not going to be an unresisting +victim of a garrulous old professor. But Mary need not be afraid that +I sha'n't know when I am boring her. We have wireless communication, +Mary and I. That's one, probably the principal, reason why we are such +good companions. No true companionship can possibly persist without +wireless and wordless communication. + +"All right," I answer, "here goes, Mary. Say when!" + +"I forget how many millions of bushels of corn were raised in the +state of Illinois last year, but they were very many. And that means +thousands and thousands of acres of corn-fields. Now in all these +corn-fields there live certain tiny soft-bodied insects called +corn-root aphids. Their food is the sap of the growing corn-plants +which they suck from the roots. Although each corn-root aphid is only +about one-twentieth of an inch long and one-twenty-fifth of an inch +wide and has a sucking-beak simply microscopic in size, yet there are +so many millions of these little insects all with their microscopic +little beaks stuck into the corn-roots and all the time drinking, +drinking the sap which is the life-blood of the corn-plants that they +do a great deal of injury to the corn-fields of Illinois and cause a +great loss in money to the farmers. + +"So the wise men have studied the ways and life of these little aphids +to see if some way can be devised to keep them in check. The aphids +live only two or three weeks, but each one before it dies gives birth +to about twelve young aphids. Now this is a very rapid rate of +increase. If all the young which are born live their allotted two or +three weeks and produce in their turn twelve new aphids, we should +have about ten trillion descendants in a year from a single mother +aphid. Ten trillion corn-root aphids, tiny as they are, would make a +strip or belt ten feet wide and two hundred and thirty miles long! + +"Some other kinds of aphids multiply themselves even more rapidly. An +English naturalist has figured out that a single-stem mother of the +common aphis, or 'greenfly' of the rose, would give origin, at its +regular rate of multiplication and provided each individual born lived +out its natural life, which is only a few days at best, to over +thirty-three quintrillions of rose aphids in a single season, equal in +weight to more than a billion and a half of men. Of course such a +thing never happens, because so many of the young aphids get eaten by +lady-bird beetles and flower-fly larvæ and other enemies before they +come to be old enough to produce young. + +"However, besides this rapid increase of the corn-root aphids, there +is something else that helps them to be so formidable a pest. And this +is that they find very good and zealous friends in the millions of +little brown ants that also live in the Illinois corn-fields. These +swift, strong, brave little ants make their runways and nests all +through the corn-fields, and are very devoted helpers of the +soft-bodied helpless aphids. For the aphids pay for this help by +acting as 'cattle' for the ants. + +"This is what Professor Forbes, a very careful and a very honest +naturalist, found out about the ants and the aphids. The eggs of the +aphids, hosts of shining black, round, little seed-like eggs, are laid +late in the autumn. These eggs are gathered by the ants and heaped up +in piles in the galleries of their nests, or sometimes in special +chambers made by widening the runways here and there. All through the +winter these eggs are cared for by the ants, being carried down into +the deeper and warmer chambers in the coldest weather, and brought up +nearer the surface when it is warm. When the sunny days of spring +begin to come, the eggs are even brought up above ground and scattered +about in the sunshine, then carried down again at night. The little +ants may be seen sometimes turning the eggs over and over and +carefully licking them as if to clean them of dust-particles. + +"In the late spring the aphid eggs hatch, and the young must have sap +to drink right away. Their little beaks are thirsty for the +plant-juices that are their only food. But there are no tender +corn-roots ready for them in the fields because the corn has not yet +been planted. What, then, shall the hungering baby aphids and their +foster-mothers, the little brown ants, do? + +"This is what happens. Although it is too early yet for the corn to be +growing, there are various kinds of weeds that begin to sprout with +the coming on of spring, and two of these, especially, the smart-weed +and the pigeon-grass, abundant and wide-spread in all the Mississippi +Valley, are sure to be growing in the fields. While the aphids much +prefer corn-roots to live on, they will get along very well on the +roots of smart-weed or pigeon-grass. So the clever little brown ants +put the almost helpless baby aphids on the tender roots of these +weeds, and there their tiny beaks begin to be satisfied. Don't you +call that clever, Mary?" + +"Clever! Gracious!" says Mary. "Do you know Professor Forbes? Is he +really--does he always tell the--" + +I interrupt. I am sensitive about such questions. I answer rather +sharply. "Yes, I _do_ know him; and yes, he always tells the truth. +Don't interrupt any more, please, for there is still more of the +story." Mary is silent. + +"Well, the aphids stay on the smart-weed roots until the corn is +planted, which is in about ten days, and the kernels begin to +germinate and to send down the tender juice-filled roots. And then the +little brown ants take the aphids, now getting larger and stronger, of +course, but still too helpless or stupid to do much for themselves +except to suck sap, and carry them from the smart-weed roots to the +corn-roots--What's that, Mary?" + +But Mary had said nothing; just drawn in her breath with a little +sound. Still I think it best to remind her that I _do_ know Professor +Forbes and that he really _does_ always tell the truth. In fact, I +quote to Mary this honest professor's exact words about this transfer +of the aphids from the weed-roots to the corn-roots. This is what he +writes in his intensely interesting account of the whole life of these +little insects: "In many cases in the field, we have found the young +root aphis on sprouting weeds (especially pigeon-grass) which have +been sought out by the ants before the leaves had shown above the +ground; and, similarly, when the field is planted to corn, these +ardent explorers will frequently discover the sprouting kernel in the +earth, and mine along the starting stem and place the plant aphids +upon it." + +"And the little brown ants do all this so as to get honey-dew from the +aphids?" asks Mary. + +"Exactly," I reply. "The ants take such good care of the aphids not +because they pity their helplessness or just want to be good, but +because they know, by some instinct or reason, that these are the +insects that, when they grow up, make honey-dew, which is the kind of +food that ants seem to like better than any other. Indeed not only the +little brown ants alone take care of the corn-root aphids to get +honey-dew, but at least six other kinds of ants that live in the +Illinois corn-fields do it. But the little brown ants are the most +abundant and seem to give the aphids the best care." + +"It is exactly like keeping cows, isn't it," says Mary. "But they +don't have to milk them." + +"Well," I reply, "I don't know what you would call it, but some other +ants that take care of some other kinds of honey-dew insects seem to +have to carry on a sort of milking performance to make them pour out +their sweet liquid. The ants have to pat or rub them with their hairy +little feelers; sort of tickle them to get them to squeeze out a +little drop of honey-dew. The truth is, Mary, if I should tell you the +really amazing things that ants do, you simply wouldn't believe me at +all. But the next time we go out, I'll take you to see for yourself an +ant community right on the campus that does some remarkable things. +I'd much rather have you see the things yourself than tell you about +them." + +"I'd rather, too," says Mary, which isn't exactly the nicest thing +she could say, but I know what she means. It's that seeing is better +than being told by anybody. + +And then the up-and-down "ding, dang, dong, ding," of the clock-bells +begins its little song in four verses that means the end of an hour. +And then come the six slow deep calls of the biggest bell that tell +what hour it is. It is the hour for us to go home. + +[Illustration: AN HOUR OF LIVING OR THE DANCE OF DEATH] + + + + +AN HOUR OF LIVING; OR, THE DANCE OF DEATH + + +"But why didn't he go back if he liked France so much better; and if +he had plenty of money?" asked Mary. + +"Ah, well, even having plenty of money doesn't always make it possible +to do just what we prefer," I say. "The truth is,--if it is the truth, +and not just malicious gossip,--it was exactly because he had plenty +of money that he couldn't go back. He is supposed to have got that +money in some wrong way. Anyway, he didn't seem to care to go back to +_la belle France_, but preferred to live solitarily here, and to plant +lines of trees and lay out little lakes and build rockwork towers and +make terraces and driveways and paths, all in very formal lines, as in +the parks at Versailles and St. Cloud, which were the playgrounds of +French kings and the pride of all France." + +Mary and I were seated on a curious little cement-and-stone imitation +tower-ruin that stuck up out of Frenchman's Pond, which is near the +campus, and is a good place for seeing things and getting away from +the classroom bells. A long row of scraggly Lombardy poplars stretches +away from the pond along an old terraced roadway with a cave opening +on it. Around two sides of the little lake is a rockwork wall, and +across one end, where the pond narrows, is a picturesque stone bridge +of single span. Everything is neglected, and altogether Frenchman's +Pond and its surroundings are a good imitation of something old and +foreign in this glaringly new and extremely Californian bit of the +world. It is a favorite place for us to come when I want to tell Mary +stories of the castles on the Rhine. We get a proper atmosphere. + +It was so sunny and warm this morning that we had given up chatting +and were simply sitting or sprawling as comfortably as we could on the +irregular top of our _Aussichtsthurm_. A few flying dragons, some in +bronze-red mail, some in greenish blue, were wheeling about over the +pond, and a meadow-lark kept up a most cheerful singing in the pasture +nearby. It was really just the sort of day and place and feeling that +Mary and I like best. We knew we ought, as persevering Nature +students, to get down and poke around in the weeds and ooze of the +edges of the pond so as to see things. But we didn't want to do it, +and so we didn't. That is one perfectly beautiful thing about the way +Mary and I study Nature. We don't when we don't want to. + +But if we didn't climb down to the live things this day at Frenchman's +Pond, they came up to us. One of the flying dragons actually swooped +so close to our heads that we could hear its shining brittle wings +crackle, and only a few minutes after, a curious delicate little +creature with four gauzy wings, a pair of projecting eyes with a fixed +stare, and three long hair-like tails on its body, lit on Mary's hand +and walked slowly and rather totteringly up her bare wrist and fore +arm. Then without any fluttering or struggling, it slowly fell over on +one side and lay quite still. It was dead! + +This rather took our breath away. We are only too well accustomed, +unfortunately, to seeing death come to our little companions; they do +not live long, at best, and then so many of them get killed and eaten. +But they usually make some protest when Death approaches. They do not +surrender their brief joy of living in such utterly unresisting way as +this little creature did. But when I had got my spectacles properly +adjusted, I saw what it was that had died so quietly and suddenly. +The little gauzy-winged creature was a May-fly, or ephemera, and life +with the May-flies is such a truly ephemeral thing, and death comes +regularly so soon and so swiftly, and without any apparent illness or +injury intervening between health and dissolution, that we naturalists +have ceased to wonder at it. Although this is not because we +understand it at all. Far from it. Indeed the death of any creature, +except from obvious accident or wasting illness, is one of the +mysteries of life. Which sounds rather Irish, but is just what I mean. + +But Mary was looking thoughtfully at this dead little May-fly in her +hand. It was so soft and delicate of body, had such frail and filmy +wings, that it seemed that it must have been very ill-fitted to cope +with the hard conditions of insect living, to escape the numerous +insect-feeding creatures and to find food and shelter for itself, to +be successful, in a word, in the "struggle for existence"! And in a +way, this is quite true. But, in another way, it is not true. For the +May-flies, in their flying stage, make up for their frailness and +feebleness, their inability to feed--they have really no mouth-parts +and do not eat at all in their few hours or days of flying life--by +existing in enormous numbers, and millions may be killed, or may die +from very feebleness, and yet there are enough left to lay the eggs +necessary for a new generation, and that is success in life for them. +Nothing else is necessary; their whole aim and achievement in life +seems to be to lay eggs and start a new generation of May-flies. + +I settled back into a still more comfortable position and said: "Did I +ever tell you, Mary, of the May-flies' dance of death I saw in Lucerne +once, not far from the old bridge across the Reuss with its famous +pictures of our own dance of death? Well, then, we'll just about have +time before the tower-clock calls us home. Do you want to hear +about it?" + +"Yes, please," said Mary. + +"Well, I had been studying in a great university in an old German town +all the spring and early summer and had come to Switzerland for my +vacation. You know there are splendid mountains there--" + +"The Alps," interrupted Mary. "The highest is Mt. Blanc, 15,730 feet +above the sea." + +How Mary does know her geography! + +"And beautiful lakes," I continue. "And the roads are good for +tramping, and the hotels cheap. Anyway, the ones the students go to. I +had come to Lucerne from Zurich--" + +"Noted for its silks and university where women can go," Mary broke in +again. + +Bless me, what's the use of going to Europe anyway, if you learn +everything about everywhere in the grades? + +"And had gone straight to the _Mühlenbrücke_," I go on,--"that's the +old bridge all covered with a roof that crosses the Reuss only a few +rods from where it flows out of the lake; the lake of Lucerne, you +know." + +"Of course," said Mary. + +"For it is on the ceiling of that bridge," I persist, "that these +curious old Dance of Death pictures are painted, and I had heard a +great deal about them. They show how everybody is dancing through life +to his grave. Not very pleasant pictures, Mary." + +"Very unpleasant, I should think," says Mary, positively. "I hope you +didn't look at them long." + +"No, because, for one reason, it was getting too dark to see them. The +sun had set behind the Gutsch--that's a pretty hill just west of +Lucerne--and the electric lights were already flashing along the +lake-shore promenade. You know what a wonderfully beautiful lake +Lucerne is, of course, Mary?" + +"Yes; it is unsurpassed in Switzerland, perhaps in Europe, for +magnificence of scenery," replies Mary, in level voice. + +I resolve to cut geographic information out of any further stories I +tell Mary. Do they commit Baedeker to memory nowadays in the schools? + +"Exactly," I manage to reply without betraying too much astonishment +at this revelation of the American educational method. + +"Well, along the shore of this unsurpassed lake at the town of Lucerne +there is a broad promenade with trees and benches and electric lights. +Behind it are the big hotels all in a curving row, and after dinner +all the people come out and stroll about while the band plays. It is a +fine sight." + +Mary seemed to be getting a little less than interested. She squirmed +into a new position on the rough rockwork and then, looking out over +the little pond with its hawking dragons whizzing back and forth, she +asked: "What about the May-flies, please?" + +I really believe she knew all about the hotels and promenade and the +band. What wonderful schools! + +"I was coming--I have just come to them," I reply with dignity. + +I am a professor and have a certain stock supply of dignity to draw on +when necessary. It isn't often necessary with Mary. + +"Well, as I came from the covered _Mühlenbrücke_ and out on to the +lake-shore promenade, I saw a little crowd of people gathered under +and about a brilliant arclight hanging in an open place in front of +the great Schweizerhof Hotel. The light seemed to me curiously hazy, +and even before I got near the crowd I had made a guess at what was +going on. My guess that it was a May-fly dance of death was quite +right. Perhaps it would really be better to call it a 'dance of life,' +for it really was sort of a great wedding dance. But it was a dance of +death, too, for the dancers were falling dead or dying out of the +dizzying whirly circles by thousands. How many hundreds or thousands +or millions of May-flies there were in the dense circling cloud about +the light, I have no idea. But the air for twenty feet every way from +the light was full of them, and the ground for a circle of thirty or +forty feet underneath was not merely covered with the delicate dead +creatures, but was covered for from one to two inches deep! + +"The crowd of promenaders looked on in gaping wonder. Not one seemed +to know what kind of creature this was, nor of course anything about +what was really going on; that this was all of the few hours of +feverish life which these May-flies enjoyed in their winged state, and +that they gave it all up to the business of mating and egg-laying; +where they came from, how they had lived before, why they should be +here to-night and no other in the whole year, all these things which +it seems to me the onlookers ought to have wanted to know, nobody +seemed to know, nor anybody seemed particularly to care to. + +"But there are places in the world where the people do want to know +these things, and a great many more, about the May-flies. One such +place is the Thousand Islands in the St. Lawrence River. One day I was +sailing down this river among the Thousand Islands, and the +acquaintanceship of a small and unusually delicate kind of May-fly was +forced on me by the hundreds of them that persisted in alighting on my +clothes, my hat, and my hair. They kept walking unsteadily about over +my face and hands and the open pages of the book I was trying to read. +And they kept dying, dying, all around. One would light on the outer +edge of the page, and before it had walked across to the beginning of +a sentence, it would die and its body would slide gently down into the +back of the book and--be a bookmarker!" + +"That's not a very nice way to talk about the poor little dead +May-flies," said Mary, rather seriously. + +"It isn't, Mary, I know," said I. "But we've got to relieve the gloom +of this tale someway, don't you think? There is too much wholesale +death in it to suit my publisher! And so I am trying to introduce a +little jocularity into it, don't you see, Mary?" + +"People are not supposed to be very funny at funerals," said Mary, +severely. "Where did the little Thousand Islands May-flies come from, +and why do the people there want to know about them?" + +"Because there are so many May-flies that they are a great pest. Not +by eating crops--for there aren't any, I suppose, and the May-flies +don't eat anything anyway--nor by carrying malaria, but just by living +and dying all over; everywhere in one's summer cottage, down on the +river-bank where you are watching the sunset, under the trees when you +are lying in your hammock and trying to read, in your rowboat when you +are paddling about to visit your neighbors on other islands. To be +walked on and died on by hundreds and hundreds of little flies, and +all the time, grows to be very uncomfortable. So the May-flies or +river-flies or lake-flies as they are variously called are cordially +hated by all the Thousand-Islanders and the St. Lawrence-Riverers. And +the people want to know about where they come from, and how they live, +and all about them, indeed, so as to try to find some way to be rid of +them." + +"And do you know where they come from, and how they live, and all +about them," asks Mary, with a slightly roguish manner, I fear. + +"Well, I know something. In the first place, after the dance of death, +the few that don't die fly out over the lake or river or pond and drop +a lot of little eggs into it. Then they die happy--if May-flies can be +happy. Mind you, I don't say they can. We are the only animals that we +know can be happy. And we mostly aren't. From the eggs hatch young +May-flies without wings or long thread-like tails, but just little, +flat, under-water creatures with gills along the sides so they can +breathe without coming up to the surface. Some kinds burrow into the +mud at the bottom, some kinds make little tubes or cases in which to +live, while others stay mostly on the under side of stones. They eat +little water-plants or broken-up stuff they find in the water, +although some eat other little live animals, even other young +May-flies. And many of them get eaten themselves. They are favorite +food of the under-water dragons. You remember, don't you, Mary, how +our dragons of Lagunita would snap up the young May-flies in Monday +Pond? + +"Well, these young May-flies--the ones that don't get eaten by +dragons, stone-flies, water-tigers, and other May-flies--grow larger +slowly, and wing-pads begin to grow on their backs. In a year, maybe, +or two years for some kinds, they are ready for their great change. +And this comes very suddenly. Some late afternoon or early evening +thousands of young May-flies of the same kind, living in the same lake +or river, swim up to the surface of the water, and, after resting +there a few moments, suddenly split their skin along the back of the +head and perhaps a little way farther along the back, and like a flash +squirm out of this old skin, spread out their gauzy wings and fly +away. They do this so quickly that your eye can hardly follow the +performance." + +"And then they all fly to the light and begin their dance of death," +breaks in Mary. + +"No, wait; they are not yet quite ready for that. First, they do a +very unusual thing; something that no other kinds of insects have ever +been seen to do. This is it: They fly away to a plant or bush or tree +at the water's edge, and there they cling for a little while and then +cast their skin again." + +"The new skin they have just got, with the wings and everything?" asks +Mary. + +"Exactly; the new skin. It comes off of the wings, off of the long +tails and the short feelers, and all the rest of the body. No other +kind of insect but the May-fly casts its skin once its wings are +outspread. But now the May-fly is ready for its dizzy dance. And as it +has only a few hours to do it in, it usually starts as soon as there +are any lights to dance about. Think of it, to come up from under the +water, get your wings and be a real May-fly, not just a crawling thing +on the bottom of a pond, and have only one evening to live in! +Probably to dance the whole evening through is about the best thing to +do under such circumstances." + +"Don't any of the poor May-flies live for more than one evening?" asks +Mary. "It does seem a shame to put in so long a time, one year, two +years for some, getting ready to fly and then have only one evening or +night for flying." + +"Well, yes, some do, Mary. That is, there are many different kinds of +May-flies; some large ones, some small ones, some kinds with four +wings, some kinds with only two, and the length of the flying time is +not the same for all these kinds. Some live a day, some two, some +perhaps even three or four. But there are several kinds whose flying +life is just a few hours; they are born, that is, as flying +creatures, after sundown and they die before the next sunrise. The +first kind of May-fly whose life was ever carefully studied--this was +nearly two hundred and fifty years ago, by a famous naturalist of +Holland--lives only five hours after it comes from the water. But +remember what a fine long time they have being young! If we could be +young--but there, that's foolish. Mary, the chimes in the tower-clock +are sounding. Listen!" + +And we sit perfectly still and hear the beautiful Haydn changes on the +four bells, and then count twelve clear strokes of the big clock-bell +that come all the way from the Quadrangle to us, softened and mellowed +by the distance. We must go home to luncheon. And after luncheon I +must go and lecture--Ugh! How sad!--sad for the students and sad for +me. But that's the way we do it, and until we find the real way, we +must all continue to suffer together. + +"Come, Mary, we're off. How would you like to be a May-fly?" + +"And have only one day to live when I'm all grown up?" + +"You might be saved some troubles, Mary." + +[Illustration: IN FUZZY'S GLASS HOUSE] + + + + +IN FUZZY'S GLASS HOUSE + + +Fuzzy was distinguished from most of her brothers and sisters, when we +first became acquainted with her, by the fine head of hair which she +had. It has been several weeks now since we first saw her, and there +are bald places already--so strenuous has been her life. To be sure +that we should be able to recognize her even after she became worn and +bald, like the others, we dabbed a spot of white paint on her back +between the shoulders, and although old age and its attendant ills, +including the loss of much of her hair, have come on rapidly, the +white spot is still there, and we know Fuzzy whenever we see her. + +We were watching what was going on in Fuzzy's glass house at the very +time that Fuzzy first came out of her six-sided little private +nursery room. In this she had spent all of her three weeks of getting +hatched from an egg--we had seen her own very egg laid by the queen +mother!--then of living as a helpless baby bee without wings or feet +or eyes or feelers, and having to be fed bee-jelly and bee-bread by +the nurses, and then as a slowly maturing young bee with legs and +wings and eyes and feelers all forming and growing. Part of this time +she had been shut up in her room by having the door sealed with wax, +and she had had no food at all. But she had been fed enough at first +to last her through the days when she had no food. + +It was the twentieth or twenty-first day since she had been born, that +is, had hatched from the little, long, white, seed-like egg that the +queen bee had laid in this six-sided waxen room or cell. And Fuzzy was +all ready to come out into the world. So she tried her strong new +trowel-like jaws on the thin waxen door of her room, and found no +trouble at all in biting a hole through it large enough to let her +wriggle out. Which she did right under our very eyes. + +Indeed we had planned Fuzzy's glass house and had had it built in the +way you see it in Sekko's picture just so we could see plainly and +certainly what goes on in the house of a bee family. Everybody has +watched bees outside gather pollen and drink nectar and hang in great +swarms, and do the various other things they do in their outdoor life. +But not everybody has seen what goes on indoors. Many people have seen +the inside of a hive every now and then. But it is always when the +bees are greatly excited and often when the people are too. And so +besides seeing that the honey and pollen are in such and such combs +and cells and the young bees in others, some of them in open and some +in closed cells, and perhaps a few other things, one doesn't learn +much by peering into a hive through a mass of smoke-dazed bees while +dodging a few extra-lively and energetic ones! + +Mary and I had watched bees outside and we had looked into lots of +hives and, of course, had learned a little about indoor bee ways. But +ever since we got Fuzzy's glass-sided house built and a community of +pretty amber-bodied gentle Italians living in it, we have never got +over being sorry for ourselves in the old days and sorry for other +people all the time. For it is so easy and sure, so vastly +entertaining and utterly fascinating to sit quietly and comfortably in +chairs (one of us on each side) for hours together and see all the +many things that go on in the bee's house. The bees are not disturbed +in the slightest by our having the black cloth jacket off of the hive +and by the light shining in through the great window-like sides of +the house, nor by Mary's bright eyes and my round spectacles staring +ever so hard at them. + +We have seen the queen lay her eggs, the little bees hatch out, the +nurse bees feed them, the foragers come in and dance their whirling +dervish dance and unload their baskets of pollen and sacs of honey, +the wax-makers hang in heavy festoons and make wax, the carrying bees +carry the wax to the comb-builders, and the comb-builders build comb +of it, the house-cleaners and the ventilators clean house and +ventilate, and the guards stopping intruders at the door. We have +heard the piping of the new queens in their big thimble-like cells, +and seen them come out, and the terrible excitement and sometimes +awful tragedy that follows; we have seen the wild ecstasy that comes +before swarming out, and the swarming itself begin in the house; we +have looked in at night and found some of the bees resting, but others +working, and always some on guard; we have seen the lazy drones loaf +all the morning and then swing out on their midday flight and come +back and fall to drinking honey again; we have seen a great battle +when our gentle Italians fought like demons and repulsed a fierce +attack of foraging black Germans, and again a nomad band of +yellow-jackets; and we have seen the provident workers kill the drones +and even drag young worker bees from their cells when the first cold +weather comes on. We have seen, in truth, a very great deal of all the +wonderful life that these wise and versatile little creatures live in +their nearly perfect cooperative community. But above all we have +followed with special interest and affectionate pride the education +and experiences of Fuzzy, our most particular friend in all the +thousands of our gentle Italian family. + +Fuzzy must have been very glad to get out finally from her tight, +dark, little cell and into the airy, light hive, with all of her +sisters and brothers moving around so lively and busily. And she must +have been especially delighted when she went to the open door of the +house for a peek out--for she wasn't allowed really to go outdoors for +exactly eight days--and saw the beautiful arcades of the outer +Quadrangle underneath her and the red-tiled roof on a level with her, +and then the great eucalyptus trees and the beautiful live-oaks in the +field beyond, and far off on the horizon the crest of the distant +mountains, with the giant redwoods standing up against the sky-line. +You have a glimpse in Sekko's picture of all this that Fuzzy saw that +day. That is, if she could see so much. I am afraid she couldn't. + +"But what are those other bees doing to her," cried Mary in some +alarm, as two or three workers crowded around Fuzzy just as she came +from her cell. "Are they trying to bite her?" + +"Not the least in the world," I hasten to answer reassuringly. "Just +look sharp and you will see." And Mary did look sharp and did see. And +she clapped her hands with glee. "Why, they are licking her with their +long tongues; cleaning her, just as a cat does her little kittens," +sang Mary. Which was exactly so. For a bee just out from its nursery +cell is a very mussed-up looking, and, I expect, rather dirty little +creature. And it needs cleaning. + +It was soon after Fuzzy had got cleaned and had her hair brushed and +had begun to wander around in an aimless way in the glass-sided house +that we got hold of her and dabbed the spot of white paint on her +back. We did it this way. She had walked up to just under the roof of +the house near where you see (in Sekko's picture) one of the +cork-stoppers sticking up like a little chimney-pot. These corks stop +up two round holes in the roof which we had made for the express +purpose of putting things,--other insects, say,--into the hive to see +what the bees would do with them, and also to take out a bee when we +wanted to experiment with it. When Fuzzy got up just under one of the +holes, we took the cork-stopper out gently and thus let her come +walking slowly up and out on top of the roof. Then we caught and held +her very gently with a pair of flat-bladed tweezers, and put the white +paint on. Then we dropped her back through the hole and put the cork +in its hole. + +We watched Fuzzy for a long time after she came out of her cell that +day, and although she walked about a great deal, she only once +ventured near the real door or entrance-slit of the hive through which +the foraging bees were constantly coming and going. And next day we +watched many hours and looked often between regular watching times, +always finding Fuzzy in the house. And so for eight days. And then +she made her first excursion outside. + +It was interesting to watch her on this eighth day. She would fly a +little way out, then turn around and come in. Then she would fly out +farther, turn around, hover a little in front of the window, and +finally come in again. A lot of other young bees were doing the same +thing. They seemed to be getting acquainted with things around the +door of the house so they would know how to find it when they came +back from a long trip. On the ninth day Fuzzy brought in her first +loads of pollen, two great masses of dull rose-red pollen held +securely in the pollen-baskets on her hind legs. And after that she +brought many other loads of pollen and later sacs of honey. + +But you must not imagine that Fuzzy was idle during all those eight +days before she went outside of the glass house. Not a bit of it. No +bees are idle. But yes, the drones. Big, blunt-bodied, hairy, +blundersome creatures that move slowly about over the combs. Not over +the nursery combs where there is work to be done, feeding and caring +for the young bees. Dear me, no. But over the pantry combs. They keep +close to the honey-pots and bread-jars. But even they have their work. +Each day from spring into late summer they all, or nearly all, fly out +about eleven o'clock and circle and traverse the air for long +distances in search of queens. Then in the early afternoon they come +back and fall to sipping honey again. + +However, to return to Fuzzy and her work in those first eight days +spent all inside the house. One day Mary saw Fuzzy stretching her head +down into one open cell after another in the brood-comb. At the bottom +of each of these cells was a little white grub; a very young bee, of +course, only one or two or three or four days out from the egg. +Several days before (it takes only three days for a bee's egg to +hatch) we had seen the beautiful long slender-bodied queen moving +slowly about over these cells, with her little circle of attendants +all moving with her with their heads always facing toward her. She +would thrust her long hind body down into one of these empty cells and +stand there quietly for two or three minutes. Then draw her body out +and go on to another. And in the cell she had just left we could see +plainly a tiny seed-like white speck stuck to the bottom of the cell. +It was an egg of course. That is nearly all the queen does; she simply +goes about all through the spring and summer laying eggs, one at a +time, in the nursery or brood-cells. There is one other thing she +does, or really several things, at the time of the appearance or the +birth of a new queen. But that will come later. + +We do seem to have trouble keeping to Fuzzy and her life, don't we? +Well, when Mary saw Fuzzy sticking her head down into the cells with +the bee-grubs in, she knew at once what Fuzzy was doing. For it was +plain that the young bees had to have something to eat and it was +plain, too, that they couldn't get it for themselves, for they have no +legs, and can't even crawl out of their cells. Fuzzy was feeding them. +She would drink a lot of honey from a honey-cell, and eat a lot of +pollen from a pollen-filled cell, and then make in her mouth or front +stomach (for bees have two stomachs, one in front of the other), or in +certain glands in her head (it doesn't seem to be exactly known +which), a very rich sort of food called bee-jelly. Then she sticks the +tip of her long tongue into the mouth of the helpless, soft-bodied +little white bee-grub and pours the food into it. After the bee-grub +is two or three days old, the nurse bees--and that is what Fuzzy +could be called now--feed the babies some honey and pollen in addition +to this made-up bee-jelly, unless the baby is to be a queen bee, and +then it gets only the rich bee-jelly all the time. + +Mary thought Fuzzy should have a neat cap and white apron on and drew +a clever little picture of Fuzzy as a nurse. But we are being very +careful in this book not to fool anybody, and if we should print the +picture Mary drew, some people would be stupid enough to think that we +meant them to believe that the nurse bees wear uniforms! We say right +now that they don't, and that you can't tell them from the other bees +except that most of them are the younger or newly issued bees and +hence haven't lost any of their hair, and so look "fuzzier" than the +other bees in the hive. For just as with Fuzzy, so with the other +younger bees; they stay in the hive for a week or more and act as +nurses. + +When they once are allowed to go out, and begin bringing in pollen and +honey, however, then the new bees are ready to do any of the many +other things that have to be done inside the hive. One day Mary saw +Fuzzy standing quite still on the floor of the house, with her head +pointed away from the door and held rather low, while her body was +tilted up at an angle. She just stood there immovable and apparently +doing nothing at all. Suddenly Mary called out: "Why, what has +happened to Fuzzy? Her wings are gone!" I hurried to look. And it did +seem, for a minute, as if Mary were right. Which would have been a +most surprising and also a most terrible thing. But my eyes seemed to +see a sort of blur or haze just over Fuzzy's back, and I bade Mary +look close at this blur with her sharp eyes. And Mary solved the +mystery. + +"She is fanning her wings so fast that you can't see them," cried +Mary. "And here is another bee about two inches in front of Fuzzy +doing the same thing; and another," called out Mary, who was greatly +excited. And it rather did seem as if these bees had gone crazy, or +were having a very strange game, or something. Until I made Mary +remember what would happen to us if not just three or four or five or +six of us, but many thousand--indeed in Fuzzy's house there are more +than ten thousand--were shut up in one house with but a single small +opening to let fresh air in and bad air out. For bees breathe just as +we do, that is, take fresh air into their bodies and give out +poisonous air. And then Mary understood. Fuzzy and the other bees +fanning their wings so fast and steadily were ventilating the house! +They were making air-currents that would carry the poisonous air, +laden with carbonic-acid gas, out of the door, and then fresh air +would come in to replace it. + +And another time Fuzzy kept Mary guessing a little while about what +she was doing. We had looked all through the crowds of nurses and +wax-makers and comb-builders and house-cleaners without finding Fuzzy. +And we decided she was out on a foraging trip, when Mary caught sight +of our white-spotted chum loafing about in the little glass-covered +runway that leads from the outer opening into the house proper, a sort +of little glass-roofed entry we have arranged so that we can see the +foragers as they alight and come in, and the various other things that +go on by the door. Fuzzy seemed to be loafing, but both Mary and I +have seen so much of the feverish activity and the constant work of +bees in the hive, and out of it for that matter, that we never expect +to find a worker honey-bee really loafing. They literally work +themselves to death, dying sometimes at the very door of the hive, +with the heavy baskets of pollen on their thighs, the gathering and +carrying of which has been the killing of them. Only the bees that +over-winter in the hive must have some spare moments on their hands. +And here in California even these are few, for a certain amount of +foraging goes on practically all the year round. + +But Fuzzy did seem to be loafing there in the entry. Until Mary's +sharp eyes discovered her important business. She was one of the +warders at the gate, a guard or sentinel told off, with one or two +others, to test each arrival at the entrance. As a forager would +alight and start to walk in through the entry, Fuzzy would trot up to +it and feel it with her sensitive antennæ. If the newcomer were a +member of the community, all right; it was passed in. But if not,--if +it were one of the vicious black Germans from the other observation +hive that stands close by, opening out of the same window +indeed,--there would be an instant alarm and a quick attack. Two or +three Italians would pounce on the intruder, who would either hurry +away or, if bold enough to fight, would get stung to death and pitched +unceremoniously out of the entry. Or if it were a stray yellow-jacket +attracted by the alluring odor of honey from the hive, one of the same +things would happen. One day not a single German came, but an army, a +guerrilla band intent on pillage and murder. And then there was a +grand battle--but we must wait a minute for that. + +There were also other enemies of Fuzzy's glass house besides German +bees and yellow wasps. There is a delicate little moth, bee-moth it is +called, that slips into the hive at night all noiselessly and without +betraying its presence to any of the bees if it can help it. And it +lays, very quickly indeed, a lot of tiny round eggs in a crack +somewhere. It doesn't seem to try to get out. At any rate it rarely +does get out. For it almost always gets found out and stung to death +and pulled and torn into small pieces by the enraged bees, who seem +to go almost frantic whenever they discover one of these +innocent-seeming little gray-and-brown moths in the house. And well +they may, for death and destruction of the community follow in the +train of the bee-moth. From the eggs hatch little sixteen-footed grubs +that keep well hidden in the cracks, only venturing out to feed on the +wax of the comb nearest them. As they grow they need more and more +wax, but they protect themselves while getting it by spinning a silken +web which prevents the bees from getting at them. Wherever they go +they spin silken lines and little webs until, if several bee-moths +have managed to lay their eggs in the hive and several hundred of +their voracious wax-eating grubs are spinning tough silken lines and +webs through all the corridors and rooms of the bees' house, the +household duties get so difficult to carry on that the bee community +begins to dwindle; the unfed young die in their cells, the indoor +workers starve, and the breakdown of the whole hive occurs. Such a +thing happened in this very glass house of Fuzzy's a year before we +got acquainted with Fuzzy herself. And we had to get a new family of +bees to come and live in the house after we had cleaned out and washed +and sterilized all the cracks and corners so that no live eggs of the +terrible bee-moth remained. + +Some days we found Fuzzy at work with several companions on more +prosaic and commonplace things about the house; chores they might be +called. She had to help clean house occasionally. For the bees are +extremely cleanly housekeepers, with a keen eye for all fallen bits of +wax, or bodies of dead bees, or any kind of dirt that might come from +the housekeeping of so large a family. Every day the hive is +thoroughly cleaned. If there comes a day when it is not, that is a bad +sign. There is something wrong with the bee community. They haven't +enough food, or they are getting sick, or something else irregular and +distressing is happening. + +Also the house has to be "calked" occasionally to keep out draughts +and more particularly creeping enemies of the hive, like bee-moths and +bee-lice. The cracks are pasted over with propolis, which is made from +resin or gum brought in from certain trees. If something gets into the +hive that can't be carried out, then the bees cover it up with +propolis. If they find a bee-moth grub in a crack where they can't get +to it to sting it to death, they wall it up, a living prisoner, with +propolis. Once our bees kept coming in with a curious new kind of +propolis; a greenish oily-looking stuff that stuck to their legs and +got on their faces and bodies and wouldn't clean off. We discovered +that they were trying to unpaint a near-by house as fast as it was +being freshly painted! + +Fuzzy took her turn at all these odd jobs, and though she was +beginning to show here and there a few places where her luxuriant hair +was rubbed off a little, she was still as lively and willing and +industrious as ever. Every day we liked her more and more and wished, +how many times, that we could talk with her and tell her how much we +liked her, and have her tell us how she enjoyed life in the glass +house. But we could only watch her and keep acquainted with all her +manifold duties and hope that nothing would happen to her on her long +foraging trips for pollen and nectar and propolis. Whenever Mary and I +came to the glass house and couldn't find Fuzzy, we were in a sort of +fever of excitement and apprehension until she came in with her great +loads of white or yellow or red pollen and went to shaking and dancing +and whirling about in the extraordinary way that she and her mates +have while hunting for a suitable pantry cell in which to unload her +pollen-baskets. Sometimes she would walk and dance and whirl over +almost all of the pollen-cells in the house before she would finally +decide on one. Then she would stand over it and pry with the strong +sharp spines on her middle legs at the solidly packed pollen loads on +her hind legs, trying to loosen them so they would fall into the cell. +Sometimes she simply couldn't get the pollen loads loose, and then a +companion would help her. And after they were loosened and had fallen +into the cell, she or a companion would ram her head down into the +cell and pack and tamp the soft sticky pollen loads down into one even +mass. And then how industriously she would clean herself, drawing her +antennæ through the neat little antennæ combs on her front legs, and +licking herself with her long flexible tongue, or getting licked by +her mates all over. + +Perhaps as she was washing herself after a hard foraging trip, the +stately and graceful queen of the house would come walking slowly by, +looking for empty cells in which to lay eggs. Then Fuzzy would turn +around, head toward the queen, and form part of the little circle of +honor that always kept forming and re-forming around the queen mother. +For the honey-bee queen is the mother of all the great family, and her +relation to the community is really the mother relation rather than +that of a reigning queen. She does not order the bees; indeed, the +worker bees seem to order her. They determine what cells she may have +to lay eggs in and when she shall be superseded by a new queen. And +when they decide for a new queen, they immediately set to work in a +very interesting way to make one. + +This is the way, as Mary and I saw it through the glass sides of +Fuzzy's house. First, a little group of workers went to work tearing +down, apparently, some comb already made; that is, they began on the +lower edge of a brood-comb, in the cells of which the old queen had +just laid eggs, to tear out the partitions between two or three of the +cells. What became of the eggs we couldn't tell, for they are very +small, and the bees were so crowded together that we could see only +the general results of their activity. Soon it was evident that they +were building as well as tearing down, and a new cell, much larger +than the usual kind and quite different in shape, began to take form. +It was like a thimble, only longer and slenderer, and it had the wide +end closed and the narrower tapering end open. They worked excitedly +and rapidly, and the new cell steadily grew in length. Never was it +left alone for a minute. Always there were bees coming and going and +always some clustered about. It was a constant center of interest and +excitement. + +Mary and I knew of course that this was a queen cell, and that at its +base there was one of the eggs laid by the old queen in a worker cell. +This egg hatched, we knew, in a few days, although we could not see +the little grub, but nurse bees were about constantly besides the +cell-builders, and all the bees that came to the wonderful new cell +seemed to realize that a very important, if at present rather grubby +and wholly helpless, personage was in it. The cell finally got to be +more than an inch long, and at the end of five days it was capped. A +lot of milky bee-jelly had been stored in it before capping. After +this nothing happened for seven days. + +Mary was in the room where the glass bee-houses are, and I was in an +adjoining room, with the door between the two open. As I sat peering +through my big microscope, I seemed to hear a curious unusual sound +from the bee-room, a sort of piping rather high-pitched but muffled. +Perhaps it was Mary trying a new song. She has a good assortment of +noises. But now came another sound; lower-pitched but louder than the +other; a trumpet-call, only of course not as loud as the soldiers' +trumpets or the ones on the stage when the King is about to come in. +Then the shrill piping again; and again the trumpet answer. And +finally a third and new sound, but this last unmistakably a Mary +sound. And with it came the dear girl herself, with her hair standing +on--well, no, I cannot truthfully say standing on end, but trying to. +And her eyes shooting sparks and her mouth open and her hands up. + +"The bees," she gasped, "the bees are doing it!" + +There was no doubt of what "it" meant. It was this sounding of pipes +and trumpets; these battle calls. + +I leaped to my feet; that is, if an elderly professor, who has certain +twinges in his joints occasionally, can really leap. Anyway I knocked +over my chair--and precious near my microscope--in getting up, and +started for the bees. And that shows the high degree of my excitement. +But never before in all the years I had played with bees had I heard +the trumpet challenges of queen bees to the death duel. Inside the +cell was the new queen shut up in darkness, but ready and eager to +come out, and piping her challenge. And outside, brave and fearless, +if old and worn, was the mother queen trumpeting back her defiance. It +was the spirit of the Amazons. + +And _what_ excitement in the hive! Simply frantic were the thousands +of workers. We watched them racing about wildly; up, down, across, +back; but mostly clustering in the bottom near the queen cell. And +working industriously at the cell itself, a group of builders, +strengthening and thickening the cell's walls especially at the closed +lower end. They seemed to be, yes, they were, preventing the new queen +inside from coming out. She was probably gnawing away with her +trowel-like jaws at the soft wax from the inside, while they were +putting on more wax and keeping her a prisoner. + +This went on for two or three days. The piping and trumpeting kept up +intermittently, and the thickening of the cell constantly. Until the +time came! + +And now I am going to disappoint you dreadfully. But much less than +Mary and I were disappointed. We were not there when the time came! + +The bees were excited, I have said. Mary and I were excited, I have +said. The bees put in _all_ their time being excited and watching the +queen cell. We put in _most_ of ours. But we had to eat and we had to +sleep. The bees didn't seem to. And so we missed the coming out. What +a pity! How unfair to us! And to you. + +As there is by immemorial honey-bee tradition but one queen in a +community at one time, when new queens issue from the great cells, +something has to happen. This may be one of three things: either the +old and new queens battle to death, and it is believed that in such +battles only does a queen bee ever use her sting, or the workers +interfere and kill either the old or new queen by "balling" her +(gathering in a tight suffocating mass about her), or either the old +(usually old) or new queen leaves the hive with a swarm, and a new +community is founded. In Fuzzy's community this last thing happened +when the new queen came out. + +Mary and I were on hand very early the morning of the third day after +the piping and trumpeting had begun. As we jerked the black cloth +jacket off the hive to see how things were, we were astonished at the +new excitement that was apparent in the hive; the bees seemed to be in +a perfect frenzy and had suspended all other operations except racing +about in apparent utter dementia. We could find neither the old queen +nor the new queen in the seething mass, nor could we even see whether +the queen cell was open or still sealed up. + +Another curious thing was that the taking off of the black cloth +jacket seemed to affect the bees very strongly. They had suddenly +become very sensitive to light, and while, when the jacket was on, +they all seemed to be making towards the bottom and especially towards +the exit corner, which was the lower corner next to the window, as +soon as we lifted off the jacket they seemed all to rush up to the top +where the light was strongest. So nearly simultaneous and uniform were +the turning and rushing up that the whole mass of bees seemed to flow +like some thick mottled liquid. + +It was evident that all this was the excitement and frenzy of +swarming. And it was also evident that the bees, in their great +excitement, were finding their way to the outlet by the light that +came in through it. And when we removed the cloth jacket we confused +them because the light now came into the hive from both sides and was +especially strong at the top, which was nearest the greatest expanse +of the outer window. So we finally let the jacket stay on, and after a +considerable time of violent exertion, the bees began to issue +pell-mell from the door of the house. The first comers waited for the +others, and there was pretty soon formed a great mass of excited bees +around the doorway, and clustered on the stone window-sill just +outside. Then suddenly the whole mass took wing and flew away +together. And pretty soon all was quiet in the hive. + +Mary and I had been nearly as excited as the bees, and we were glad to +sit and rest a little and get breath again. Soon it was luncheon time +and we went off to Mary's house without looking into the hive. We had +had just about all the bee observing we needed for one forenoon. But +almost the first thing that Mary did at the table was to straighten up +suddenly and cry out, "I wonder if Fuzzy swarmed!" And thereafter that +was all we thought of, and we made a very hasty meal of it. And the +moment we got up we hurried back to Fuzzy's home and jerked off the +black jacket. + +How quiet everything was inside. And how lessened the number of bees. +Fully one-third of the community must have gone out. We set to work +looking carefully at all the remaining bees. It was only a minute or +two before Mary clapped her hands and cried, "She's here!" "She" was +Fuzzy, of course. And we were both very glad that Fuzzy had not +deserted the glass house--and us. + +Some one came in and said that a "lot of your bees are out here +hanging on to a bush." But we had seen "swarms" before, and were much +more interested in finding out what the bees do inside after a swarm +has gone off than in watching the swarm outside. We knew that "scouts" +would fly away soon from the great hanging bunch or swarm to look for +a suitable new home; a hollow tree, a deserted hive, a box in hedge +corner, any place protected and dark, and when they had found one, +they would come back, and soon the whole swarm would fly off to the +new house. Once one of our swarms started down a chimney of a +neighbor's house, and immensely surprised the good people by coming +out, with a great buzzing, into the fireplace! And another swarm, not +finding a suitable indoors place, simply began to build new combs +hanging down from the branch of a cypress-tree in the Arboretum, and +really made an outdoor home there, carrying on all the work of a +bee-community for months. But usually a bee-swarm gets found by some +bee-keeper and put into an empty hive. And that is what happened to +our deserters. + +After Mary had found Fuzzy, who seemed to have lost considerable hair +and to have got pretty well rubbed in the grand melée, she continued +to peer carefully through the glass side of the hive. And I looked +carefully too. Of course we wanted to find out about the queens. Was +there any queen left in our hive? We knew there must be a queen with +the swarm; bees don't go off without a queen. So if the old and new +queen had fought and one had been killed, or if the workers had +"balled" the new queen when she came out, there could be no queen left +in the hive. Of course this would not be very serious. For there were +many eggs and also many just-hatched bee-grubs in the brood-combs, and +the workers could easily make a new queen. But this wasn't necessary, +for we soon found a graceful, slender-bodied bee, but so fresh and +brightly colored and clean that we knew her to be the new queen and +not the old. + +Things were perfectly normal and quiet. Some foragers were coming and +going; house-cleaners were busily at work on the floor of the house, +and nurses were moving about over the brood-cells. Not a trace of the +wild frenzy of the forenoon. What a puzzling thing it is to see all +the signs of tremendous mental excitement in other animals and yet not +to be able to understand in the least their real condition! They may +seem to do things for reasons and impulses that lead us to do things, +but we can't be at all sure that their mental or nervous processes, +their impulses and stimuli, are those which control us. We can't +possibly put ourselves in their places. For we are made differently. +And therefore it is plainly foolish to try to interpret the behavior +of the lower animals on a basis of our understanding of our own +behavior. Insects may see colors we cannot see; may hear sounds we +cannot hear; smell odors too delicate for us to smell. In fact, from +our observations and experiments, we are sure they do all these +things. The world to them, then, is different from the world to us. +And their behavior is based on their appreciation by their senses in +their own way of this different world. + +What determines which queen shall leave the hive with the swarm? What +determines which five thousand out of fifteen thousand worker bees, +all apparently similarly stimulated and excited, shall swarm out, and +which ten thousand shall stay in? These are questions too hard for us +to answer. We may take refuge in Maeterlinck's poetical conception of +the "spirit of the hive." Let us say that the "spirit of the hive" +decides these things. As well as what workers shall forage and what +ones clean house; what bees shall ventilate and what make wax and +build comb. Which is simply to say that we don't know what decides +all these things. + +The reduction in numbers of the inmates of Fuzzy's house made it much +easier to follow closely the behavior of any one bee, or any special +group of bees doing some one thing. And both Mary and I had long +wanted to see as clearly as possible just what goes on when the bees +are making wax and building comb. We had often examined, on the bodies +of dead bees, the four pairs of five-sided wax-plates on the under +side of the hind body. We knew that the wax comes out of skin-glands +under these plates as a liquid, and oozes through the pores of the +plates, spreading out and hardening in thin sheets on the outside of +the plates. To produce the wax certain workers eat a large amount of +honey, and then mass together in a curtain or festoon hanging down +from the ceiling of the hive or frame. Here they increase the +temperature of their bodies by some strong internal exertion; and +after several hours or sometimes two or three days, the fine +glistening wax-sheets appear on the wax-plates. These sheets get +larger and larger until they project beyond the edges of the body, +when they either fall off or are plucked off by other workers. + +It was only two or three days after the excitement of the swarming out +that Mary and I saw one of these curtains or hanging festoons of bees +making wax, and you may be sure we tried to watch it closely. The bees +hung to each other by their legs and kept quite still. The curtain +hung down fully six inches from the ceiling of the house, and the +first or upper row of bees had therefore to sustain the hanging weight +of all those below. And there were certainly several hundred bees in +the curtain. The wax-scales began to appear on the second day. And +many of them fell off and down to the floor of the house. Some of the +scales were plucked off by other workers and carried in their mouths +to where a new comb had been started before the swarming, and either +used by themselves to help in the comb-building or given to +comb-builders already at work. Some of the scales were plucked off by +the wax-making workers themselves, who then left the curtain and +carried the wax-scales to the seat of the comb-building operations. +Various other workers picked up from the floor the fallen scales and +carried them to the comb-builders. These building bees would chew up +pieces of wax in their mouths, mixing it with saliva, and then would +press and mould it with their little trowel-like jaws against the +comb, so as to build up steadily the familiar six-sided cells. + +Each layer of comb is composed of a double tier or layer of these +cells, a common partition or base serving as bottom of each tier. The +cells to be used for brood are of two sizes, smaller ones for workers +to be reared in, and larger ones for the drones. Sometimes the queen +lays drone eggs in worker cells and then the cells have to be built up +higher when the drone-grub gets too large for its cell. Sometimes, +too, the worker bees lay eggs--this happens often in a hive bereft by +some accident of its queen--but these eggs can only hatch into drones. +Occasionally the workers make a mistake and build a queen cell around +a drone egg. This happened once in our hive when there were no +queen-laid eggs in the brood-cells, and some workers had laid eggs. +The workers tried to make a new queen out of one of these eggs, but of +course only a worthless drone came out of the queen cell. In building +comb and cells for storing honey, new wax is almost exclusively used, +but for brood-comb old wax and wax mixed with pollen may be used. Any +comb or part of a comb not needed may be torn down and the wax used to +build new comb or to cap cells with. + +I have said that the nearest neighbors of Fuzzy's family are a lot of +black German bees, housed in a larger house than Fuzzy's, but one also +with glass sides so that we can see what goes on inside. The door of +the house opens through the same large window as that of Fuzzy's +house, but the foragers coming back from their long trips rarely make +a mistake in the doors, the Germans coming to their door and the +Italians to theirs. The German community is much the larger, there +being probably thirty or forty thousand workers in it, although of +course only one queen, and only a few hundred drones. Sometimes the +foragers, both Germans and Italians, make the mistake of coming to the +wrong window of the room in which their houses are. There are five +large windows all alike in the west wall of this room, and often we +find our bees bumping against the other windows, especially the ones +just next to the right one. They can't, of course, see in through +these windows because the room is much darker than outside, and so all +that the home-coming bees can see as they approach the building is a +row of similar windows separated from each other by similar spaces of +buffy stone. And keen as our bees are in finding their way straight to +their hives from distant flower-fields, this repetition of similar +windows seems to confuse some of them. + +But what I started to tell about is something that happened between +the neighboring bee-houses quite different from the troubles of the +bees finding their way home. It was something that gave Mary and me +the principal excitement that we had in all our many days of watching +bees. + +Mary and I do not want to say that the German bees knew that a third +of Fuzzy's community had swarmed out and gone away. Though how they +could help knowing it really seems more a puzzle, for there was +excitement and buzzing and window-sill covered and air full of bees +enough to have told everybody within a rod of what was going on in the +Italian house. But it was true that Fuzzy's community had never been +troubled at all seriously by the belligerent Germans, until after it +had been much reduced in strength by the loss of one-third of its +members. And then this trouble did come, and came soon. So it looks as +if the Germans realized the weakness of their neighbors. But perhaps +not. + +Just as our other exciting time beginning with the piping of the new +queen and lasting until the subsequent swarming was a discovery of +Mary's, so with this new time of high excitement; high excitement I +may say both on our part and the bees'. Mary was in the room where the +bees are, although not at the moment watching them, when she heard a +sound of violent buzzing and humming. It grew quickly louder and +shriller, and in a moment both communities were in an uproar. + +It was a battle, a great battle. On the one hand, a struggle by brutal +invaders intent on sacking the home and pillaging the stores of a +community given to ways of peace and just now reduced in numbers by a +migration or exodus from home of a large group of restless spirits; on +the other hand, a struggle for home and property and the lives of +hundreds of babies by this weak and presumably timid and unwarlike +people. A great band of Germans were at the door of Fuzzy's house +trying to get in! They buzzed and pushed and ran their stings in and +out of their bodies, and crowded the entryway full. But the Italian +workers and guards had roused their community, and pouring out from +the hive into the narrow entry was a stream of angry and brave amber +bees, ready to fight to the death for their home. + +It was really a terrific struggle. The Italians, few in numbers as a +community, were yet enough to oppose on fairly equal terms the band of +Germans, for by no means all the Germans had come from their house. +And the Italians had the great advantage of being defenders. They had +only to keep out the black column trying to force its way in through +the narrow door and entry. And they were no laggards in battle. They +fought with perfect courage and great energy. Often a small group of +Italians would force its way out of the door and into the very midst +of the Germans outside on the window-sill. These brave bees were all +killed, overwhelmed by the superior numbers of the enemy. But not +until they had left many dying Germans on the stone window-ledge were +their own paralyzed and dying bodies hustled out of the way. + +In many cases the combat took on the character of duels between single +pairs of combatants. A German and an Italian would clasp each other +with jaws and legs, and thus interlocked and whirling over and over +with violent beating of their wings would stab at each other until one +or both were mortally wounded. All the time the frenzied ball would be +rolling nearer and nearer the outer edge of the treacherous sloping +window-ledge, until finally over it would go, whirling in the air +through the thirty feet of fall to the ground below. Here the struggle +would go on, if the fighters were not too stunned by the fall, until +one or both bees were dead or paralyzed. + +It is really too painful to tell of this fight. And it was painful to +watch. But the end came soon. And it was a glorious victory for Fuzzy +and her companions. The German robbers flew back, what were left of +them, to their own hive. Mary and I tried all through the fight to +watch Fuzzy. But we saw her only once; she was in the entry then and +nearly in the front row of fighters. We were glad to see her so +brave, but fearful for her fate. After the fight we looked anxiously +through the hive for our little white-spotted friend. We didn't see +her, and were ready to mourn her for lost, when Mary happened to look +out on the window-ledge where a few Italians were pushing the +remaining paralyzed or dead Germans off. There was Fuzzy dragging, +with much effort, a dead, black bee along the rough stone. + +We were very happy, then, and wanted more than ever to be able to talk +to our brave little champion and rejoice with her over the splendid +victory. But we could only do as Fuzzy seemed to be doing. That is, +take up again the work that lay at our hands. My work was to go into +the lecture-room and talk to a class about the absence of intelligence +and mind and spirit in the lower animals and the dependence of their +behavior upon physics and chemistry and mechanics! Mary's work was to +go out into the poppy-field and talk with the little grass people whom +she never sees or hears, but knows are there. + +[Illustration: THE ANIMATED HONEY-JARS] + + + + +ANIMATED HONEY-JARS + + +It was one evening not long after our afternoon on Bungalow Hill, +where Mary had found the mealy-bugs in the runways of an ant's nest +under a stone, and I had told her about the clever little brown ants +and their aphid cattle in the Illinois corn-fields. Ever since that +afternoon Mary had been asking questions about ants, and so this +evening I was translating bits to her from a new German book about +ants. It told about the cruel forays of the hordes of the great +fighting and robbing Ecitons of the Amazons; of the extraordinary +mutually helpful relations between the Aztec ants and the Imbauba tree +of South America, which result in the ants getting a comfortable home +and special food from the tree, while the tree gets protection +through the Aztecs from the leaf-stealing Ecodomas. It told of the +ants that live in the hollow leaves of the Dischidia plants in the +Philippine Islands, and the way the plants get even by sending slender +aerial rootlets into the leaves to feed on the dead bodies of the ants +that die in the nests. It told of the ants in this country that build +sheds of wood-pulp over colonies of honey-dew insects or ant-cattle on +the stems of plants; of the fungus-garden ants of South America and +Mexico and Texas that bite off little pieces of green leaves and make +beds of them in special chambers in their underground nests, so that +certain moulds grow on these leaf-beds and provide a special kind of +food for the ant-gardeners. It told of the ants that make slaves of +other ants, and get to depend so much on these slaves that they can't +even care for their own children, and it told about the honey-ants of +the Garden of the Gods that make some of the workers in each +nest--but that's what this story is going to tell about, so we had +better wait. + +But it was all a veritable fairy-story book, as any good book about +the ways and life of ants must be. And Mary listened eagerly. She +liked it. When going-home time came she had, however, one insistent +question to ask. "What can I _see_?" she demanded. "What can I see +right away; to-morrow?" + +"Mary you can--see--to-morrow,"--and I think rapidly,--"you can +see--to-morrow,"--still thinking,--"ah, yes--yes you _can_; you can +see them to-morrow." + +"But _what_ can I see to-morrow?" + +"Why the animated honey-jars; didn't I say what? No? Well, to-morrow +we can go to see them; in the Arboretum at the foot of the big +Monterey pine. I think I remember the exact place." + +"But I thought the honey-ants were only in Mexico and New Mexico and +Colorado," says Mary. "Didn't the book say that?" + +"Yes, that kind; but we have a kind of our own here in California. The +sort that McCook found in the Garden of the Gods and studied all that +summer twenty-five years ago is found only there and in the Southwest, +but there are two or three other kinds of honey-ants known, and one of +them that has never been told about in the books at all is right here +on the campus. There are several of the nests here, or were a few +years ago, and we'll go to-morrow and try to find one. It will be +fine, won't it?" + +"Fine," said Mary. "Good-night." + +And so the next morning we went. The Arboretum is a place where once +were planted almost all the kinds of trees that grow wild in +California, besides many other kinds from Australia and Japan and New +Zealand and Peru and Chili and several of the other Pacific Ocean +countries. But the big, swift-growing eucalyptuses and Monterey pines +have crowded out many of the other more tender and less-pushing kinds. +However, it is still a wonderful place of trees. Many birds live +there; swift troops of the beautiful plumed California quails; +crimson-throated Anna humming-birds, crestless California jays, +fidgeting finches and juncos, spunky sparrows and wrens, chattering +chickadees and titmice, fierce little fly-catchers and kinglets. There +are winding paths and little-used roads in it, and altogether it is a +fine place to go when one has only a short hour for walking and seeing +things. + +And so Mary and I came with a garden-trowel and a glass fruit-jar to +the foot of the big Monterey pine near the _toyon_. A _toyon_, if you +are an Easterner and need telling, is the tree that bears the red +berries for Christmas for us Pacific-Coasters. It is our holly, as the +Ceanothus is our lilac, and the poison-oak is our autumn-red sumac. + +At the foot of the Monterey pine we began our search for the +honey-ants. We didn't, of course, expect to find them walking about +with their swollen bodies full of amber honey, for the honey-bearers +are supposed not to walk around, but to stay inside the nest, in a +special chamber made for them. We looked rather for the +honey-gatherers, the worker foragers. + +Pretty soon Mary found a swift little black ant. But, no, it was an +_Aphænogaster_ that-- + +"A feeno-gasser?" asks Mary. "What is that?" + +"That has the curious, flat-bodied dwarf crickets living with it in +its nests," I continue. "_Myrmecophila_, the ant-lover, they call this +little cricket which has lost its wings and its voice and is +altogether an insignificant and meek little guest unbidden but +tolerated at the ant's table. And here, here is a big black-and-brown +carpenter-ant going home with a seed in its mouth." + +"Where is its home? Does it build a house out of wood? Let's follow +it," Mary bursts in. + +"No, we are after honey-ants, remember. We mustn't let ourselves get +distracted by all these others. The carpenter-ants do make themselves +a home of wood, but they do it by gnawing out galleries and chambers +in a dead tree trunk or stump or in a neglected timber. That isn't +exactly building, but it is at least a kind of carpentering, a sort +of--" + +"Is this one?" interrupts Mary, poking violently at an angry +red-headed little slave-maker ant that seemed anxious to get off to +its home where its slaves, which are other ants captured when still +young and unacquainted with their rightful family, do all the work of +food-getting and cleaning and taking care of the babies. + +And then I recognized a _Prenolepis_, that is,--and I _do_ beg +pardon,--one of our campus honey-ants. Of course I suppose they are +elsewhere in California and perhaps north in Oregon and east in Nevada +and Arizona, but I have only seen them here, and hence always think of +them as belonging exclusively with us campus-dwellers. It was a little +brown ant with black hind body and paler under side. It isn't +particularly impressive, for it is only about one-eighth of an inch +long, and its colors and appearance are much like those of many other +ants, but there is something about it sufficiently distinctive to let +one recognize it at sight. + +The thing to do now, of course, was to find its nest. There are +various ways of finding the nest of any particular ant you may happen +to discover running about loose over the country, but not one of them +am I going to tell you. They are good things to work out for yourself. +Mary and I know how, and so we had little trouble and didn't +have to spend much time in finding the home of our wandering +_Prenolepis_,--there it is again,--campus honey-ant I mean. And that +is a fair name for it, for McCook who found the famous honey-ants of +the Garden of the Gods in Colorado named his kind _Myrmecocystus +melliger hortusdeorum_, which is straight Latin and Greek for the +"honey-pot ant of the Garden of the Gods." But _what_ a name for a +little ant one-eighth of an inch long to carry! + +It would take too many words and I am afraid would be too trivial a +story for even this very happy-go-lucky little book to tell how Mary +and I dug and dug in the ground near the foot of the tree, and how +carefully we worked with our garden-trowel and mostly with our +fingers! And how we traced out runway after runway and opened chamber +after chamber of the honey-ant's nest until we found the honey-pantry +with its strange jars of sweetness all hanging from the roof. The +picture that Mary carefully sketched in, and that Sekko Shimada +painted for us with his dainty Japanese brushes and little saucers of +costly Japanese ink, shows very well part of the nest, that part that +had one of the honey-rooms in. You won't see the base of the Monterey +pine-tree in the picture, nor any of the other trees that were all +around, because Mary didn't put them into her sketch, and we forgot to +tell Sekko where the nest was. But the galleries and honey-chamber and +the ants themselves are all right in Sekko's picture. + +In some of the galleries we had found ants with considerably swollen +hind bodies, which evidently had the stomach or crop well filled with +some nearly transparent, pale yellowish-brown liquid. But it was not +until we discovered the honey-pantry that we saw the extraordinary +fully laden real live honey-jars, which were, of course, nothing but +some of the worker ants hanging by their feet from the roof of the +chamber, with their hind bodies enormously swollen by the great +quantity of honey held in the crop. In opening the chamber we +dislodged two or three of the honey-jars that fell to the floor and +could hardly turn over or walk at all, so helpless were they. And one +of them broke and the honey came out in a big drop, and I tasted it on +the tip of my little finger, and it was sweet. So it was surely honey. +And you should have seen how eagerly two or three other workers in the +chamber, without swollen bodies, lapped up this sweet drop that came +out of the body of the poor, broken honey-jar! + +As we had broken into the home of the honey-ants and had pretty nearly +wrecked it, it seemed only fair that we should try to help our +honey-ants begin another home under as kindly conditions as possible. +So we put as many of them as we could find, foraging workers, +honey-holders, and the queen whom we found in a special queen room, +into our glass fruit-jar with some soil, and brought them all home and +put them into a formicary. Which is simply an artificial ants' nest, +or house already arranged for ants to live in. It has a place to hold +food and has dark rooms and sunny rooms, cool rooms and warm ones, all +nicely fixed with runways connecting them, and food is put in as often +as necessary and always in one place, which the ants learn to know +very soon, indeed. This makes housekeeping easy and pleasant for the +ants, and lets us see a great deal of how it is carried on, because +there are glass sides and top to the house, so that by lifting little +pieces of black cardboard or cloth we can look in and watch the ants +at work. + +The honey-ants' colony seemed to live very contentedly in our +formicary, for they went ahead with all their usual business of laying +eggs and rearing babies and feeding them, and finding honey and +getting the honey-jars loaded with it and hung by their feet from the +ceiling of their room, and all the other things that go on regularly +in a honey-ant's house. + +The principal thing we wanted to do, however, was to learn how the +honey-jars got filled and also how they got emptied again! And this +was not at all hard to find out, although we never found out certainly +where the worker foragers got their honey in the Arboretum. McCook +found that his foragers in the Garden of the Gods gathered a sweet +honey-dew liquid that oozed out in little drops from certain live +oak-galls near the nest. But our ants seemed to be getting their honey +from somewhere up in the pine-tree, for there was a constant stream of +them going up and down the trunk. Besides, many of those coming down +had swollen bodies partially filled with honey, while none of those +going up did. Now the only honey supply in the pine-tree that we know +is the honey-dew given off liberally by a brown roundish scale insect +that lives on the pine-needles. So we _think_ our honey-ants gathered +their honey material from these honey-dew scale insects. But we have +seen them collect honey stuff from various aphids and also from the +growing twigs of live-oak trees. They seem to be willing to take it +wherever they can find it. + +Of course we had to provide a supply of honey for our indoor colony, +and this supply was eagerly and constantly visited by the foraging +workers. They would lap it up and then go into the nest and feed the +live honey-pots! That is, a well-fed forager would go into the +honey-pantry and force the honey out from its own crop through its +mouth into the mouth of one of the live honey-jars. Undoubtedly the +honey-bee honey we furnished them was considerably changed while in +the body of the foraging worker. + +But all the time the nurses and workers inside the nest needed honey +for food. And this they got by going to the honey-pantry, and by some +gentle means inducing the live honey-pots to give up some of their +store. Mouth to mouth the feeder and the filled honey-ant would stand +or cling for some minutes. And there was no doubt of what was going +on. The honey-pot was this time forcing honey out of its own +over-filled crop and into the mouth of the nurse. + +Thus all the time there went on a constant emptying and replenishing +of the strange honey-pots. What an extraordinary kind of life! Nothing +to do but to drink and disgorge honey; to cling motionless to the +ceiling of a little room, or lie helpless, or feebly dragging about on +the floor and be pumped into and pumped out of! To have one's body +swollen to several times its natural size by an overloaded stomach, +and to be likely to burst from a fall or deep scratch! + +But there is simply no telling beforehand what remarkable condition of +things you may find in an ant's nest. There is an ardent naturalist +student of ants in the great museum of natural history in New York, +who keeps publishing short accounts of the new things he is all the +time discovering about the habits and life of ants. And if I didn't +know him to be not only a perfectly truthful man but a trained and +rigorously careful observer and scientific scholar, I should simply +put his stories aside as preposterous. But on the contrary, as I do +know them to be true, I am more and more coming to be able to believe +anything anybody says or guesses about ants! Which is, of course, not +a good attitude for a professor! + +Dr. Wheeler, this New York student of ants, is putting a great deal of +what he knows about ants into a large book which, when published, will +make a whole shelfful of green, red, blue, and yellow fairy books +hide their faded colors in shame. For tellers of fairy tales cannot +even think of things as extraordinary and strange as the things that +ants actually do! + +But what a prosaic lecture this story of the animated honey-jars has +come to be. Mary is long ago asleep, curled up in a big leather +arm-chair in my study, and I sit here in the falling dusk, straining +my bespectacled eyes to write what will, I am afraid, only put other +little girls to sleep. Which is not at all my idea in writing this +book. It is, indeed, just the opposite. It is to make anybody who +reads it open his eyes. But, "_Schluss_," as my old Leipzig professor +used to say at the end of his long dreary lecture. So _Schluss_ it is! + +[Illustration: HOUSES OF OAK] + + + + +HOUSES OF OAK + + +There are eight different kinds of oak-trees growing on or near the +campus where Mary and I live. And each kind of oak-tree has several +kinds of houses peculiar and special to it. Which makes altogether a +great many styles and sizes of houses of oak for Mary and me to get +acquainted with. For we have made up our minds to know them all, and +something about the creatures that live in them. This is a large +undertaking, we are finding, but an intensely interesting and +delightful one. Some of it is quite scientific, too, which makes us +proud and serious. We are keeping notes, as we did about Argiope and +the way it handled flies and bees, and some day we shall print these +notes in the proceedings of a learned society, and make a real +sensation in the scientific world. Anyway we think we shall. Just now, +however, we shall only tell the very simplest things about these +houses of oak and their inhabitants, for we suppose you wouldn't be +interested in the harder things; perhaps, indeed, not even understand +them all. + +Although, as I have already said, there are eight different kinds of +oak-trees growing in our valley and mountains, two of these kinds, the +live-oaks and the white oaks, are by far the most common and numerous. +As one stands upon the mountain tops or foothills and looks down and +over the broad valley, all still and drowsy under the warm afternoon +sun, it seems as if you were looking at a single great orchard with +the trees in it in close-set regular lines and plots in some places, +and irregularly scattered and farther apart in other places. Where +they are regular and close together, they really are orchard trees; +where they are irregular and widely spaced and larger, they are the +beautiful live-oaks and white oaks that grow in all the grain-fields +and meadows and pastures of our valley. The live-oaks have small +leaves, dark green and close together, and the head of the tree is +dense and like a great ball; the white oaks have larger, less thickly +set leaves of lighter green, and the branches are more irregular and +straying and they often send down delicate pendent lines that swing +and dance in the wind like long tassels. The live-oaks have leaves on +all the year through; the white oaks lose theirs in November. + +In both of these kinds of trees the oak houses can be found, but +especially in the white oaks. And there are, as I have said, many +kinds of the houses. Mary and I have found little round ones, big +bean-shaped ones, little star-shaped ones, slender cornucopia-like +ones, green, whitish, red-striped, pink-spotted, smooth, hairy, +rough-coated, spiny ones, and still other kinds. Some of the houses +are on the leaves, some on the leaf-stems, some on the little twigs, +and some on the branches. Some of the houses stay in the trees all +through the year, but most of them drop off in the autumn, especially +in the white-oak trees, just as the leaves do. + +We go out and hunt for the houses in the trees and among the fallen +leaves on the ground under the trees. They are sometimes, especially +the little ones, hard to find, for their colors and shapes often seem +to fit in with their surroundings, so as to make them very hard to +see. But others, like the big ball-shaped white ones shown in Sekko +Shimada's picture, are, on the contrary, very conspicuous. If the +houses are on the ground, or even if they are still on the tree and we +think they are all through being made--and there are various ways of +knowing about this, but the most important is the time of year--Mary +and I bring them home with us and put them in little bags of fine +cloth netting, tarlatan usually, the houses that are alike and from +one place being put together in a single bag. Then we tie a string +around the mouth of the bag and wait for the dwellers in the houses to +come out. + +For one has to be careful about trying to see the oak-house dwellers +before they are ready to come out. It is much better to await their +own sweet pleasure in this matter, than to go digging or prying in, +for the houses have no doors or windows until just at the time the +dwellers come out! In fact they make the doors as they come out. You +will see, after we tell you a little more, that this arrangement is a +very good one. Even as it is, various unwelcome intruders find their +way into the house much to the annoyance and even to the fatal +disaster of the inmates. + +So we wait until the dwellers are ready to come out. Or if +occasionally we really think we ought to see how things are going on +inside, we chop a house or two open and see what we can see. What this +is, usually, is a house's insides very unusual and curious, for the +rooms occupy so little space and the walls so much. Sometimes there is +only one room and that right in the middle, all the rest of the house +being just a dense or sometimes loose and spongy wall all around it. +In the single room, or in each of the several rooms, we find a +curled-up little shining white grub without legs, and of course +without wings, and with a head that doesn't seem much like a head, for +it has no eyes nor feelers, and most of the time is drawn back into +the body of the grub so that it is hardly visible at all. But there is +a mouth on this silly sort of head, and the grub eats. What it eats is +part of its own house! + +The houses, or galls, as the entomologists call them, are of course +not actually made by the insects that live in them; they are made by +the oak-tree on which they are. But they are only made at the demand, +so to speak, of the insects. That is, the oak-galls are formed only +where a gall-insect has pricked a live leaf or stem or twig with her +sharp, sting-like little egg-layer, and has left an egg in the +plant-tissue. Nor does the gall begin to form even yet. It begins only +after the young gall-insect is hatched from the egg, or at least +begins to develop inside the egg. Then the gall grows rapidly. The +tree sends an extra supply of sap to this spot, and the plant-cells +multiply, and the house begins to form around the little white grub. +Now this house or gall not only encloses and protects the insect, but +it provides it with food in the form of plant-sap and a special mass +or layer of soft nutritious plant-tissue lying right around the grub. +So the gall-insect not only lives in the house, but eats it! + +After it is full-grown, the grub stops eating. Then the house, or +gall, stops growing and becomes harder and changes from greenish to +some other color, and, in most cases, pretty soon drops off the tree +to the ground. The gall-insect is still alive inside, of course, but +is perfectly quiet and is simply waiting. It is at this time in the +life of the houses and their dwellers that Mary and I collect them and +bring them home and put them into little tarlatan bags. This is +autumn, the time that the trees in the East turn yellow and red, but +in California do not. They just stay green, but get quiet or turn +brown or simply drop off their leaves and stand bare. + +All through the autumn and winter the gall-insects do nothing inside +their houses. Indeed we can take them out and keep them in little +vials, and most of them get on very well. They require no food; they +simply want to be let alone. But in early spring--and spring in +California comes very early; indeed, it comes in winter!--they wake +up and in a short time change into stout-bodied little real +insect-looking insects with six legs, four wings, a round head with +feelers and eyes and whatever else an insect's head ought to have. +Especially sharp jaws. For each gall-dweller has now to get out of its +house. And as there are no doors, it has to make them. Which it does +with its sharp jaws, gnawing a tunnel from the center of the house +right out through the thick hard wall to the outside. + +When it gets out it flies around in lively manner for a few days, +finally settling on a sprouting oak-leaf or bud or green stem or twig, +and laying a few eggs, or several, or many, according to the habits of +its special kind, and then it dies. And when the tiny white grubs +hatch from these eggs, new houses begin to be made around them by the +oak-trees, and a new generation of gall-insects is fairly started. + +But not all the dwellers in the houses of oak have such a smooth and +easy life as I have described. There will often come out of one of the +galls that Mary and I have in a tarlatan bag, not one kind of insect, +but several kinds, and only one of these kinds is the regular proper +house-owner. The others are interlopers. Some of them may be only +uninvited but not especially harmful guests, just other kinds of +gall-insects that seem to have given up the habit--if they ever had +it--of starting houses of their own, and have adopted the cuckoo-like +way of laying their eggs in the just-starting houses of other +gall-insects. The grubs, or young of these messmate gall-insects, live +in, and feed on, the same house, with the rightful dwellers, but as +the oak-tree has plenty of sap and the gall-house is usually large +enough for all, there is generally no harm done by these cuckoo +intruders. + +But some of the intruding insects that come from our galls are not so +harmless. They are the ones called parasites. They live in the houses +not for the sake of the protection or the food furnished by the house, +but in order to eat the actual dwellers in the house. Often and often +not a single real gall-insect would come out in the spring from many +of our collected houses, but only a little swarm, or sometimes just +two or three or even one, of these insect-devouring parasites that has +eaten up the rightful owners of the houses. + +There are other enemies, too, of the oak-house dwellers. Birds like to +peck into the soft, growing galls to get at the tidbits inside. And +predaceous beetles and other strong-jawed insects with a fondness for +helpless, soft-bodied, juicy grubs would like to gnaw into the houses. +So the houses have to protect the dwellers inside, and they do this in +various ways. Some are extra thick-walled or have an extra-hard outer +shell. Some are covered with spines or hairs. Some have a viscous +gluey excretion, some have a very bad odor, some are so colored and +patterned that they are very hard to distinguish from the foliage or +from the fallen leaves around them, and, finally, some secrete a +sweetish honey-dew which attracts ants, and these fierce visitors, who +are content with the honey-dew, probably drive away many visiting +parasites and predaceous insects. + +But it would be tiresome to go on and tell you all the things we are +finding out about the houses of oak and the insects that live in them. +Of how we have got them to lay their eggs right before our eyes on +little fresh branches that we bring into the house. Of how the houses +begin to form under the bark or leaf surface as mere little swellings +and then break through and get larger and larger and take on their +characteristic form and color. Of how we have to study the +gall-dwellers with a microscope, for the largest that we have found +yet--the ones that make the big galls shown in Sekko's picture--are +only one-fifth of an inch long, while others are not more than +one-twenty-fifth of an inch long. Of how some kinds have to lay their +eggs always on the same kind of oak-tree, while others prick different +kinds of oaks. + +Nor can we tell of the questions and problems that we are trying to +answer. As why it is that two galls made by two different kinds of +gall-insects, but in the same parts, as leaves, of the same oak-tree, +should be so different, or why the galls in different kinds of trees, +though made by the same kind of insect, should be alike, as they +usually are. And why with some kinds of the house-dwellers the +children grow up to be different from the mother, but their own +children grow up like the grandmother, and different from themselves. +Or how they know not to lay too many eggs in one place, the ones +making little galls often laying several to many eggs in one leaf, +but the ones making large galls being careful to lay only one egg in a +leaf. And a lot of other things that they do that need explaining. + +Perhaps we shall find out the reason for some of these things. But +naturalists have known the houses of oak-insects for two hundred years +now, and if they haven't found the answers to some of these questions +yet, perhaps no one ever can. But that isn't a good way to look at +Nature. And so Mary and I don't. We think we may make a great +discovery any day. We are like prospectors in the gold mountains. We +never give up; we always keep prying and peering. The worst of it is, +I suppose you think, that we always keep talking too. Well, this is +the last sentence of this dose of talking; or next to last. For this +is the + + END + +of this rambling, talky, little book. + + + * * * * * + + + BY THE SAME AUTHOR + + ELEMENTARY ZOOLOGY + Pp. xv+492, 172 figs., 12mo, 1901, $1.20 + + FIRST LESSONS IN ZOOLOGY + Pp. x+363, 257 figs., 12mo, 1903, $1.15 + + AMERICAN INSECTS + Pp. vii+671, 812 figs., 11 colored + plates, 8vo, 1905 (_American Nature + Series, Group I_), $5.00. Students' + edition, $4.00 + + DARWINISM TO-DAY + Pp. xii+403, 8vo, 1907, $2.00 + + HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY + PUBLISHERS NEW YORK + + + * * * * * + + + THE AMERICAN NATURE SERIES + + In the hope of doing something toward furnishing a series where + the nature-lover can surely find a readable book of high + authority, the publishers of the American Science Series have + begun the publication of the American Nature Series. 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LUCAS, Chief Curator Brooklyn + Museum of Arts and Sciences, and edited by ROBERT RIDGWAY, + Curator of Birds, U. S. National Museum. + + =REPTILES AND BATRACHIANS=, by LEONHARD STEJNEGER, Curator of + Reptiles, U. S. National Museum. + + =Section B. A Shorter Natural History=, mainly by the Authors of + Section A, preserving its popular character, its proportional + treatment, and its authority so far as that can be preserved + without its fullness. Size not yet determined. + + + II. CLASSIFICATION OF NATURE + + =1. Library Series=, very full descriptions. 8vo. 7-1/2x10-1/4 + in. + + Already publisht: = NORTH AMERICAN TREES=, by N. L. BRITTON, + Director of the New York Botanical Garden. $7.00 net; carriage + extra. + + =FERNS=, by CAMPBELL E. WATERS, of Johns Hopkins University. + 8vo, pp. xi+362. $3.00 net; by mail, $3.30. + + =2. Pocket Series, Identification Books=--"How to Know," brief + and in portable shape. + + + III. 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Invaluable to the teacher and school, + and should be on every teacher's desk for ready reference, and + the children should be taught to go to this volume for + information useful and interesting."--_Journal of Education._ + + + HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY + + NEW YORK (ii, '06) CHICAGO + + + * * * * * + + + MISS MARY WRIGHT PLUMMER'S ROY AND RAY IN MEXICO + + Illustrated from photographs, with map, words and music of + Mexican national songs, and index, large + + 12mo, 400 pp., $1.75 net, by mail $1.90 + + A story of Mexican travel for children. Roy and Ray Stevens, + twins "going on twelve," with their parents, spend a summer in + Mexico. The book tells from the children's standpoint what they + see and do, and what they learn about Mexico. They visit eight + Mexican cities, going as far south as Oaxaca. They meet + President Diaz, learn Mexican habits and customs, particularly + those of the mass of the population, take part in the Fourth of + July celebration of the American colony in the City of Mexico, + visit the ruins of Mitla, learn some very interesting Mexican + history, and spend much time comparing things Mexican with + things American. + + Many minor responsibilities of travel are in the children's + hands, and they learn much of traveling customs and etiquette. + The spirit of travel permeates the book. + + "Will be welcome to many readers of mature years as well as to + the juveniles for whom it is primarily written.... Embodies very + much that is of interest respecting Mexican history, manners and + customs as well as descriptions of scenery. It deserves the + widest circulation in this country, and no public library can + afford to be without it."--_Boston Transcript._ + + "Most pleasing style.... The book is an accurate travel guide in + its main points, and should be particularly helpful to teachers + and school children.... Experiences of interest even to + adults."--_Chicago Evening Post._ + + "Very bright and accurate.... All the novel sights of this + tropical land come before the vision of these children like a + moving-picture show. They visit eight cities, and what they + don't see is not worth telling about.... Pictures are good and + really illustrate."--_Mexican Herald_ (City of Mexico). + + + A BOOK OF VERSES FOR CHILDREN + + Compiled by EDWARD V. LUCAS. Over 200 poems from eighty authors. + Revised Edition, $2.00 net + + _Popular Edition_ + + "We know of no other anthology for children so complete and well + arranged."--_The Critic._ + + "It contains much that is charming, much that is admirably in + tune with the spirit of childhood."--_New York Tribune._ + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Insect Stories, by Vernon L. 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Kellogg + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license + + +Title: Insect Stories + +Author: Vernon L. Kellogg + +Illustrator: Mary Wellman + Maud Lanktree + Sekko Shimada + +Release Date: March 19, 2012 [EBook #39206] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INSECT STORIES *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Matthew Wheaton and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + +<p class="h3">American Nature Series</p> + +<p class="h4">Group V. Diversions from Nature</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<h1 class="booktitle">INSECT STORIES</h1> + +<p class="h4">BY</p> + +<p class="h3">VERNON L. KELLOGG</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="h4"><i>With Illustrations</i></p> + +<p class="h5">BY</p> + +<p class="h4"><span class="smcap">Mary Wellman, Maud Lanktree, and Sekko Shimada</span></p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="100" height="127" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="h4">NEW YORK<br /> +HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY<br /> +1908</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="h6"><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1908,<br /> +BY</p> + +<p class="h5">HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY</p> + +<p class="h6">Published June, 1908</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="h5">ROBERT DRUMMOND COMPANY, PRINTERS, NEW YORK</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="h3">TO<br /> +DOROTHY S., ANNA F., AND MARY L.<br /> +WHO ARE MARY</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i001.jpg" width="250" height="176" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> + +<h2>PREFATORY NOTE</h2> + +<p>In these days many strange, true stories about animals are being +written and read, but it seems to me that some of our most intimate +and interesting animal companions are being overlooked. So I have +tried to write about a few of them. These stories are true. I know +this, for Mary and I have really seen almost everything I have told; +and they seem to us strange. If there have slipped into the stories +occasional slight attempts to show some reason for the strange things +or to point an unobtrusive moral, it is because the teacher's habit +has overcome the story-teller's intention. So the slips may be +pardoned.</p> + +<p>Of course I recognize that it is taking great chances nowadays with +one's reputation<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span> for honesty and truth-telling to write or tell +stories about animal behavior. Nature writers seem to be held, as a +class, not to be above suspicion. But is a truthful man to be kept +silent by criticism or abuse, or, on the other hand, is he to +surrender, even for cash, to bad examples? I call out, "No!" and beat +on the table as I say this until the pens and paper hop, and Mary +asks, "No what?" Which reminds me that I must make some exception to +my sweeping declaration of the truth of the whole of this little book. +I am not responsible for Mary! She is, bless her, a child of dreams, +and sometimes her dreams get into her talk. So some of Mary in this +book is fancy; but the beasties and their doings are—I say it +again—true, quite true.</p> + +<p class="author bold">V. L. K.</p> + +<p class="smcap">Stanford University, California.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2>LIST OF STORIES</h2> + +<p class="bold"><a href="#A_NARROW-WAISTED_MOTHER">A NARROW-WAISTED MOTHER</a><br /> +<a href="#RED_AND_BLACK_AGAINST_WHITE">RED AND BLACK AGAINST WHITE</a><br /> +<a href="#THE_VENDETTA">THE VENDETTA</a><br /> +<a href="#THE_TRUE_STORY_OF_THE_PIT_OF_MORROWBIE_JUKES">THE TRUE STORY OF THE PIT OF MORROWBIE JUKES</a><br /> +<a href="#ARGIOPE_OF_THE_SILVER_SHIELD">ARGIOPE OF THE SILVER SHIELD</a><br /> +<a href="#THE_ORANGE-DWELLERS">THE ORANGE-DWELLERS</a><br /> +<a href="#THE_DRAGON_OF_LAGUNITA">THE DRAGON OF LAGUNITA</a><br /> +<a href="#A_SUMMER_INVASION">A SUMMER INVASION</a><br /> +<a href="#A_CLEVER_LITTLE_BROWN_ANT">A CLEVER LITTLE BROWN ANT</a><br /> +<a href="#AN_HOUR_OF_LIVING_OR_THE_DANCE_OF_DEATH">AN HOUR OF LIVING; OR, THE DANCE OF DEATH</a><br /> +<a href="#IN_FUZZYS_GLASS_HOUSE">IN FUZZY'S GLASS HOUSE</a><br /> +<a href="#ANIMATED_HONEY-JARS">ANIMATED HONEY-JARS</a><br /> +<a href="#HOUSES_OF_OAK">HOUSES OF OAK</a></p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i002.jpg" width="300" height="165" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i003.jpg" width="400" height="243" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="A_NARROW-WAISTED_MOTHER">A NARROW-WAISTED MOTHER</a></h2> + +<p>I first got acquainted with Mary when she was collecting tarantula +holes. This appealed to me strongly. It was so much more interesting +than collecting postmarks or even postage-stamps.</p> + +<p>It is part of my work, the part which is really my play—to go out and +look at things. To do the same, I found out, is Mary's play—which is, +of course, her most serious employment. We easily got acquainted when +we first met, and made an arrangement to go out and look at things, +and collect some of them, together. So after Mary had shown me that +collecting tarantula holes is really quite simple—although at first +thought of it you may not think so—I proposed to her to come along<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +and help me collect a few wasp holes. They are smaller of course than +tarantula holes and do not make quite such a fine showing when you get +them home, but they have several real advantages over the spider +burrows, only one of which I need tell you now. This one is, that you +can watch the wasps make their holes because they do it in the +daytime, while you can't watch the tarantula make its hole because it +does it at night. So Mary and I went together to the place of the +wasps.</p> + +<p>I ought to tell you right away that Mary and I live in California. +This explains to you partly why we are so happy in our rambles, +because for any one whose work or whose play it is to go out and look +at things, California is a wonderfully good place to live in. In fact, +I know of none better. But I should tell you more of where we live, +because California is so many places at once, that is, so many +different kinds of places, such as high mountains, <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>burning deserts, +great forests, fertile plains, salt lakes, blue ocean, low soft hills, +wide level marshes, fragrant orchards, brilliant flower gardens, hot +springs and volcanic cones, deep cañons and rushing rivers,—O, +indeed, almost all the kinds of places that the physical geography +tells about.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i004.jpg" width="400" height="324" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p>Mary and I live in a beautiful valley between two ranges of mountains +and very near the marsh-lined shores of a great ocean bay. Over beyond +one range of mountains is the ocean itself stretching blue and ripply +all the way to China, while beyond the other range of mountains is a +desert with jackrabbits and burrowing owls and cactuses. Not the +worst—or best—sort of desert like that far south toward Mexico, but +one that gets a little rain, and hence is called a "Land of Great +Possibilities" by men who sell pieces of it now and then to people +from Maine.</p> + +<p>It is easy for us to get from the little town in which we live to +several very good<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> places for looking at things. The foothills and +mountain sides with their forests and coverts and swift little brooks; +the orchards and flower gardens and grain and grass fields; the wide +flat marshes with their salt-grass and pickle-weed, their wide +channels and pools, and finally the bay itself; all are near by and +all are fine places for observing and collecting things.</p> + +<p>When I met Mary first—the time she was collecting tarantula holes—we +were on the gentle slopes of the lower foothills of the mountains. The +big hairy tarantulas are very numerous there, although one rarely sees +them because they mostly stay in their holes in daytime. There are +tarantula hawks there too, enormous black and rusty-red wasps with +wings stretching three inches from tip to tip. Mary and I saw one of +these giant wasps swoop down on a big tarantula just as he came out of +his hole one evening after sundown, and that was a battle to remember, +and it had a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> very strange ending. The tarantula—but I must save that +battle for another chapter all to itself. I must try and stick to the +wasp holes in this one.</p> + +<p>It was a day in September. This month in California is the last one of +the long, rainless, sun-filled summer, and everywhere it is very dry +and brown. The valley floors and foothill slopes lie thirsty and +cracking under the ardent sun, and a thin cover of fine dust lies on +all the leaves of the live-oak and eucalyptus trees. Everything out of +doors is waiting for the first rain. The birds are still and the frogs +all hidden away. The insects buzz about rather heavily and keep pretty +well under cover. If one wants to see much lowly life it is necessary +to go to the banks of the few persisting streams or lakes or to the +shores of bay or ocean. So Mary and I left the dry foothill slopes and +their many silk-lined holes with a big black hairy tarantula sitting +quietly at the bottom of each, and took<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> the gently dropping dusty +road to the marshes.</p> + +<p>I like the salt marshes of California. They are a change and relief, +in their soothing monotony and simple plant life, from the lush and +variegated flower fields, the dense and hostile chaparral thickets, +the dark forests of great trees, and the miles of artificial +plantations of orchards and vines. On the marshes you are greater and +more important than the plants. In an orchard or a giant-tree forest, +you feel second-rate someway. The fruit-trees have men for servants, +while to the giant trees with their outlook from a height of three +hundred feet and their memories of two thousand years, a man is no +more than an ant. But in the marshes you feel that you are much more +important a kind of creature than the pickle-weed, and that is almost +the only plant that grows there.</p> + +<p>There are many curious little bare dry spots in the marshes where we +know it.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> Flat, smooth, salt-encrusted, clean white spots rather +circular in outline, and perhaps twenty feet in diameter. All around +is the low thick growth of fat-leaved pickle-weed, but for some reason +it doesn't invade these pretty little empty rooms. Mary and I like to +lie on the clean dry floor of one of these unroofed rooms and look up +at the blue sky and out beyond the low side walls of pickle-weed far +across the flat marsh stretches, over the shining bay, and on through +the quivering blue to the beautiful mountains that bound our views on +both sides. On clear afternoons we can see a gleaming white speck on +the top of the highest mountain in the eastern range. That is the +famous Lick Observatory, where the astronomers are looking always into +the sky to read the riddle of the stars and planets and comets. We +feel rather small, Mary and I, when we realize that we are only +loafing or at best watching insignificant little insects and +collecting wasp holes<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> that lie at our noses' ends, while those men up +there are looking at wonders millions of miles away. But we are so +interested and contented with our small doings and small wonders that +we do not at all envy the astronomers on the mountain top. While they +watch the conflagrations of the stars and the mighty sailing of the +planets through the blackness of space, we watch the work and play and +living of our lowly companions on the sun-flooded marshes. They like +the cold glittering sky; we like the warm brown earth.</p> + +<p>We had been lying quietly on the white salt sand in one of the +unroofed marsh rooms for some time this September day before we saw +the first wasp begin to work. She was standing on her head, +apparently, and biting most energetically with her jaws, cutting a +little circle in the salt crust. When she got the circle all cut, she +tugged and buzzed until she dug up, unbroken, the little circular +piece (perhaps one-third<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> of an inch across) of crust. She dragged +this about three inches away. Then she returned to the spot thus +cleaned and dug out with her sharp jaws a bit or pellet of soil. +Holding this in her mouth, she flew away about a foot and dropped it. +Then came back. Then dug out another pellet of soil and carried and +dropped it a foot or so away. Then back again and so on until it was +plain that she was digging out a little cylindrical vertical hole or +burrow. As the hole got deeper, the wasp had to crawl down into it, +first with head and fore legs, then with head and half her body; +finally her whole body, long legs, wings and all, was hidden as she +dug deeper and deeper. She had to come out of the hole of course to +carry away each bit of dug up soil. She always backed upward out of +the burrow, and all the while she was digging she kept up a low +humming sound. It was this humming sound that attracted our attention +to other narrow-waisted<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> wasps like the first one. By moving about +cautiously and listening and looking carefully, we found more than a +dozen others digging holes, each one going about the work just like +every other one.</p> + +<p>When our first wasp had made its hole deep enough—this took a pretty +long time; we found out later that it was about three inches deep—she +brought back the first little circular piece of salt crust and +carefully put it over the top of the burrow, thus covering it up +entirely and making it look as if no hole were there. Then she flew +away, out of the little bare room and off into the pickle-weed +somewhere. We waited several minutes but she didn't come back, so we +turned our eyes to another wasp near by which had its hole only just +begun. It was interesting to see how closely like the first wasp this +second one worked. Prying and pulling with the jaws, the same +fluttering of the wings and humming, the same backing out of the hole +and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> the swift little flight for a foot or two feet away from the hole +to drop the pellet of soil.</p> + +<p>I tried to point out to Mary that this was the way animals do which +work by instinct and not by reason. That all the animals of the same +kind do things in the same way, and that they do them without any +teaching or imitating or reasoning out. They are born with the +knowledge and skill and the impulse to do the things in the particular +way they do. But Mary found this very tiresome and let her eyes rove, +and it is well she did or we might not have made our great discovery: +a really thrilling discovery it was for us, too.</p> + +<p>The first wasp had come back! But not empty handed, or rather not +empty mouthed, for in her pointed jaws she held a limp measuring-worm +about an inch and a quarter long. A measuring-worm or looper is the +caterpillar of a certain kind of moth, and it loops or measures when +it<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> walks because it has no feet on the middle of the under side of +the body as other caterpillars have, and so has to draw its tail +pretty nearly up its head to take a step forward. This naturally makes +its body rise up in a fold or loop. "See," cried Mary, "the wasp is +going to put the measuring-worm into the hole."</p> + +<p>That is exactly what happened. How the wasp could tell where the hole +was, was surprising, for it had so carefully put the bit of salt crust +in place that you couldn't tell the top of the hole from the rest of +the crust-covered ground. But our wasp came straight to the right +place. Perhaps as a carrier-pigeon comes to its loft from a hundred +miles away, or a cat carried away in a bag to a strange place finds +its way quickly back home.</p> + +<p>Some of the other wasps that we watched later weren't so sure of their +holes, though, and other people who have watched digger-wasps in other +places have found them<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> showing varying degrees of uncertainty about +locating their nests. Mr. and Mrs. Peckham, who have studied the +behavior of the various kinds of digger-wasps more than anybody else +in this country, have concluded that the wasps "are guided in their +movements by their memory of localities. They go from place to place +quite readily because they are familiar with the details of the +landscape in the district they inhabit. Fair eyesight and a moderately +good memory on their part are all that need be assumed in this simple +explanation of the problem."</p> + +<p>But quite different from this conclusion is that of Fabre, the +wonderful French observer of wasps, who experimented on them in regard +to this matter of finding and knowing their holes, by carrying them +away shut up in a dark box to the center of a village three kilometers +from the nesting ground, and releasing them after being kept all night +in the dark boxes. These<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> wasps when released in the busy town, +certainly a place never visited by them before, immediately mounted +vertically to above the roofs and then instantly and energetically +flew south, which was the direction of their holes. Nine separate +wasps released one at a time did this without a moment's hesitation, +and the next day Fabre found them all at work again at their +hole-digging. He knew them by two spots of white paint he had put on +each one.</p> + +<p>"Are the wasps guided by memory when placed by man beyond their +bearings and carried to great distances into regions with which they +are unacquainted and in unknown directions?" asks Fabre. "By memory so +quick that when, having reached a certain height at which they can in +some sort take their bearings, they launch themselves with all their +power of wing towards that part of the horizon where their nests are? +Is it memory which traces their aerial way across regions seen for the +first<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> time? Evidently not," emphatically declares Fabre. So there you +are. Where doctors (of science) fall out it is not for you or me to +decide.</p> + +<p>But Mary was growing excited. "See, she has put the worm down and is +prying up the top of the hole. She has got it off. She is—"</p> + +<p>"Ss-h," say I, for wasps can hear. Or, wait; that's quite dogmatic. +Wasps fly away when you talk too loud. That's better. That's not +judging wasp doing by what we can do. That is just telling an observed +fact.</p> + +<p>Mary "ssh"-ed, but she pointed a plump little finger; a finger +trembling with excitement. The wasp had gone down into the uncovered +hole with the worm. Then she backed out, found the lid, covered up the +hole and flew away into the pickle-weed again!</p> + +<p>In twenty minutes she came back, <i>with another limp measuring-worm</i>, +straight to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> the covered hole; worm dropped on the ground; lid taken +off; worm dragged in; wasp backed out; lid carefully replaced; flight +to the distant jungle of pickle-weed again!</p> + +<p>O, this was exciting. Mary fairly exploded into exclamations and +questions after the wasp was well away. What are the worms for? Are +they dead? The second one seemed to wriggle feebly a little on the +ground by the nest while the wasp was getting off the lid. Will she +bring more? Will she fill the hole full of worms? Now I knew the +answers to some of these questions, for I had been in this happy place +before, but I wanted Mary to find out, to discover—exquisite and +prideful pleasure—for herself. So I remained dumb.</p> + +<p>Three more times the wasp brought worms. Three more times went through +all the performance. But the last time she didn't come up for a long +time; that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> is, for several minutes, and when she did come, instead of +putting the salt crust on the hole, she got a little pellet of soil +and dropped it in; and then another, and many others. Sometimes she +scraped them in with her front feet, but there weren't many bits of +soil close enough for that, for she had carried them all a foot or so +away as she brought them out of the hole. She worked very +industriously: jumping and running about, making little buzzing leaps +and flights, until she had quite filled up the hole with the five dead +worms in the bottom.</p> + +<p>Then she did the most wonderful thing. With her fore feet she pawed +and raked the surface until it was quite smooth, and with her jaws and +horny head she pressed down and tamped the fine bits of soil until +they were a little below the surface of the salt crust around the +hole, and then she brought again the little circular lid or top of +salt crust and carefully put it in the little depression<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> on the top +of the filled-in burrow, so that it fitted perfectly with the hard +uncut salt crust around the hole's edge!</p> + +<p>This is true. Does it seem wonderful to you? Why? Because we think +that other animals cannot do what would be a very simple thing indeed +for us? Our wasp was evidently concealing the whereabouts of her +worm-stored burrow. I don't say that she <i>wanted</i> to conceal it; or +<i>decided</i> to conceal it; or even <i>intended</i> to conceal it. She was +simply, I say, concealing it. That seems quite certain, doesn't it? +Well, this action of cutting out and replacing the bit of salt crust +over the burrow was about the simplest and most effective way of +concealing the hole that could be reasoned out, if we ourselves were +to undertake it. The wasp, and all the other wasps of the same kind in +our marshes, concealed their holes in the way that our reason would +suggest to us as the best way. But I do not say anything about the +wasp's mental<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> processes toward getting at this behavior. One thing is +pretty sure. Among a score or hundred of us doing this work, there +would be pretty sure to be some to do it in a different sort of way +from the others. The wasps of the same kind all do it alike. Perhaps +that is the chief difference between reason and instinct.</p> + +<p>But if our digger-wasp—whose name is Ammophila, the sand-lover—made +Mary's and my eyes bulge out by her cleverness, what shall we think of +that other Ammophila that Dr. Williston watched on the plains of +Kansas, or that other one still which the Peckhams studied in +Wisconsin? These other Ammophilas, instead of using their hard heads +to tamp down the soil in the hole, hunted about until they found a +suitable little stone which, held tightly in the jaws, was used as a +tool to pack and smooth the dirt! And the Kansas wasp did another odd +thing. Instead of making its hole of the same caliber or width all +the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> way down, the upper half-inch or so was made of greater diameter +than the rest of the burrow so that a little circular shelf ran around +the inside of the hole half an inch below the top. Now when the clever +Kansas wasp closed the burrow each time it went away to hunt for +measuring-worms, it did it in a curious way. I quote the exact words +of Professor Williston, the observer: "When the excavation had been +carried to the required depth"—this is our professional way of +saying, when the hole had been dug deep enough—"the wasp, after +surveying the premises, flying away, soon returned with a large pebble +in its mandibles, which it carefully deposited within the opening; +then, standing over the entrance upon her four posterior feet, she +rapidly and most amusingly scraped the dust, 'hand over hand' back +beneath her till she had filled the hole above the stone to the top. +[The stone of course was resting on the little circular shelf half an<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +inch down in the hole.] ... When she had heaped up the dirt to her +satisfaction, she again flew away and immediately returned with a +smaller pebble, perhaps an eighth of an inch in diameter, and then +standing more nearly erect, with the front feet folded beneath her, +she pressed down the dust all over and about the opening, smoothing +off the surface and accompanying the action with a peculiar rasping +sound."</p> + +<p>Is this not a creature of wits, this Kansas wasp? And an undaunted +worker? For each time she went away to get a nice fat looper, she +covered up her hole in this elaborate way, and each time she came +back, she had to remove the half-inch of tamped-down soil and the +little covering stone resting on the shelf in the hole.</p> + +<p>The Peckhams, too, saw an Ammophila in Wisconsin use a pebble as a +tool, and what is especially interesting and important,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> this wasp was +only a single individual of several others watched by the observers, +all these wasps being of one kind, that is, belonging to the same +species. The tool-user thus revealed an individuality that made its +actions seem to be dictated by something else than rigid instinct; +certainly so if instinct is to be defined as untaught and unreasoned +behavior common to all the individuals of a kind. In fact the Peckhams +(most persistent, practised and intelligent observers) insist that "in +all the processes of Ammophila the character of the work differs with +the individual."</p> + +<p>But where is Mary in all this digression of mine? Never fear for Mary. +While I was mumbling about instinct and reason and automatism and +individual idiosyncrasy, Mary was crawling slowly and cautiously about +over the salt-crust floor of our room, counting the wasp holes in +course of making, and she was making a second<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> discovery. The +measuring-worms, limp and lifeless as they appeared, were really not +dead! She had seen at least two, left lying on the ground by the hole +while the wasp prized off the cover, give feeble wriggles, and one +that she poked with a pin squirmed rather energetically. That is, it +did if she poked it at one end, but not if she poked it in the middle, +which is such a great discovery that it really gets to be science!</p> + +<p>Now as one is entitled to take violent measures for the sake of +science, Mary and I decided after considerable serious discussion to +"collect" the hole which our wasp had finished and apparently left for +good. So we dug it up, and on the spot we examined it and all of its +insides. And we found it quite true that the loopers were not dead, +but they were <i>paralyzed</i>! When we poked a head or tail, each worm +could squirm just a little, but if we touched them in the middle, they +didn't know it, and on one of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> them, the top one, we found a little +shining white speck.</p> + +<p>Mary's excitement became merged into an intense thoughtfulness. Then +she cried aloud with eyes shining: "My, it's the egg! the egg of the +wasp! and the worms are for food for the young wasp when it hatches!"</p> + +<p>Ah, Mary, you have wits! Have you ever heard any one tell about this? +Did you really guess it, or not guess it, but actually reason it out +for yourself? Mary, I have great hopes of you.</p> + +<p>For it is quite true what Mary says. The little white seed-like thing +glued on to the last looper's body is the egg of the wasp, and the +stung and paralyzed but not killed measuring-worms are the food stored +up by this extremely clever narrow-waisted mother for the wingless, +footless, blind, almost helpless wasp grub, when it shall hatch from +the egg. Down in the darkness of the cell, there will be a horrible +tragedy. For days and weeks together the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> wasp grub will nibble away +on the helpless loopers until all five are eaten alive! Then the grub +will change to a winged wasp with strong sharp jaws with which she +will dig her way up and out of the noisome prison and into the free +air and sunlight of the marsh room. And she will then dig holes of her +own, find and sting and store loopers, lay an egg on one, and close up +the hole just as her mother did. Or at least all this would happen if +we hadn't collected the hole. But it will happen in the other holes.</p> + +<p>But why should the loopers be only paralyzed instead of killed? Isn't +it plain that if killed they would only be decaying carrion by the +time the wasp grub was ready to eat them, and young wasps must have +fresh meat, not dead and decayed flesh. And if the loopers were simply +put in alive, not paralyzed, wouldn't their violent squirming in the +hole surely crush the delicate egg or the more delicate newly hatched +wasp grub? Or wouldn't they<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> simply dig their way with their heavy +jaws out of the hole and away? Or, indeed, could the slender-bodied +mother wasp carry and handle successfully a strong squirming looper +over an inch long? The reason for the paralyzing of the worms is plain +then. But how is this extraordinary condition brought about? And the +answer to this, which Mary and I didn't discover for ourselves, but +had to find out from the accounts of the men who did, like Fabre and +others, reveals the most extraordinary thing that our wasps do. Most +people think the wasps that live in communities or large families in +big paper nests (the yellow-jackets and hornets) are the most +interesting and most intelligent or clever of the wasps. But Mary and +I do not think so. The solitary wasps do the most wonderful things, +and of all they do, the paralyzing of the insects they store up as +food for their young is the hardest to explain on any basis except +that of wasp<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> reasoning. But of course we don't have to explain it, +which is fortunate for the high record of truth we are trying to +establish in this book.</p> + +<p>Fabre, the patient Frenchman, waited for years and years for a chance +to see just how the Ammophila paralyzes her victims, and at last he +saw and understood it. To understand the matter from Fabre's account +of it, we must remember that the measuring-worm's body is made up of a +series of rings or body segments, in each of which (except the very +last) is a little nerve center or brain situated just under the skin +on the under side of the body. And all this row of brains is connected +by a slender nerve cord running along the middle line of the under +side of the long body. Now Fabre saw that the wasp darted its sting +into each looper, "once for all at the fifth or sixth segment of the +victim." And when he pricked the stung worms with a needle in various +parts of the body, he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> found, just as Mary did, that the needle could +entirely pierce the middle of the body (which is where the fifth and +sixth segments are), without causing any movement of the worm. "But +prick even slightly a segment in front or behind and the caterpillar +struggles with a violence proportioned to the distance from the +poisoned segment."</p> + +<p>Now what is the reason, asks Fabre, for the wasp's selecting this +particular spot for stinging the worm, and he answers his own question +as follows:</p> + +<p>"The loopers have the following organization, counting the head as the +first segment: Three pairs of true feet on rings two, three, and four; +four pairs of membranous feet on rings seven, eight, nine, and ten, +and a last similar pair set on the thirteenth and final ring; in all +eight pairs of feet, the first seven making two marked groups—one of +three, the other of four pairs. These two groups are divided by two +segments without feet, which are the fifth and sixth.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Now, to deprive the caterpillar of means of escape, and to render it +motionless, will the Hymenopteron [that's the wasp] dart its sting +into each of the eight rings provided with feet? Especially will it do +so when the prey is small and weak? Certainly not: a single stab will +suffice if given in a central spot, whence the torpor produced by the +venomous droplet can spread gradually with as little delay as possible +into the midst of those segments which bear feet. There can be no +doubt which to choose for this single inoculation; it must be the +fifth or sixth, which separate the two groups of locomotive rings. The +point indicated by rational deduction is also the one adopted by +instinct. Finally, let us add that the egg of the Ammophila is +invariably laid on the paralyzed ring. There, and there alone, can the +young larva bite without inducing dangerous contortions; where a +needle prick has no effect, the bite of a grub will have none either,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +and the prey will remain immovable until the nursling has gained +strength and can bite farther on without danger."</p> + +<p>But some Ammophilas catch much larger caterpillars than the inch-long, +slender, little loopers. Fabre found a wasp dragging to its nest a +caterpillar weighing fifteen times the weight of the wasp. Does one +stab suffice for such a giant caterpillar? Here is what Fabre saw: An +Ammophila was noticed scratching in the ground around the crown of a +plant. She was "pulling up little grass roots, and poking her head +under the tiny clods which she raised up, and running hurriedly, now +here, now there, round the thyme, visiting every crack which gave +access under it; yet she was not digging a burrow, but hunting +something hidden underground, as was shown by manœuvres like those +of a dog trying to get a rabbit out of its hole. And presently, +disturbed by what was going on overhead and closely tracked by the +Ammophila, a big gray<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> worm made up his mind to quit his abode and +come up to daylight. It is all over with him; the hunter is instantly +on the spot, gripping the nape of his neck and holding on in spite of +his contortions. Settled on the monster's back, the Ammophila bends +her abdomen, and, methodically, deliberately—like a surgeon +thoroughly familiar with the anatomy of his subject—plunges a lancet +into the ventral surface of every segment, from the first to the last. +Not one ring is omitted; with or without feet each is stabbed in due +order from the front to the back."</p> + +<p>This is what the patient, careful observer saw, with all the "leisure +and ease required for an irreproachable observation." "The wasp acts," +says Fabre, "with a precision of which science might be jealous; it +knows what man but rarely knows; it is acquainted with the complex +nervous system of its victim, and keeps repeated stabs for those with +numerous ganglia. I said 'It knows;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> is acquainted'; what I ought to +say is, 'It acts as if it did.' What it does is suggested to it; the +creature obeys, impelled by instinct, without reasoning on what it +does. But whence comes this sublime instinct? Can theories of atavism, +of selection, of the struggle for life, interpret it reasonably?"</p> + +<p>When I had finished reading this to Mary she looked up and said +softly: "Of course I don't understand all this that he says about +'avatism and selection' and so on, but I think the wasp knows. Don't +you?"</p> + +<p>"Mary," I reply promptly, "the word is 'atavism,' not 'avatism,' +please remember!"</p> + +<p>"I hope I can," said Mary.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i005.jpg" width="400" height="64" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i006.jpg" width="400" height="246" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="RED_AND_BLACK_AGAINST_WHITE">RED AND BLACK AGAINST WHITE</a></h2> + +<p>The meadow lark on the fence post behind my house is unusually voluble +this uncertain morning; maybe he is getting his day's singing off +before the sun shall hide, discomfited, behind the unrolling cloud +furls. A solemn grackle, with yellow eyes and bronzed neck, stalks +with cocking head in the wet green of the well-groomed front lawn; a +whisking bevy of goldfinches, which chat to each other in high-pitched +hurried phrases, disposes itself with much concern in the bare tree +across the road, and swinging along overhead, a woodpecker cries its +harsh greetings. But the life here on the street is tame and usual +compared to that busy living and to those eventful happenings taking +place in a remoter +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +corner of the garden. There where the warm dust is +figured with the dainty tracks of the quail hosts and the flower-flies +hum their contentedest note; there in that half-artificial, half-wild +covert of odorous vegetation, a life in miniature, with the excitement +and stresses, the failures and successes and the inevitable comedies +and tragedies of any world of life is going on, with the history of it +all unrecorded.</p> + +<p>Mary has just come to call on me, bringing an unkempt bouquet of +Scotch broom from the garden. On these branches of broom are many +conspicuous white spots. They are not flowers, for it is not broom +flower time, and the flowers are yellow when their time does come. But +these white spots, soft little cottony masses, like little pillows or +cushions, and with regular tiny flutings along the top, have puzzled +Mary, and she has come to ask me about them, for I am supposed to know +all things. Well, luckily, I do happen to know about these, <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>but I +suggest that we go into the garden together and see if we can find +out. The truth is, I am glad of an excuse to get away from this +tiresome German book about <i>Entwicklungslehre</i>. And then, too, I want +to look at things and talk with Mary.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i007.jpg" width="400" height="720" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p>Mary has such a fascinatingly serious way of doing things that aren't +serious at all. She has got the curious notion lately that many little +people live among the grasses, the grass people she calls them, and +that that is the reason there are so many very little white flowers +coming up in my lawn. My own notion had been that some rascally +seedsman had sold me unclean grass seed, but Mary's notion that the +grass people are planting and raising these little flowers for their +own special delectation is, of course, a much wiser one. So when we +walk on the lawn, we go very slowly, and I have to poke constantly +among the grasses with my stick as we move along so that the little +people may know we are coming and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> have time to scurry away from under +our great boots.</p> + +<p>When we got out to the row of brooms, we found many of the soft white +cushions on all the bushes. But some of them were torn and +dishevelled. And in these torn masses many tiny round particles could +be seen. These little black specks are simply eggs, insect eggs, as I +told Mary, and soon she had discovered among them some slightly larger +but still very small red spots which were waving tiny black feet and +feelers about. They were of course the baby insects just hatching from +the eggs.</p> + +<p>"Does the mother lay the eggs in these little white cushions and then +go away and leave them?" asks Mary.</p> + +<p>"No, she stays right by them," I answer.</p> + +<p>"But where is she then? I can't—Yes I can too," cries Mary in great +triumph. "Here she is at one end of the egg cushion. She is a part of +it."</p> + +<p>"Well, no, not exactly," I have to say.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> "It is part of <i>her</i>, or +rather she spins the cushion, which is really a sac or soft box of +white wax, in which to lay her eggs. Something the way the spiders do, +you know. Only their egg box is made of silk and usually fastened to a +fence rail or on the bark of a tree and left there. But some of the +spiders, the large, swiftly running, black kinds that live under +stones, carry the silken ball with the eggs inside about with them, +fastened to the end of the body. Well, this cottony cushion scale +insect—that's its right name—keeps its waxen sac of eggs fastened to +it, but as the egg sac is much larger than the insect itself, it can't +run about any more, but has to stay for all the rest of the time until +it dies in the spot where it makes the sac. However, as it gets all +the food it wants by sticking its slender little beak into the broom +or other plant it is on and sucking up the fresh sap, it gets on very +well."</p> + +<p>"But what makes some of the egg cushions—how<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> pretty they are, +too!—so torn and pulled open," asks Mary, who has listened to my long +speech very nicely. She often gets impatient when I lecture for too +many minutes together.</p> + +<p>"That is for you to find out," I say. "There is a dreadful thing going +on here if you can only see it. But a rather good thing too. Good for +the broom bushes anyway, and as they are <i>my</i> broom bushes and I like +their flowers, good for me."</p> + +<p>Just then a very stubby, round-backed, quick little red beetle with +black spots walked off a broom stem on to Mary's hand. She didn't +scream, of course, nor even jerk her hand away. She may learn when she +is older to be frightened when pretty, harmless, little lady-bird +beetles walk on her. But now she likes all sorts of small animals, and +is not afraid at all.</p> + +<p>Mary is not at all slow to understand things, and when this +hard-bodied little beetle, with a body like half a red-and-black<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +pill, walked off the broom on to her hand, she guessed that he might +have something to do with the torn-up egg cushions. So it didn't take +her long to find another little beast like him actually nosing about +in an egg sac and voraciously snapping up all the unfortunate tiny, +red, black-legged baby scale insects. He ate the eggs, too, and seemed +to take some bites at the mother insect herself, and then Mary found +more of the lady-bird beetles, and still more. They were on all the +broom bushes where the white cushions were. And so one of the dreadful +tragedies going on in my garden was soon quite plain to Mary, and she +was very sorry for the helpless white insects.</p> + +<p>"Where did the red beetles come from?" she asked pretty soon.</p> + +<p>"From Australia," I answered. "Or rather their +great-great-grandparents did. These particular beetles were probably +born right here in the garden, because a colony<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> of them live here. +But they couldn't if there were not some cottony cushion scale insects +here too. For this particular kind of lady-bird beetle can't live on +any other food—at least they don't—except this particular kind of +scale insect and its eggs, which is surely a curious thing, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>But Mary is so used to finding that the insects have extremely unusual +and curious habits—that is, habits different from ours—that she +doesn't get excited any more when I tell her about them. She does +though when she finds them out for herself, which makes me wonder if I +haven't wasted a good deal of time in my life giving lectures to +students about things instead of always making them find out for +themselves. And maybe I am wasting some more time now while I am +writing!</p> + +<p>"How did they come from Australia?" asks Mary. For she knows that +Australia is several thousand miles away across the ocean from +California, and lady-bird beetles<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> do not swim. At least not from +Australia to America. So I have to give Mary another informing +lecture, and this is it:</p> + +<p>"Years and years ago, there lived in some fragrant-leaved orange-trees +in Australia some white cottony cushion insects whose life was +untroubled by other cares than those of eating and of looking after +the children. As each insect was fastened for life on the leaf or twig +that supplied it with all the food it needed, which was simply an +occasional drink of sap, and as the white insects always died before +their children were born, neither of these cares was very harassing. +On thousands of other similar fragrant-leaved orange-trees in +Australia lived millions of other similar white insects. And for a +long time this race of white insects enjoyed life. Those were happy +days. But on a time there came into one of the trees a few small red +beetles, who eagerly and persistently set about the awful business of +eating the defenceless white insects.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> From this tree the red beetles, +or the children of them, went to other trees where white insects +lived, and with unrelenting rapacity and uncloyed appetite ate all the +white insects they could find. And so in other trees; and finally, +with years, the red beetles had invaded all of the thousands of +fragrant-leaved orange-trees in Australia, and had eaten nearly all of +the millions of white insects.</p> + +<p>"One day a very small orange-tree was taken out of the ground in +Australia and sent with many others across the ocean to California. On +this small tree there were a few of the white insects. The little tree +was planted again in California and soon put out many fresh fragrant +leaves. The white insects were astonished and rejoiced that day after +day went by without the appearance of any red beetles. The white +insects increased in numbers; there were thousands of fragrant-leaved +orange-trees in California, and in a few years there were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> millions of +white insects in them. One morning a man stood among the trees and +said, 'Confound these bugs; they'll ruin me; what shall I do?' and a +man who knew said, 'Get some red beetles from Australia.' So this +orange-grower, with some others, paid a man to go to Australia and +collect some live red beetles. The collector went across the ocean, +three weeks' steady steaming, and sent back a few of the voracious +little beetles in a pill box. They were put into a tree in a +California orange-orchard in which there were many cottony cushion +scale insects. The red insects promptly began eating the white ones; +and their children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren have kept +up this eating ever since. And so the orange-growers never tire of +telling how the red beetles (whose name is Vedalia) were brought from +Australia to save them from ruin by the white insects (whose name is +Icerya)."</p> + +<p>Now there are not many cottony cushion<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> scales left in California. A +very promising colony of them seems to have sprung up in my Scotch +broom bushes. But the red beetles have found their way there already, +as Mary and I discovered to-day, and so we think that by the time the +broom flowers come, there will be few white insects left in the +bushes.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i008.jpg" width="250" height="151" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i009.jpg" width="400" height="242" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="THE_VENDETTA">THE VENDETTA</a></h2> + +<p>This is the story of a fight. In the first story of this book, I said +that Mary and I had seen a remarkable fight one evening at sundown on +the slopes of the bare brown foothills west of the campus. It was not +a battle of armies—we have seen that, too, in the little world we +watch,—but a combat of gladiators, a struggle between two champions +born and bred for fighting, and particularly for fighting each other. +One champion was Eurypelma, the great, black, hairy, eight-legged, +strong-fanged tarantula of California, and the other was Pepsis, a +mighty wasp in dull-blue mail, with rusty-red wings and a poisonous +javelin of a sting that might well frighten either you or me. Do you +have any wasp in your<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> neighborhood of the ferocity and strength and +size of Pepsis? If not, you can hardly realize what a terrible +creature she is. With her strong hard-cased body an inch and a half +long, borne on powerful wings that expand fully three inches, and her +long and strong needle-pointed sting that darts in and out like a +flash and is always full of virulent poison, Pepsis is certainly queen +of all the wasp amazons. But if that is so, no less is Eurypelma +greatest, most dreadful, and fiercest, and hence king, of all the +spiders in this country. In South America and perhaps elsewhere in the +tropics, live the fierce bird-spiders with thick legs extending three +inches or more on each side of their ugly hairy bodies. Eurypelma, the +California tarantula, is not quite so large as that, nor does he +stalk, pounce on and kill little birds as his South American cousin is +said to do, but he is nevertheless a tremendous and fear-inspiring +creature among the small beasties of field and meadow.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i010.jpg" width="400" height="315" alt="" /> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + +<p>But not all Eurypelmas are so ferocious; or at least are not ferocious +all the time. There are individual differences among them. Perhaps it +is a matter of age or health. Anyway, I had a pet tarantula which I +kept in an open jar in my room for several weeks, and I could handle +him with impunity. He would sit gently on my hand, or walk +deliberately up my arm, with his eight, fixed, shining, little reddish +eyes staring hard at me, and his long seven-jointed hairy legs +swinging gently and rhythmically along, without a sign of hesitation +or excitement. His hair was almost gray and perhaps this hoariness and +general sedateness betokened a ripe old age. But his great fangs were +unblunted, his supply of poison undiminished, and his skill in +striking and killing his prey still perfect, as often proved at his +feeding times. He is quite the largest Eurypelma I have ever seen. He +measures—for I still have his body, carefully stuffed,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> and fastened +on a block with legs all spread out—five inches from tip to tip of +opposite legs.</p> + +<p>At the same time that I had this hoary old tarantula, I had another +smaller, coal-black fellow who went into a perfect ecstasy of anger +and ferocity every time any one came near him. He would stand on his +hind legs and paw wildly with fore legs and palpi, and lunge forward +fiercely at my inquisitive pencil. I found him originally in the +middle of an entry into a classroom, holding at bay an entire excited +class of art students armed with mahl-sticks and paint-brushes. The +students were mostly women, and I was hailed as deliverer and greatest +<i>dompteur</i> of beasts when I scooped Eurypelma up in a bottle and +walked off with him.</p> + +<p>But this is not telling of the sundown fight that Mary and I saw +together. We had been over to the sand-cut by the golf links, after +mining-bees, and were coming<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> home with a fine lot of their holes and +some of the bees themselves, when Mary suddenly called to me to "see +the nice tarantula."</p> + +<p>Perhaps nice isn't the best word for him, but he certainly was an +unusually imposing and fluffy-haired and fierce-looking brute of a +tarantula. He had rather an owly way about him, as if he had come out +from his hole too early and was dazed and half-blinded by the light. +Tarantulas are night prowlers; they do all their hunting after dark, +dig their holes and, indeed, carry on all the various businesses of +their life in the night-time. The occasional one found walking about +in daytime has made a mistake, someway, and he blunders around quite +like an owl in the sunshine.</p> + +<p>All of a sudden, while Mary and I were smiling at this too early bird +of a tarantula, he went up on his hind legs in fighting attitude, and +at the same instant down darted a great tarantula hawk, that is, a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +Pepsis wasp. Her armored body glinted cool and metallic in the red +sunset light, and her great wings had a suggestive shining of dull +fire about them. She checked her swoop just before reaching Eurypelma, +and made a quick dart over him, and then a quick turn back, intending +to catch the tarantula in the rear. But lethargic and owly as +Eurypelma had been a moment before, he was now all alertness and +agility. He had to be. He was defending his life. One full fair stab +of the poisoned javelin, sheathed but ready at the tip of the +flexible, blue-black body hovering over him, and it would be over with +Eurypelma. And he knew it. Or perhaps he didn't. But he acted as if he +did. He was going to do his best not to be stabbed; that was sure. And +Pepsis was going to do her best to stab; that also was quickly +certain.</p> + +<p>At the same time Pepsis knew—or anyway acted as if she did—that to +be struck by one or both of those terrible vertical,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> poison-filled +fangs was sure death. It would be like a blow from a battle-axe, with +the added horror of mortal poison poured into the wound.</p> + +<p>So Eurypelma about-faced like a flash, and Pepsis was foiled in her +strategy. She flew up and a yard away, then returned to the attack. +She flew about in swift circles over his head, preparatory to darting +in again. But Eurypelma was ready. As she swooped viciously down, he +lunged up and forward with a half-leap, half-forward fall, and came +within an ace of striking the trailing blue-black abdomen with his +reaching fangs. Indeed it seemed to Mary and me as if they really +grazed the metallic body. But evidently they had not pierced the +smooth armor. Nor had Pepsis in that breathless moment of close +quarters been able to plant her lance. She whirled up, high this time +but immediately back, although a little more wary evidently, for she +checked her downward plunge three<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> or four inches from the dancing +champion on the ground. And so for wild minute after minute it went +on; Eurypelma always up and tip-toeing on those strong hind legs, with +open, armed mouth always toward the point of attack, and Pepsis ever +darting down, up, over, across, and in and out in dizzy dashes, but +never quite closing.</p> + +<p>Were Mary and I excited? Not a word could we utter; only now and then +a swift intake of breath; a stifled "O" or "Ah" or "See." And then of +a sudden came the end. Pepsis saw her chance. A lightning swoop +carried her right on to the hairy champion. The quivering lance shot +home. The poison coursed into the great soft body. But at the same +moment the terrible fangs struck fair on the blue armor and crashed +through it. Two awful wounds, and the wings of dull fire beat +violently only to strike up a little cloud of dust and whirl the +mangled body around and around.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> Fortunately Death was merciful, and +the brave amazon made a quick end.</p> + +<p>But what of Eurypelma, the killer? Was it well with him? The +sting-made wound itself was of little moment; it closed as soon as the +lancet withdrew. But not before the delicate poison sac at its base +inside the wasp-body had contracted and squirted down the slender +hollow of the sting a drop of liquid fire. And so it was not well with +Eurypelma in his insides. Victor he seemed to be, but if he could +think, he must have had grave doubts about the joys of victory.</p> + +<p>For a curious drowsiness was coming over him. Perhaps, disquieting +thought, it was the approaching stupor of the poison's working. His +strong long legs became limp, they would not work regularly, they +could not hold his heavy hairy body up from the ground. He would get +into his hole and rest. But it was too late. And after a few uneven +steps, victor Eurypelma<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> settled heavily down beside his amazon +victim, inert and forevermore beyond fighting. He was paralyzed.</p> + +<p>And so Mary and I brought him home in our collecting box, together +with the torn body of Pepsis with her wings of slow fire dulled by the +dust of her last struggles. And though it is a whole month now since +Eurypelma received his stab from the poisoned javelin of Pepsis, he +has not recovered; nor will he ever. When you touch him, he draws up +slowly one leg after another, or moves a palpus feebly. But it is +living death; a hopeless paralytic is the king.</p> + +<p>Dear reader, you are of course as bright as Mary, and so you have +noticed, as she did right away, the close parallel between what +happened to Eurypelma and what happened to the measuring-worms brought +by Ammophila to her nest burrow as described in the first story in +this book. And so, like Mary, you realize that the vendetta<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> or life +feud between the tarantula family and the family of Pepsis, the +tarantula hawk, is based on reasons of domestic economy rather than on +those of sentiment, which determine vendettas in Corsica and feuds in +Kentucky.</p> + +<p>To be quite plain, Pepsis fights Eurypelma to get his huge, juicy body +for food for her young; and Eurypelma fights Pepsis to keep from +becoming paralyzed provender. If Pepsis had escaped unhurt in the +combat at which Mary and I "assisted," as the French say, as +enthralled spectators, we should have seen her drag by mighty effort +the limp, paralyzed, spider giant to her nest hole not far distant—a +great hole twelve inches deep and with a side chamber at the bottom. +There she would have thrust him down the throat of the burrow, and +then crawled in and laid an egg on the helpless beast, from which in +time would have hatched the carnivorous wasp grub. Pepsis has many +close allies among the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> wasps, all black or steely blue with smoky or +dull-bronze wings, and they all use spiders, stung and paralyzed, to +store their nest holes with.</p> + +<p>"Do the little black and blue wasps hunt the little spiders and the +larger ones the big spiders?" asks Mary.</p> + +<p>"Exactly," I respond, "and the giant wasp of them all, Pepsis, the +queen of the wasp amazons, hunts only the biggest spider of them all, +Eurypelma, the tarantula king, and we have seen her do it."</p> + +<p>"Well," says Mary, "even if she wants him for her children to eat, +it's a real vendetta, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed it is," I answer, "it's more real, and fiercer, and more +relentless, and more persistent than any human vendetta that ever was. +For every Pepsis mother in the world is always hunting for Eurypelmas +to fight. And not <i>all</i> Corsicans have a vendetta on hand, nor all +Kentuckians a feud."</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i011.jpg" width="400" height="238" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="THE_TRUE_STORY_OF_THE_PIT_OF_MORROWBIE_JUKES">THE TRUE STORY OF THE PIT OF MORROWBIE JUKES</a></h2> + +<p>"It seemed that some one was calling to me in a whisper—'Sahib! +Sahib! Sahib!' exactly as my bearer used to call me in the mornings. I +fancied that I was delirious until a handful of sand fell at my +feet. Then I looked up and saw a head peering down into the +amphitheater—the head of Dunnoo, my dog-boy, who attended to my +collies. As soon as he had attracted my attention, he held up his hand +and showed a rope. I motioned, staggering to and fro the while, that +he should throw it down. It was a couple of leather punkah-ropes +knotted together, with a loop at one end. I slipped the loop over my +head and under my arms; heard<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> Dunnoo urge something forward; was +conscious that I was being dragged, face downward, up the steep +sand-slope, and the next instant found myself choked and half-fainting +on the sand-hills overlooking the crater."</p> + +<p>And then Mary broke in. We were lying in a sunny warm spot on an open +hillside a little way off the road, and I was reading aloud from a +favorite author.</p> + +<p>"That is a fairy story," said Mary, "and I thought we were not going +to read any more fairy stories now that I am grown up."</p> + +<p>Mary's idea of being grown up is to be more than three feet eleven +inches high and to have her hair no longer in two braids.</p> + +<p>"Not exactly a fairy story," I replied. "For Kipling rather prefers +soldiers to fairies and machines to caps of invisibility. Of course, +though, he wrote the Mowgli stories."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But those are not fairy stories," interrupted Mary. "Those were about +a real boy and real animals only a long way off and different from +ours."</p> + +<p>"Ah-um, real? Well, perhaps; anyway, the Mowgli animals seem more real +than most real animals. But this story of the sand-pit and the man +sliding down into it and not being able to get out isn't impossible at +all. Only the other people down in the bottom seem a little unusual."</p> + +<p>"No, there can't be any such place," said Mary positively, "and as +there can't be any such place, nobody could have slid into it or been +in the bottom, and so it is a fairy story. Any story that isn't so is +a fairy story."</p> + +<p>"Well, that makes it easy to tell a fairy story from the other kinds, +and I never knew exactly how before. But I once saw a place much like +the sand-pit that Morrowbie Jukes slid into, or that Kipling says he +slid into. It is on the side of a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> great mountain in Oregon; Mt. Hood +its name is. I had climbed far above timber line, that is, above where +all the trees and bushes stop because it is too cold for them to live, +and there is only bare rocks and snow and ice, and had sat down to +rest near a great snowbank a mile long. As I looked back down the +mountain I saw a curious yellowish smoke rising in little puffs and +curls. I decided to find out about this smoke on my way down; perhaps +it was the beginning of a forest fire, and ought to be put out.</p> + +<p>"Well, when I got to it there was no fire; the puffs and curls were +not smoke. It was a real Morrowbie Jukes pit; a great crater-like hole +in the mountain, with its side so steep that the loose volcanic sand +and rocks (for the whole mountain is an old volcano) kept slipping +down in little avalanches from which puffs and curls of fine yellow +dust kept rising and drifting lazily away. If I had made the mistake +of going too close to the edge, I should certainly have started one +of these avalanches and gone slipping and sliding, faster and faster, +to the very bottom, a thousand feet below."</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i012.jpg" width="400" height="293" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p>"My!" said Mary; "and were there horrible people in the bottom, and +crows?"</p> + +<p>"Well, really, Mary, I couldn't see on account of the dust-smoke."</p> + +<p>"Of course there weren't, probably," said Mary thoughtfully and a +little wistfully.</p> + +<p>"Probably not," I had to reply regretfully.</p> + +<p>But a bright thought came to me. I remembered something. Several days +before I had tramped along this hillside road near which Mary and I +were lying and I had seen—well, just wait. So I said to Mary: "But I +know where there is a Morrowbie Jukes pit, several of them, indeed, +near here. Sha'n't we go and see them?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a><br /><a id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, of course," said Mary rather severely.</p> + +<p>"Let us go galloping as Morrowbie Jukes did," said I. So we took hold +of hands and as soon as we got out of the chaparral, we went +galloping, hop, hop, hoppity, hop, down the road. I must confess that +I got out of breath pretty soon and my knees seemed to creak a little. +And when a swift motor-car came exploding by, going up the hill, all +the people stared and smiled to see an elderly gentleman with +spectacles and a long coat hop-hopping along with a yellow-haired +red-cheeked little girl in knee skirts. But we don't mind people much! +They simply don't know all the things that go with being happy.</p> + +<p>Pretty soon—and it was high time, for I had only three breaths +left—we came to a place where the road bent sharply around the +hillside and was especially broad.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mary," I said, "be careful and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> don't fall in. I'm afraid I +could not get you out."</p> + +<p>"Fall in where? Get me out of what?" asked Mary, quite puzzled. She +was staring about excitedly, looking most of the time down into the +cañon with its spiry redwood trees pushing far up from the bottom. And +then suddenly she saw. She flopped down on her hands and knees in the +warm sand by the roadside and cried out, "What funny little holes!"</p> + +<p>"Why, Mary," I said with pained surprise. "You don't really mean to +call these awful Morrowbie Jukes pits 'funny little holes'! That isn't +fair after all we've done to find them. Especially after my galloping +all the way right to the very edge of this largest one."</p> + +<p>As I spoke I pointed it out with the toe of my shoe, but inadvertently +filled it all up by poking a couple of tablespoonfuls of sand and dust +into it. But size is quite a relative matter, and for the tiny +creatures<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> with whom Mary and I have to deal, the little crater-like +holes in the sand of the roadside are large and dangerous pits. We +sprawled down on our stomachs among the pits to see what we could see.</p> + +<p>Mary saw first. Ah, those bright eyes! My spectacles are rather in the +way out-of-doors, I find. But if I keep on getting younger—and I +certainly am younger since I got acquainted with Mary—I shall be able +soon to leave them at home in my study when I go out to see things.</p> + +<p>Mary, then, saw first. What she saw were two very small shining, +brown, gently curved, sharp-pointed, sickle-like jaws sticking up out +of the loose sand in the very bottom of one of the pits. They moved +once, these curved and pointed jaws, and that movement caught Mary's +eye.</p> + +<p>"It's the dragon of the pit," I cried. "Dig him out!"</p> + +<p>So Mary dug him out. He was very spry and had a strong tendency to +shuffle<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> backwards down into the hiding sand. But it takes a keen +dragon to get away from Mary, and this one wasn't and didn't.</p> + +<p>He was an ugly little brute, squat and hump-backed, with sand sticking +to his thinly haired body. But he was fierce-looking for all his +diminutiveness. Remember again that whether a thing is big or little +to you depends on whether you are big or little. This dragon of the +sand-pit was little to us. He is terribly big to the ants.</p> + +<p>When Mary got him out and had put him down on the sand near the pit, +he trotted about very actively but always backwards. He seems to have +got so used to pulling backwards against the frantic struggles of his +prey to get up and out of the pit, that he can now only move that way. +After we watched him a while, we "collected" him; that is, put him +into a bottle, with some sand, to take home and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> see if we could keep +him in our room of live things. Then we turned our attention to +another crater. It was about three inches across at the top and about +two inches deep; a symmetrical little broad-mouthed funnel with the +loose sand-slopes just as steep as they could be. The slightest +disturbance, a touch with a pencil-point for example, would start +little sand avalanches down the slopes anywhere. It is, of course, +easy to see how this horrible pit-trap works. And, in fact, in the +very next moment we saw actually how it did work.</p> + +<p>A foraging brown ant that was running swiftly over the ground plunged +squarely over the verge of the crater before she could stop. She +certainly tried hard to stop when once over, but it was too late. +Slipping and sliding with the rolling sand-grains, down she went right +toward those waiting scimitar-like jaws.</p> + +<p>Now, these jaws deserve a word of description.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> Because, horrible as +they may seem to the unfortunate ants, they are so well arranged for +their particular purpose that they must attract our admiration. The +dragon of the pit, ant-lion he is usually called, has no open, yawning +mouth behind those projecting jaws, as might be expected. Indeed there +is no mouth at all, just a throat, thirsty for ant blood! The slender +scimitar jaws have each a groove on the concave inner side, and down +this groove runs the blood of the struggling victim, held impaled on +the sharp points of the curving mandibles. The two fine grooves lead +directly into the throat, and thus there is no need of open mouth with +lips and tongue, such as other insects have.</p> + +<p>"But see," cried Mary, "the ant has stopped sliding. It is going to +get out!"</p> + +<p>Ah, Mary, you are not making allowance for all the resources of this +dreadful dragon of the pit. Not only is the pit a nearly perfect trap, +and the eager jaws at the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> bottom more deadly than any array of spikes +or spears at the bottom of an elephant pit, but there is another most +effective thing about this fatal dragon's trap, and that is this: it +is not merely a passive trap, but an active one. Already it is in +action. And Mary sees now how hopeless it is with the ant. For a +shower of sand is being thrown up from the bottom of the pit against +the ant and it is again sliding down. The dragon has a flat, broad +head and powerful neck muscles, and has wit enough to shovel up and +hurl masses of dry sand-grains against the victim on the loose slopes. +And this starts the avalanche again, and so down slides the frantic +ant.</p> + +<p>What follows is too painful for Mary and me to watch and certainly too +cruel to describe. But one must live, and why not ant-lions as well as +ants? If truth must be told, many ants have as cruel habits and as +bloodthirsty tastes as the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> ant-dragon. Indeed, more cruel and +revolting habits. For ants have a gastronomic fondness for the babies +of other ants, which is a fondness quite different from that which +they ought to have. It means that they like these babies—to eat. Some +communities of ants, indeed, spend most of their time fighting other +communities just to rob them of their babies, which they carry off to +their own nests and use in horrible cannibalistic feasts.</p> + +<p>Mary and I had seen enough of the Morrowbie Jukes pits. So we went +back to our little open sunny spot in the chaparral on the hillside +and lay quiet and silent for a long time. Then Mary murmured, "I +wonder how the ant-lion digs its pit."</p> + +<p>"I can tell you, Mary," I replied. "For a man who once saw one digging +told me. It is this way: First he makes a circular groove the full +circumference of the top of the pit. Then he burrows into the sand +inside of the groove and piles sand-grains<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> on top of his flat, horny, +shovel-like head with his fore feet. This sand he tosses over the +groove so that it will fall outside. He works his way all around the +groove, doing this over and over, and then makes another groove inside +the first, and digs up and tosses the sand out as before. And so on, +groove after groove, each inside the one made before, thus gradually +making a conical pit with the sides as steep as the loose sand will +lie. The pit must always be made in a dry sandy spot, and is usually +located in a warm sunny place at the foot of a large rock. This man +said that it is easy to get the ant-lions to dig pits in boxes of sand +in the house, and so we can try with our 'collected' fellow."</p> + +<p>Mary was silent some moments. Then she said softly, "But how will he +get anything to eat?"</p> + +<p>"Why," said I, "of course we can give him—" Mary looked up at me in a +special way she has. I go on, more slowly,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> but still without very +much hesitation: "But, of course, we sha'n't do that, shall we?"</p> + +<p>And Mary said quietly: "No, we sha'n't."</p> + +<p>We rested our chins on our hands and lay still, looking down over the +chaparral-covered hillside and far out across the hazy valley. On the +distant bay were little white specks, small schooners that carry wood +and tan-bark and hay from the bay towns to San Francisco; and across +the blue bay lifted the bare, brown mountains of the Coast Range, with +always that gleaming white spot of the Observatory a-tiptop of the +highest peak. It was a soft, languid, lazy day. Such a peace-giving, +relaxing, healing day! And we were so enveloped by it, Mary and I, +that we simply lay still and happy, with hardly a word. I had, of +course, intended to give Mary an informing lecture about how the ugly, +horrid ant-lion finally stops preying on ants and rolls himself up in +a neat little silk-and-sand<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> ball, and changes into a beautiful, +slender-bodied, gauzy-winged creature without any resemblance at all +to its earlier incarnation. But I didn't. It was too fine a day to +spoil with informing lectures.</p> + +<p>And so Mary and I lay still and happy. Finally it was time to go. As +we went down the road we passed again the place of the pits, and Mary +looked once more at the neat little craters with their patient waiting +jaws at the bottom.</p> + +<p>"I wonder," she said, musingly, "if Mr. Kipling ever saw an ant-lion +pit."</p> + +<p>"I wonder," said I.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i013.jpg" width="250" height="167" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i014.jpg" width="400" height="233" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="ARGIOPE_OF_THE_SILVER_SHIELD">ARGIOPE OF THE SILVER SHIELD</a></h2> + +<p>Argiope of the Silver Shield is the handsomest spider that Mary and I +know. Do you know a handsomer? Or are you of those who have +prejudices, and hold all spiders to be ugly, hateful things? We are so +sorry for you if you are, for that means you can never enjoy having a +pet Argiope. The truth is, Mary and I like clever and skillful people, +but when we can't find that kind, we rather prefer clever and skillful +spiders and wasps or other lowly beasties to the other sort of people, +which shows just how far a fancy for nature may lead one.</p> + +<p>It <i>is</i> rather bad, of course, to prefer to chum with a spider, even +such a wonderfully handsome and clever one as Argiope,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> instead of +with a human soul. But that isn't our situation exactly. We prefer +human souls to anything else on earth, but not human stomachs and +livers and human bones and muscles and sick human nerves. And, +someway, too many people leave on one an impression of bowels or sore +eyes rather than one of mind and soul. So we rush to the fields or +woods or roads after such an experience and live a while with the keen +bright eyes, the sensitive feelers, the dexterous feet and claws and +teeth, and the sharp wits of the small folk who, while not human, are +nevertheless inhabitants and possessors of this earth, side by side +with us, and are truly our blood-cousins, though some incredible +number of generations removed.</p> + +<p>Mary and I scraped acquaintance with our Argiope in a cypress-tree. +That is, Argiope had her abiding-place there; she was there on her +great symmetrical orb-web, with its long strong foundation lines, +its delicate radii and its many circles with their thousands of +tiny drops of viscid stuff to make them sticky. In the center was the +hub, her resting-place, whence the radii ran out, and where she had +spun a broad zigzaggy band of white silk on which she stood or sat +head downward. Her eight long, slender, sensitive legs were +outstretched and rested by their tips lightly on the bases of the taut +radii so that they could feel the slightest disturbance in the web. +These many radii, besides supporting the sticky circles or spiral, +which was the real catching part of the web, acted like so many +telegraph lines to carry news of the catching to waiting Argiope at +the center.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i015.jpg" width="400" height="512" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p>I have said that Mary and I think Argiope of the Silver Shield +the most handsome spider we know. There are, however, other +Argiopes to dispute the glory with our favorite; for example, a +golden-yellow-and-black one and another beautiful silver-and-russet<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a><br /><a id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +one. Other people, too, may fancy other spiders; perhaps the little +pink-and-white crab-spiders of the flower-cups, or the curious spiny +Acrosomas and Gasteracanthas with their brilliant colors and bizarre +patterns and shape. Others may like the strawberry Epeira, or the +diadem-spider, or the beautiful Nephilas. There are enough kinds and +colors and shapes of spiders to satisfy all tastes. But we like best +and admire most the long-legged, agile, graceful Argiopes, and +particularly her of the silver shield. Her full, firm body with its +flat, shield-shaped back, all shining silver and crossed by staring +black-and-yellow stripes, the long tapering legs softly ringed with +brown and yellow, the shining black eyes on their little rounded +hillock of a forehead, and the broad, brown under body with eight +circular silver spots; all go to make our Argiope a richly dressed and +stately queen of spiders. But the royal consort—O, the less said of +him, the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> better. A veritable dwarf; insignificant, inconspicuous and +afraid for his life of his glorious mate. How such a queen could +ever—but there, how tiresome, for that is what gets said of most +matches, royal or plebeian.</p> + +<p>Mary and I brought Argiope in from her home in the cypress-tree and +put her in a fine, roomy, light and airy cage, where she could live +quietly and unmolested by enemies, and where we could see to it that +she should not lack for food. There are many of the small creatures +with which we get acquainted that do not object at all to being +brought into our well-lighted, well-ventilated, warm vivarium—that +means live-room. Creatures of sedentary habits, and all the web-making +spiders are of course that, ought not to object at all and usually do +not seem to. For they get two things that they cannot be sure of +outside: protection and plenty of food. Argiope seemed perfectly +content and settled right down to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> spinning a glistening new web, a +marvel of symmetry and skillful construction, in her roomy cage, and +in a day or two was seated quietly but watchfully on the broad-banded +hub in the center, with her toes on her telegraph lines, ready for +good news. It was, of course, our duty to see that she was not +disappointed.</p> + +<p>The message she wanted was from some struggling fly fastened anywhere +in the broad expanse of web. So we tossed in a fly. It buzzed about a +moment, then blundered into the web which it shook violently in its +struggle to escape. Argiope rushed at once out upon the web.</p> + +<p>"How can she run about on the sticky web without getting caught, too?" +interrupts Mary.</p> + +<p>I think a moment, then with some dignity reply: "Pretty soon, please, +Mary."</p> + +<p>Argiope, I repeat, rushed at once out upon the web, seized the fly in +her jaws and ran back to the hub with it, where she<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> appeared to wet +it all over, squeeze it into a ball and then proceed to feed upon it, +holding and manipulating it skillfully all the time in her jaws. +Evidently Argiope was very hungry, for as you will see, this is not +her usual way of taking care of her prey.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mary, what was it you asked?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, just how the spider can run around so fast on the web without +sticking to it and getting caught or tearing it all to pieces."</p> + +<p>"Ah,—ah, yes. Well, Mary, I don't know! that is, exactly; or, well +not even very close to exactly. But she does it, you see."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I see," said Mary, demurely, and—can it be that Mary is +slightly winking one eye? I do hope not.</p> + +<p>"Of course you know, Mary, that the web is made of two kinds of silk +or rather two kinds of lines? Oh, you didn't know?" Mary has shaken +her head.</p> + +<p>"Well it is," I continue, with my usual<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> manner of teacher-who-knows +somewhat restored again. "The foundation lines, the radii and a first +set of circles are all made of lines without any sticky stuff on them. +As you see"—and I touch my pencil confidently to a radius, with the +manner of a parlor magician. "Then the spider, on this foundation, +spins in another long spiral, the present circles of the web, which is +liberally supplied with tiny, shining droplets of viscid silk that +never dries, but stays moist and very sticky all the time. This is the +true catching part of the web."</p> + +<p>"We surely must watch her spin a web sometime," breaks in eager Mary.</p> + +<p>"We certainly must," say I, and continue. "Now perhaps when Argiope +runs out on the web from her watching-place at the hub, she only puts +her long delicate feet on the unsticky radii. Or perhaps her feet are +made in some peculiar way so that they do not stick to the circles. As +a matter of fact, a spider's foot is remarkably fashioned<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>, with +curious toothed claws, and hosts of odd hairs, some knobbed, some +curved and hook-like, and some forming dense little brushes. But after +all, Mary, the truth is, I don't know really how it is that spiders +can run about over their webs without getting stuck to them."</p> + +<p>After my long discursus about web-making and spider's feet, it seemed +time to give Argiope another fly. Indeed her bright little black eyes +seemed to Mary to be shining with eagerness for more fly, although she +still had the remains of the first one in her jaws—gracious, +Argiope's jaws, please, not Mary's!</p> + +<p>So we tossed in another fly. We hope you won't think this cruel. But +flies are what Argiope eats, and if she was out in the garden, she +would be catching them, and, what is worse, they would not be the +disgusting and dangerous house-flies and bluebottles that we feed her, +but all sorts of innocent and beautiful little picture-winged<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +flower-flies and pomace-flies and what not. House-flies and +stable-flies and bluebottles are truly dangerous because they help +spread human diseases, especially typhoid fever. So if we are to live +safely they should be killed. Or, better, prevented from hatching and +growing at all.</p> + +<p>So we tossed in another fly. Argiope immediately dropped the nearly +finished first fly into the web, ran out to the new one and pounced on +it, seizing it with her fore legs. Then she doubled her abdomen +quickly underneath her and there issued from the spinnerets at its tip +a jet, a flat jet of silk, which was caught up by the hind feet and +wrapped around the fly as it was rolled over and over by the front +feet. She tumbled it about, all the time wrapping it with the issuing +band of silk, until it was completely enswathed. Then she left it +fastened in the web, went back to the hub, and resumed her feeding on +the first fly. But soon she finished this entirely, dropped<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> the wreck +out of the web and went out and got the second fly, bringing it back +to the hub to eat.</p> + +<p>"But why," asked Mary, "does Argiope wrap the fly up so carefully in +silk? Why not just kill it by biting, and then leave it in the web +until she wants it?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," I answer, "she wants to make it helpless before she comes +to close quarters with it. You notice she holds it away from her body +with her fore feet and pulls the silk band out far with her hind feet +so that her body does not touch the fly at all while she wraps it. +Perhaps she is not sure that it isn't a bee or some other stinging +insect. It buzzes loud enough to make me think it a bee."</p> + +<p>So Mary and I decided to try some experiments with our Argiope to find +out, if possible, first, if she could tell a bee from a fly, and +second, if so, whether she treated it differently, and third, why she +wraps her prey up so carefully before coming to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> too close quarters +with it. We feel quite proud of these experiments because we seemed to +be doing something really scientific; and we know that Experimental +Zoology, that is, studying animals by experimenting with them, is +quite the most scientific thing going nowadays among professional +naturalists. So here are our notes exactly as we wrote them during our +experimenting. This is, of course, the correct manner for publishing +real scientific observations, because it gives the critical reader a +chance to detect flaws in our technique!</p> + +<h3>OUR NOTES ON THE BEHAVIOR OF ARGIOPE</h3> + +<p>"Nov. 18, 4:45 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>; released a fly in the cage. The spider pounced +upon it, seized it with fore and third pair of legs, threw out a band +of silk and enswathed it, tumbling it over and over with her hind feet +about thirteen times, hence enswathed it in thirteen wrappings of +silk. The fly was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> then disconnected from the web, the spider making +but little attempt to mend the gap. It was carried to the hub and +eaten. While the feast was going on, a honey-bee [with sting +extracted; we didn't want to run any risks with Argiope!] was +liberated in the cage. As soon as it touched the web, the spider was +upon it, throwing out a band of silk in a sheet a quarter of an inch +broad. ['Drawing out' would be more accurate, for the spinnerets +cannot spurt out silk; silk is drawn out and given its band character +by lightning-like movements of the comb-toothed hind feet.] With her +hind legs Argiope turned the bee over and over twenty-five or +twenty-six times, thus enswathing it with twenty-five or twenty-six +wrappings of the silken sheet.</p> + +<p>"No sooner was the bee enswathed than a second bee was liberated in +the cage and caught in the web. This was treated by the spider like +bee No. 1.</p> + +<p>"Nov. 20, 8:15 <span class="smcap">a.m.</span>; Argiope perfectly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> still in center of hub, +feeding on bee No. 2. The only thing that reveals the feeding is a +slight moving of the bee's body as the juices are sucked up. Remains +of bee No. 1 dropped to the bottom of the cage.</p> + +<p>"Fed all day, 8:15 <span class="smcap">a.m.</span> to 5 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>, on bee No. 2.</p> + +<p>"At 2:30 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>, a box-elder bug, which is very ill-smelling, was thrown +into the web. Argiope did nothing for three minutes, then went out on +the web to it and wrapped, making five complete turns; then went away. +Probably not hungry, as she has had two bees and a fly in three days.</p> + +<p>"Nov. 21, 8:15 <span class="smcap">a.m.</span>; box-elder bug finished during last night. Old web +replaced by a new one with twenty-nine radii, eleven complete spirals +and several partial spirals. The hub is formed of fine irregular +webbing about an inch and a half in diameter, without the viscid +droplets that cover the spirals. An open space of about a half-inch<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +intervenes between the hub and the beginning of the spirals.</p> + +<p>"4:30 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>; liberated a fly in the cage. Argiope pounced upon it and +began to eat immediately, not taking time or trouble to enswath it.</p> + +<p>"While the fly was being devoured, we liberated a strong-smelling +box-elder bug in the cage. It flew into the web. Argiope, by a quick +movement, turned on the hub toward the bug and stood in halting +position for eight seconds, then approached the bug slowly, hesitated +for a second or two, then wrapped it about with five wrappings, halted +again, and finally finished with five more wrappings. The bug was then +attached to the web where it had first touched, the spider passing +back to the center and resuming her meal.</p> + +<p>"When the fly was finished, Argiope walked over to the bug, grasped it +in her mandibles, walked up to the hub, turned herself about so that +her head was downward,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> manipulated the bug with her fore and third +pair of feet until it seemed to be in right position for her with +reference to the hub of the web, and began to feed.</p> + +<p>"5 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>; bee liberated in cage <i>with sting not extracted</i>. Argiope +leaped instantaneously to the spot where it was caught, enswathed it +with great rapidity thirty-seven times, then bit at it, and enswathed +it five times more, making forty-two complete wrappings in all, then +left it fastened in the web and resumed feeding upon the bug. All the +time she was wrapping it, Argiope kept her body well clear of the +bee's body, the spinnerets being fully one-half an inch from the bee, +making the broad band of issuing silk very noticeable. In biting it, +which she seemed to do with marked caution, she of course had to bite +through the silken covering.</p> + +<p>"A few minutes later a second bee, with sting, was liberated in the +cage, caught in the web and rapidly pounced on by the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> spider. As +before, she turned it over and over with great rapidity, using +apparently all of her legs. She enswathed it fifty times, bit it, and +then wrapped it with five more silken sheets, making fifty-five +wrappings in all. Leaving it hung to the web, she went back to the +bug.</p> + +<p>"Before Argiope had reached the bug, bee No. 3 was caught in the web +at the exact spot where bee No. 2 was hung up. In its efforts to +disentangle its feet, it shook the whole web violently. In spite of +the violent vibration of the web, Argiope pursued her course to the +bug at the hub of the web, adjusted herself with head downward, and +resumed feeding.</p> + +<p>"Query: Did Argiope think the web-shaking due to futile struggles of +the well-wrapped bee No. 2, and hence needing no attention?</p> + +<p>"Vibration of the web continued. After several seconds had elapsed, +Argiope seemed suddenly to realize that her efforts were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> called for +out on the web, for she pounced down as rapidly as before and rolled +and tumbled <i>both bees together</i>, enswathing both in the same sheet of +silk, never stopping until she had given them fifty-five wrappings. +After biting twice, she wrapped them with five more turns, bit again, +and wrapped again with seven more turns, making sixty-seven in all. +Argiope then returned to her bug.</p> + +<p>"Query: Does Argiope distinguish bees from flies?</p> + +<p>"Further query: Does Argiope distinguish bees <i>with stings</i> from bees +with <i>stings extracted</i>?</p> + +<p>"Nov. 22, 9:45 <span class="smcap">a.m.</span>; Argiope feeding at hub on bees Nos. 2 and 3 +introduced into cage yesterday afternoon. With her right second leg +she holds taut a line connected with bee No. 1.</p> + +<p>"10:25 <span class="smcap">a.m.</span>; packet dropped to the bottom of the cage, the juices of +only one of the bees having been sucked out. The<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> web is constructed +at an angle so that anything dropped from the center falls free of it.</p> + +<p>"5 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>; began feeding again on bee No. 1.</p> + +<p>"Nov. 23, 9:30 <span class="smcap">a.m.</span>; another bee released in cage, caught in web and +enswathed approximately thirty turns by Argiope.</p> + +<p>"Nov. 25, 8:30 <span class="smcap">a.m.</span>; the web has been destroyed during the night.</p> + +<p>"Nov. 26, Argiope has made an entirely new web.</p> + +<p>"Nov. 30, 2 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>; gave Argiope a bee with sting. It was wrapped +forty-seven times, but not so expeditiously as has been her wont. +Later another bee was liberated in the cage, caught and wrapped about +forty-five times.</p> + +<p>"Dec. 2, 11 <span class="smcap">a.m.</span>; the body of a live bee was bathed in fluid from the +freshly crushed body of a box-elder bug [very malodorous], and the bee +liberated in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> Argiope's cage, and soon caught in the web. The bee was +not very lively and did not shake the web violently, but Argiope +rushed to it without hesitation, wrapped it with twenty-five turns of +silk and returned to the hub of the web.</p> + +<p>"Dec. 3; Argiope stayed all day in the upper part of the web, on +foundation lines, with head downward.</p> + +<p>"Dec. 5; yesterday Argiope moved down to her normal place on the hub. +To-day she is on the hub, but in reversed position [head up], and with +legs bent and limp, not straight out and stiffened as usual.</p> + +<p>"Dec. 6; Argiope hung all day from foundation lines of upper part of +web, in reversed position [head up], with legs limp and bent.</p> + +<p>"Dec. 7; Argiope hanging by first and second right legs, from upper +part of web; barely alive.</p> + +<p>"Dec. 8; Argiope dead."</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i016.jpg" width="400" height="238" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="THE_ORANGE-DWELLERS">THE ORANGE-DWELLERS</a></h2> + +<p>An entire colony of those strange little people, the Orange-dwellers, +were killed in our town yesterday morning. And not a newspaper +reporter found it out! Just one of the Orange-dwellers escaped, and as +Mary and I were the means of saving his life, and are taking care of +him as well as we can (Mary has him now on a small piece of +orange-rind in a pill box), he has told us the story of his life and +something about the other orange-dwelling people. Some of the +Orange-dwellers live in Mexico; some live in Florida, and some in +California; in fact they are to be found wherever oranges grow. Of +course, you have guessed already that the Orange-dwellers are not +human beings; they are not really people; they are insects.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> + +<p>The name of the Orange-dweller we had saved, and with whom we became +very well acquainted, is so long and strange that I shall tell you +merely his nickname, which is Citrinus. The oranges on which Citrinus +and a great many of his brothers and sisters and cousins lived grew in +Mexico, and when these oranges were ripe, they were gathered and +packed into boxes and sent to our town. Imagine if you can the fearful +strangeness of it! To have one's world plucked from its place in +space, wrapped up in tissue-paper, and packed into a great box with a +lot of other worlds; then sent off through space to some other place +where enormous giants were waiting impatiently for breakfast! When +Citrinus's world reached our town, one of these giants, who is my +brother, took it up, and saying, "See, what a specked orange," +straightway began unwittingly to kill all of the Orange-dwellers on it +by vigorously rubbing and scraping it. For Citrinus and his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +companions were the specks! That is all an Orange-dweller seems to be +when carelessly looked at; simply a little circular, scale-like, +blackish or reddish-brown speck on the shining surface of the orange, +his world. You can find the Orange-dwellers almost any morning at +breakfast.</p> + +<p>When my brother began to scrape off the specks, I hastily interfered, +but only in time to save one of the little people, Citrinus, whom, as +I have said, Mary has since faithfully cared for. He will soon die, +however, for he has lived already nearly three months, and that is a +ripe age for an Orange-dweller. But he has had time enough to tell me +a great deal about his life, and as it is such a curious story, and is +undoubtedly true, I venture to repeat it here to you. As a matter of +fact I must confess—still Mary says that <i>of course</i> Citrinus can +talk, because he talks with other Orange-dwellers later in the story, +and so of course can talk to us now.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + +<p>Citrinus has lived for almost his whole life on the orange on which we +found him. His mother lived on one of the fragrant leaves of the tree +on which the orange grew. She was, as Citrinus is now, simply a +reddish-brown circular speck on the bright-green orange-leaf; and +because she couldn't walk, she had to get all her food in a peculiar +way. She had a long (that is, long for such a tiny creature), slender, +pointed hollow beak or sucking-tube, which she thrust right into the +tender orange-leaf, and through which she sucked up the rich sap or +juice which kept flowing into the leaf from the twig it hung on. She +had thus a constant supply of food always ready and convenient; +whenever she was hungry she simply sucked orange-sap into her mouth +until she was satisfied. This is the way all the Orange-dwellers get +their food, the very youngest of the family being able to take care of +itself from the day of its birth. They never taste any other kind<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> of +food but the juice from the leaf or twig or golden orange on which +they live.</p> + +<p>Citrinus is one of a large number of brothers and sisters, more than +fifty indeed, who were hatched from tiny reddish eggs which the mother +laid under her own body. Before laying the eggs, Citrinus's mother had +built a thin shell or roof of wax over her back, and after the eggs +were laid she soon died and her body shriveled up, leaving the eggs +safely housed under the waxen roof. When the baby Orange-dwellers were +hatched, each had six legs and a delicate little sucking-beak +projecting from his small plump body. Citrinus and his brothers and +sisters scrambled out from under the wax shell and started out each +for himself to explore the world. First, however, each thrust his beak +into the leaf and took a good drink of sap. Then they were ready to +begin their journeying. But a terrible thing happened!</p> + +<p>Just as Citrinus was pulling his beak out<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> of the soft leaf, he saw a +great six-legged beast, in shape like a turtle, with shining +red-and-black back and fearful snapping jaws. On each side of its +head, which it moved slowly from side to side, it had an immense eye, +which looked like a hemispherical window, with hundreds of panes of +glass in it. The beast's legs were large and powerful, and on each +foot there were two claws, each of them as long as the whole body of +Citrinus. Truly this was an appalling sight, and all of the little +Orange-dwellers ran as fast as they could, which, unfortunately, +wasn't very fast. The beast leisurely caught up in its great jaws one +after another of Citrinus's brothers and sisters, and crushed and tore +their tender bodies to pieces and ate them!</p> + +<p>Now this beast, which seemed so large to Citrinus, was what is to us a +very small and pretty insect, one of the lady-bird beetles. These +beetles care for no other food than plump Orange-dwellers and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> other +equally toothsome small insects; and instead of being sorry for its +victims, we are glad it eats them! This seems very cruel indeed, but +there are so many, many millions of the Orange-dwellers all sucking +the juice of orange-trees that although they are so small, and each +one drinks so little sap, yet altogether they do a great amount of +damage to the orange-trees, often killing all the trees in a large +orchard. So the lady-birds are a great help to the orange-growers.</p> + +<p>Little Citrinus escaped from the Beetle by crawling into a small, dark +hole in the surface of the leaf; but he was badly frightened. This was +his first experience with the terrible dangers of the world, with the +struggle for life, which is going on so bitterly among the people of +his kind, the insects. For although there would seem to be enough +plants and trees to serve as food for all of them, many insects find +it easier or prefer to eat other insects than to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> live on plant food. +Now because the insects which live on plant food do injury to our +fruit-trees and vegetables and grain crops by their eating, we call +them injurious insects; while we call the insect-eating kinds +beneficial insects, because they destroy the injurious insects.</p> + +<p>But little Citrinus didn't look at the matter at all in this light. He +thought the lady-bird beetle a very cruel and wicked being, and +resolved to warn every Orange-dweller he met in his travels to beware +of the cruel, turtle-shaped beast with the shining black-and-red back. +As he wandered on from leaf to leaf along the tender twigs in the top +of the tree, he met many other Orange-dwellers, whom he would have +told all about the Beetle, but he found that all of them had had +experiences as sad as his; in fact he soon learned that of all the +Orange-dwellers who are born, only a very, very few escape the Beetles +and other devouring<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> beasts who pursue them. And he was highly +indignant when one shrewd Orange-dweller told him that it really was a +good thing for the race of Orange-dwellers that so many of them were +killed. For, the shrewd Orange-dweller said, if all of us who are born +should live and have families, and not die until old age came on, +there would soon be so many of us that we should eat all the +orange-trees in the world, and then we should all starve to death. And +this is quite true.</p> + +<p>Finally Citrinus came to a remarkable being, a very beautiful being +indeed. It had two long, slender, waving feelers on its head, four +large ball-shaped eyes, and, strangest of all, two delicate gauzy +wings. This beautiful creature greeted Citrinus kindly and asked him +where he was going. Citrinus, who was at first a little afraid of the +strange creature, was reassured by its kind greeting, and answered +simply, "I don't know. My brothers and sisters were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> all eaten by the +Beetle; my father and mother I have never seen; and no one has told me +where to go."</p> + +<p>The stranger smiled a little sadly and said, "That is the common story +among us Orange-dwellers. Our fathers and mothers always die before we +are born. It is a great pity. Yes, before my little Orange-dweller +children are born—"</p> + +<p>"What," cried Citrinus, "are you an Orange-dweller; you, who are so +different from me?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed I am," replied the gauzy-winged creature. "I am an old +Orange-dweller. Oh, I know it seems strange to you," he continued, +noticing the look of astonishment on Citrinus's face, "but some day +you will look just like me. You will have wings, and be able to fly; +and will have long feelers on your head to hear and to smell with, and +big eyes to see all around you with. You will have some strange +experiences, though, before you become like me."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But as I had started to say, we fathers, and the mothers too for that +matter, always die before you youngsters are hatched out of your eggs. +Now I shall probably die to-morrow or next day, because I have lived +three days already, and that is a long time to live without eating."</p> + +<p>Little Citrinus could hardly believe his senses. It was so wonderful. +"But why don't you eat," urged Citrinus, who felt very badly to think +of any one's going without food for three days. He always took a drink +of sap every few minutes.</p> + +<p>"Why, how absurd," replied the winged Orange-dweller, "don't you see I +have nothing to eat with? No sucking-beak, no mouth at all. When I get +my wings and my four eyes, I lose my mouth, and can't eat or drink any +more."</p> + +<p>This was incredible; but when Citrinus looked at the head of his +companion, he saw it was perfectly true. He had no mouth. Citrinus +gently waved his little sucking-beak,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> to be sure he still had it. +Suddenly he began to cry; a sad thought had come to him. "And did my +mother starve to death too?" he sobbed.</p> + +<p>"Not at all, little one," rather impatiently exclaimed the other. +Little Citrinus seemed to know so very little, indeed. "Your mother +was not at all like me. When she was full-grown she had no wings, no +legs, and no eyes, but she had a very long beak, and could suck up a +great deal of orange-sap. If you will listen and not interrupt, I will +tell you how we Orange-dwellers grow. When we are hatched from our +eggs we are all alike, brothers and sisters. We each have a plump +little body, six legs, two eyes, and a sucking-beak to get food with. +We walk about for a few days, and finally stop on some nice green leaf +or juicy orange, and stick our beaks far in and go to sleep, or do +something very like it. We never walk about any more. Indeed, if you +are a girl Orange-dweller<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> you never leave this spot, but live all the +rest of your life and die here. However, I am getting too far along in +my story. While we are asleep we shed all of our skin, fold it up into +a little ball or cushion and put it on our backs, together with some +wax which comes out of small holes in our bodies. While shedding our +skin we make a great change in our bodies. We lose our legs! So we +simply remain where we went to sleep, with our beaks stuck into the +leaf, sucking the sap. After a few days we go to sleep again, and +again we shed our skins and fold them on our backs. But at this time +something even more wonderful than before happens to our bodies. That +is, to the bodies of the boy Orange-dwellers. For this time we lose +our sucking-beaks, but we regain our six legs, and in addition we get +a second pair of eyes, we find on our heads a pair of long, slender, +hairy feelers, and, most pleasing of all, we have been provided with a +pair of wings.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> Our wings are not yet full-grown or ready to fly with, +so we still remain quietly in our resting-place for a few days longer, +when we shed our skin once more, and then fly away, looking just as I +do now. Our sisters, though, when they shed their skins the second +time, make no change in their bodies, except to grow larger. They +remain with their sucking-beaks thrust into the leaf. They keep +increasing the size of the wax scale or shell over their backs, until +they are entirely covered by it. Now they look just as your mother +did. From above, all one can see is the flat circular wax scale with +two spots on it, where the folded-up cast skins are. Underneath the +scale lies the Orange-dweller, with its sucking-beak stuck into the +sap, but with no legs or wings or long, hairy feelers. After a while +she lays a lot of eggs under her body, and then dies. And soon the new +family is born. Now this is the way we grow, and all of the wonderful<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +things which have happened to me will happen to you,—if the Beetle +does not get you."</p> + +<p>With that the winged Orange-dweller flew away, and little Citrinus was +left alone, wondering over the strange story. After taking a drink of +sap from the leaf on which he was standing, he wandered aimlessly +about until he came to a large yellow ball hanging from the branch, +which gave out a delightful odor. Scrambling down the slender stem by +which it was suspended, he walked out on to the shining surface of the +orange; for, of course, that is what the yellow ball was. He tried a +drink of sap from the ball and found it delicious. He decided to stay +on the ball, the more readily as he was getting rather tired with his +long traveling, and a sort of sleepy feeling was coming over him. So +thrusting his beak far into the ball, he went to sleep. How long he +slept he doesn't know, but when he awoke he could hardly believe<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> his +senses. He had no legs; and on his back there was a thin shell of wax +and a little packet. He realized, too, that he was bigger than he was +before he went to sleep. Then the strange story told him by the winged +Orange-dweller came back to him, and he knew that the stranger had +told the truth. The first great change had happened. He was delighted, +for he thought it would be very pleasant to have wings and fly about +wherever he wished, to see the world.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a great shock came: his World trembled, then shook violently, +and, with a quick wrench, started to move swiftly through space. Then +came a stop, a series of shocks and curious whirlings, and then a +filmy-white cloud settled down over it all, shutting out the sunlight +and the blue sky. Finally there came a few more shocks and wrenches, +and then total darkness and silence. Citrinus had held on to his world +all through this, because his beak<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> was still thrust into the fragrant +surface, and now he felt thankful that he had come alive through these +series of world catastrophes and convulsions and still had all the +food he could possibly use.</p> + +<p>After a few days, when Citrinus's world all nicely wrapped in +tissue-paper and packed in a box with ninety-nine other similar worlds +had traveled a thousand miles, the sunlight came again, and soon after +came that greatest danger of all—that danger from which I saved him +by staying my brother's hand in its ruthless rubbing off of the specks +on his breakfast orange! Now Citrinus and Mary and I are all waiting +impatiently for the day when he shall get his beautiful wings and his +two pairs of eyes.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i017.jpg" width="400" height="90" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i018.jpg" width="400" height="235" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="THE_DRAGON_OF_LAGUNITA">THE DRAGON OF LAGUNITA</a></h2> + +<p>When Mary and I came to examine our ant-lion dragon the day after our +adventures among the Morrowbie Jukes pits, we found him dead in the +bottle of sand. Perhaps his haughty spirit of dragon could not stand +such ignominious bottling up, or perhaps there wasn't enough air. +Anyway, His Fierceness was dead. His cruel curved jaws would seize and +pierce no more foraging ants. His thirsty throat would never again be +laved by the fresh blood of victims. <i>Vale</i> dragon!</p> + +<p>But there are more dragons than one in our world. Not only more +ant-lion dragons, but more other kinds of dragons. And this is one of +the great advantages that Mary and I enjoy in our looking about in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +the fields and woods for interesting things. If we were looking for +the dragons of fairy stories, we could only expect to find one +kind—if, indeed, we could expect to find any kind at all in these +days when so few fairies are left. If we <i>could</i> find it, however, it +would be a monstrous beast in a forest cavern, with scaled body and +clawed feet and great ugly head that breathed fire and smoke from its +gaping mouth. That would be an interesting sort of dragon to see, we +confess, more interesting than the great one, a hundred yards long, +that we saw in a Chinese procession in Oakland, with two excited +Chinamen jumping about in front of its head and jabbing at its eyes +with spears. And more interesting than the one that roars and spits at +Siegfried on the stage while the big orchestra goes off into wild +clamors of O-see-the-dragon music. But we do not expect ever to find a +real fairy-story dragon any more, and so we content ourselves with +trying to find as <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>many different kinds of real dragons as we can in +our world of little folk on the campus. These dragons are rather +small, but they are unusually fierce and voracious, to make up for +their lack of size. And so they serve very well to interest us.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i019.jpg" width="400" height="277" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p>To make up for the death of the ant-lion dragon of the sand-pits, I +promised to take Mary to see the Dragon of Lagunita. Or rather the +dragons, for there are many in Lagunita, and indeed many in several +other places on the campus. Have I explained that Lagunita is a pretty +Spanish word for "little lake," and that our Lagunita is just what its +name means, and besides is as pretty as its name? There is only one +trouble about it. And that is, that every year, in the long, rainless, +sun-filled summer, it dries up to nothing but a shallow, parched +hollow in the ground, and all the dragons have to move. But this +moving is a remarkable performance. For while during the spring the +Lagunita<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> dragons live rather inactively in their lairs under the +water, when summer comes they all transform themselves into great +flying dragons of the air, and swoop and swirl about in a manner very +terrifying to see.</p> + +<p>The morning we were to make our journey to Lagunita, I came to Mary's +house with a rake over my shoulder.</p> + +<p>"But what are you going to do with the rake?" said Mary.</p> + +<p>"One doesn't go to seek a dragon without weapons," I replied with +dignity. "And a rake is a much more formidable weapon in the hands of +a man who knows how to rake than a gun in the hands of a man who +doesn't know how to shoot." I am something of an amateur gardener, but +not at all the holder of a record at clay pigeons nor king of a +<i>Schützen-verein</i>. So I carried my rake.</p> + +<p>"Then what weapon shall I carry?" asks Mary.</p> + +<p>I ponder seriously.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A tin lunch-pail," I finally reply.</p> + +<p>"With luncheon in?" asks Mary.</p> + +<p>"Empty," I say.</p> + +<p>So we start.</p> + +<p>I have already said that Lagunita is a pretty little lake. It lies +just under the first of the foothills that rise ridge after ridge into +the forested mountains that separate us from the ocean. Indeed, it is +on the first low step up from the valley floor, and from its enclosing +bank or shore one gets a good view of the level, reaching valley +thickly set with live-oak trees and houses and fields. Around the +little lake have grown up pines, willows and other beautiful trees, +and at one side a tiny stream comes in during the wet season. There is +no regular outlet, but the water which usually begins to come in about +November keeps filling the shallow bowl of the lake higher and higher +until by spring it is nearly bank full and may even overflow. Then as +the long dry summer<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> season sets in, the level of the water grows +lower and lower until in August or September there is only left a +small muddy puddle crammed with surprised and despairing little fishes +and salamanders and water-beetles and the like, who are not at all +accustomed to such behavior on the part of a lake. And then a few days +later they are all gasping their last breaths there together on the +scum-covered, waterless bottom.</p> + +<p>But when Lagunita is really a lake, it is a very pretty one, and Mary +and I love to go there and sit on the bank under the willows near the +horse paddocks and watch the college boys rowing about in their +graceful, narrow, long-oared shells. These swift-darting boats look +like great water-skaters, only white instead of black. You know the +long-legged, active water-skaters or water-striders that skim about +over the surface of ponds or quiet backwater pools in streams in +summer time?</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> + +<p>So Mary and I went to Lagunita with our rake and tin lunch-pail to +hunt for dragons. No shining armor; no great two-handed sword; no cap +of invisibility. Just a rake and a tin lunch-pail.</p> + +<p>"Where, Mary, do you think is the likeliest place for the dragon?" I +ask.</p> + +<p>Mary answers promptly, "There at the foot of the steep stony bank +where the big willow-tree hangs over."</p> + +<p>We go there. I grasp my rake firmly with both hands. I reach far out +over the shallow water. Then I beat the rake suddenly down through the +water to the bottom, and with a quick strong pull I drag it out, +raking out with it a great mass of oozy mud and matted leaves. I drag +this well up on shore, and both Mary and I flop down on our knees and +begin pawing about in it. Suddenly Mary calls out, "I've got one," and +holds up in her fingers an extraordinary, kicking, twisting creature +with six legs, a big head, and a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> thick, ugly body on which seem to be +the beginnings of several fins or wings. It has, this creature, two +great staring eyes, and stout, sharp-pointed spines stick out from +various parts of the body.</p> + +<p>"Put him in the lunch-pail," I shout. I had already filled it +half-full of water from the lake.</p> + +<p>Then I found one; then Mary another, and then I still another. It was +truly great sport, this dragon-hunting.</p> + +<p>We put them all into the lunch-pail where they lay sullenly on the +bottom, glaring at each other, but not offering to fight, as we rather +hoped they would.</p> + +<p>Then, what to do? These dragons in their regular lairs at the bottom +of Lagunita might do a lot of most interesting things, but dredged up +in this summary way and deposited in a strange tin pail in the glaring +light of day, they seemed wholly indisposed to carry on any +performances of dragon for our benefit. So<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> we decided to take them +home, and try to fix up for them a still smaller lakelet than +Lagunita; one, say, in a tub! Then, perhaps, they would feel more at +home and ease, and might do something for us.</p> + +<p>So we took them home. And we fixed a tub with sand in the bottom, +water over that, and over the top of the tub a screen of netting that +would let air and sunlight in, but not dragons out. Then we collected +some miscellaneous small water-beasties and a few water-plants, and +put them in, and so really had a very comfortable and home-like place +for the dragons. They seemed to take to it all right; we called our +new lakelet Monday Pond, because of some relation between the tub and +washday, I suppose, and we had very good fun with our dragons for +several weeks. Think of the advantage of having your dragon right at +home! If it is a bad day, or we are lazy, or there may be visitors who +stay too long so there is only a little time for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> ourselves, how +convenient it is to have a dragon—or indeed a whole brood of +dragons—right in your study. Much better, of course, than to have to +sail to a distant island and tramp through leagues of forest or thorny +bushes or over burning desert or among spouting volcanoes to find your +dragon, as most princes in fairy stories have to do.</p> + +<p>I can't, of course, venture to tell you of all the interesting things +that Mary and I saw our dragons do. Two or three will have to do. Or +my publisher will cry, "Cut it short; cut it short, I say." And that +will hurt me, for he is really a most forbearing publisher, and quite +in the way of a friend. The three things shall be, one, eating, and +what with; two, getting a new skin, and why; and third, changing from +an under-water, crawling, squirmy, ugly dragon into an aerial, +whizzing, flashing, dashing, beautiful-winged dragon, and when. Of +course one of the most important<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> things about any dragon is what and +how he eats; and the other most important thing about Mary's and my +special kind of dragon is his remarkable change. This was to us much +more remarkable than having three heads or even getting a new head +every time an old one is cut off, which seems to be rather a usual +habit of fairy-book dragons.</p> + +<p>The dragons lay rather quietly on the sand at the bottom of Monday +Pond most of the time. Sometimes one would be up a little way on the +shore, that is, the side of the tub, or clinging to one of the +plant-stems. When poked with a pencil,—and we were fearless about +poking them, if the pencil were a long one,—they would half-walk, +half-swim away. But mostly they lay pretty well concealed, waiting for +something to happen. What would happen occasionally was this: a young +May-fly or a water-beetle would come swimming or walking along; if it +passed an inch away from<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> the dragon, all right; but if its path +brought it closer, an extraordinary "catcher," rather like a pair of +long nippers or tongs, would shoot out like a flash from the head of +the dragon and seize on the unfortunate beastie. Then the "catcher" +would fold up in such a way as to bring the victim against the +dragon's mouth, which is provided with powerful, sharp-toothed jaws. +These jaws then had their turn. And that was the end of the May-fly.</p> + +<p>Mary was rather shocked when she saw the dragon first use its +"catcher." She wanted to rescue the poor May-fly. But after all she +has got pretty well used to seeing tragedies in insect life. They seem +to be necessary and normal. Many insects depend upon other animals for +food, just as we do. Only fortunately we don't have to catch and kill +our own steer or pig or lamb or chicken. We turn the bloody business +over to men who like—well, at least, who do it for us. But in the +world of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> lower animals each one is usually his own butcher.</p> + +<p>Mary soon wanted to see the dragon's "catcher," and so we dredged one +out of Monday Pond, and put him on the study-table. As he faced us +with his big eyes glaring from his broad heavy head, he looked very +fierce. But curiously enough, he didn't seem to have any jaws; nor +even a mouth. The whole front of his face was smooth and covered over +by a sort of mask, so that his terrible jaws and catching nippers were +invisible. However, we soon understood this. The mask was the +folded-up "catcher" so disposed that it served, when not in use, +actually to hide its own iniquity as well as that of the yawning mouth +behind. Only when some small insect, all unsuspecting this smooth +masked face, comes close, do the long tongs unfold, shoot out, and +reveal the waiting jaws and thirsty throat. A veritable dragon indeed; +sly and cruel and ever hungry for living prey.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> + +<p>One day when we were looking into Monday Pond, Mary saw a curious +object that looked more like a hollow dragon than anything else. It +had all the shape and size of one of the dragons; the legs and eyes +and masked face, the pads on the back that looked like half-fledged +wings. But there was a transparency and emptiness about it that was +uncanny and ghost-like. Then, too, when we looked more closely there +was a great rent down the back. And that made the mystery plain. The +real dragon, the flesh and blood and breathing live dragon, had come +out of that long tear, leaving his skin behind! It was his complete +skin, too, back and sides and belly, out to the tips of his feelers +and down to his toes and claws.</p> + +<p>"But why should he shed his skin? Hasn't he any skin now?" asked Mary.</p> + +<p>"Of course he must have a skin. How could he keep his blood in, and +what would his muscles be fastened to, for he is<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> a boneless dragon, +and his skeleton is his outside shell, with his muscles fastened to +it? So how could he live at all without a skin? He must have a new +skin."</p> + +<p>And, of course, that was exactly it. He had cast his old skin, as a +snake does, and had got a brand-new one. Why shouldn't a dragon change +his skin if a snake can?</p> + +<p>But Mary is persistent about her "whys," and I was quite ready for her +next question, which came after a moment of musing.</p> + +<p>"Why should he shed his old skin and get a new one? Is the new one +different; a different color or shape or something?"</p> + +<p>"No; not a different color or different shape especially, but a +different size. The dragon is growing up. He is like a boy who keeps +on wearing age-nine clothes until they are too short in the sleeves, +too tight in the back, and too high-water in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> legs. Then one day +he sheds his age-nine suit and gets an age-eleven one. See?"</p> + +<p>"What a funny professor you are! Is that the way you lecture to your +classes?"</p> + +<p>"Gracious, no, Mary! This is the way: As the immature dragon grows +older, his constant assimilation of food tends to create a natural +increase in size. But the comparative inelasticity of his chitinized +cuticula prevents the actual expansion, to any considerable degree, of +his body mass. Thus all the cells of the body become turgid, and +altogether a great pressure is exerted outwards against the enclosing +cuticular wall. This wall then suddenly splits along the longimesial +line of the dorsum, and through this rent the dragon extricates itself +in soft and defenceless condition, but of markedly larger size. The +new cuticula, which is pale, elastic and thin at first, soon becomes +thicker, strongly chitinized and dark. The old cuticle, or exuvia, +which has been moulted,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> is curiously complete, and is a hollow or +shell-like replica of the external appearance of the dragon even to +the finest details. How is that, Mary?"</p> + +<p>"Very instruct—instructing"—with an effort—"indeed," replies Mary, +with grave face. "But I guess I understand the change from age-nine to +age-eleven clothes better."</p> + +<p>And then we saw the third wonderful happening in our dragon's life +that I said we should tell about. We saw one of the dragons getting +wings! That is, changing from an ugly, blackish, squat, crawling +creature into a glorious long-bodied, rainbow-tinted, flying dragon. +Another dragon had crawled up above the water on a plant-stem and was +also "moulting its chitinized cuticula." But it was coming out from +the old skin in very different shape and color. I had forgotten, when +I told Mary that they only changed in size after casting the skin, +about the last moulting.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> Each dragon casts its skin several times in +its life, but the last time it does it, it makes the wonderful change +I've already spoken about, from crawling to flying dragon. And it was +one of these last skin-castings that was going on now under our very +eyes.</p> + +<p>I can't describe all that happened. You must see it for yourself some +time. How, out of the great rent in the old skin along the back, the +soft damp body of the dragon squeezes slowly out, with its constant +revelation of delicate changing color and its graceful new shape; how +out of the odd shapeless pads on the back come four, long, narrow, +shining, transparent wings, with complex framework of fine little +veins, or ribs, and thin flexible glassy membrane stretched over them; +how the new head looks with its enormous, sparkling, iridescent eyes +making nearly two-thirds of it and so cleverly fitted on the body that +it can turn nearly entirely around on the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> neck. And then how the body +fills out and takes shape, and the wings get larger and larger, and +everything more and more beautifully colored! All this you will have +to see for yourself some time when you have a Monday Pond in your own +study, with a brood of dragons in.</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> wonderful, isn't it, Mary? How would you like to see twenty, +thirty, forty, oh, a hundred dragons doing this all at once. We can if +we want to. All we have to do is to go over to Lagunita some morning +early, very early, just a little after sunrise—for that is their +favorite time—and we shall see scores of dragons crawling up out of +the water on stones, plants, sticks, anything convenient, and +sloughing off their dirty, dark, old skins and coming out in their +beautiful iridescent green and violet and purple new skins, with their +long slender body and great flashing wings. They sit quietly on the +stones and plant-stems until the warm rising sun dries them<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> and their +new skins get firm and all nicely fitted, and then they begin their +new life,—wheeling and dashing over the lake and among the hills and +bushes and above the grasses and grain along the banks. Like eagles +and hawks they are seeking their prey. Watch that little gnat buzzing +there in the air. A flying dragon swoops by and there is no gnat there +any longer. It has been caught in the curious basket-like trap which +the dragon makes with its spiny legs all held together, and it is +being crushed and chewed by the great jaws. Still a dragon, you see, +for all of its new beauty!"</p> + +<p>Mary muses. "Not all beautiful things in the world are good, are +they?" she murmurs.</p> + +<p>"Mary, you are a philosopher," I say.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>As I read this over I realize quite as keenly, I hope, as you do, my +reader, how little there is in this story. And yet finding out this +little was real pleasure to Mary +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +and me. Now we must perforce +estimate the pleasures and pains, the likes and dislikes, of other +people by our own. And however untrue this estimate may be for any one +other person, it must be fairly true for any considerable number of +persons. Therefore—and this is the reason for putting down our simple +experiences with the insects for other people to read and perhaps to +be stirred by to see and do similar things—therefore, I say, other +people, some other people, also must be able to get pleasure from what +we do.</p> + +<p>Now if there is any way and any means of getting clean pleasure into +the crowded days of our living, then that way and means should be +suggested and opened to as many as possible. Mary and I, you see, have +the real proselyting spirit; we are missionaries of the religion of +the unroofed temples. And we want all to be saved! So we give +testimony willingly of our own experiences, and of the saving grace of +our +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +belief. We have no names for our idols, nor any formulation of +our creed. But in various voice and word we do gladly confess over and +over again the reality of the happiness that comes to us from our +hours with the lowly world that we are coming to know better and +better. And any one of these happy hours may contain no more than the +little that has been told in this story of the "Dragon of Lagunita," +and yet be really and truly a happy hour.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i020.jpg" width="250" height="205" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i021.jpg" width="400" height="236" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="A_SUMMER_INVASION">A SUMMER INVASION</a></h2> + +<p>"Are you comfortable, Mary?" I ask, "and shall I begin?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; in just a minute," Mary replies; "I want to sit so that I can +see both ways, Lagunita that way and the brown field with the +tarantula holes that way," and she sweeps half the horizon with a +chubby hand.</p> + +<p>We are half-sitting, half-lying, in the shade at the base of a +live-oak on a little knoll back of the campus, whence we can look down +on the red-tiled roofs and warm buffy walls of the Quadrangle, and on +beyond to the Arboretum with its great eucalyptuses sticking out above +the other trees. We can catch glimpses of the bay, too, and of the +white houses of the caretakers<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> of the oyster-beds perched on piles +above the water like ancient Swiss lake-dwellers.</p> + +<p>Strolling about over the brown field of the tarantula holes and +carrying bundles of sticks, and stooping down now and then to strike +at the ground with one of the sticks, are several young men, +Sophomores by their hats, and one of them with a red jacket on:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Gowfin' a' the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Daein' nae wark ava';<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rinnin' aboot wi' a peck o' sticks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Efter a wee bit ba'!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Mary recites this in a pretty singsong.</p> + +<p>"Why, Mary, where did you learn that?" I ask in surprise.</p> + +<p>"From the Scotch lady that I take of."</p> + +<p>"Take of! What is it you take of her? I hope not measles or smallpox, +or—"</p> + +<p>"Why no, of course not. Music. That's what all young ladies take."</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i022.jpg" width="400" height="268" alt="" /> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, I see! It <i>is</i> catching, isn't it? I have seen some bad cases, +especially in small towns. Every young lady, even just girls"—I +glance sidewise at Mary—"down with it. But is that what those boys +over there are doing? I hope they won't interfere with the tarantulas. +They probably don't know what lively times there are at nights in that +field. Scores of big black tarantulas racing about, hunting, and +hundreds of beetles and things racing about, trying to keep from being +eaten. Well, I'd better begin, because we have to get back by luncheon +time. I have a most profound lecture to give on Orthogenesis and +Heterogenesis to that unfortunate Evolution class at two o'clock."</p> + +<p>"I'm all ready," said Mary, looking up at me with confidence. <i>She</i> +appreciates the kind of lectures I give outdoors, even if the +lunch-gorged students don't appreciate my efforts <i>ex cathedra</i>.</p> + +<p>"Well this summer invasion that I promised<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> to tell you about happened +when I was a boy in a little town in Kansas. It was in Centennial +year; the one-hundredth anniversary of the freedom of the United +States, and the summer of the Centennial Exposition at Philadelphia.</p> + +<p>"I was going down town one day in July to buy some meat for dinner. I +was going because my mother had sent me. Naturally this promised to be +a very uninteresting excursion. But you never can tell.</p> + +<p>"When I had got fairly down to Commercial Street, I saw that all the +people were greatly excited. Some were talking loudly, but most were +staring up toward the sun, shading their eyes with their hands. Then I +heard old Mr. Beasley say: 'That's surely them all right; doggon, +they'll eat us up.'</p> + +<p>"My heart jumped. Who could be coming from the sun to eat us up? I +burst into excited questions. 'Who are coming, Mr. Beasley? I can't +see anybody.'</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'Hoppers is coming boy; see that sort o' shiny thin cloud up there +jest off the edge o' the sun? Well, them's hoppers.'</p> + +<p>"'But how'll they eat us up, Mr. Beasley? No grasshopper can eat me +up.'</p> + +<p>"'They'll eat us up with their doggoned terbaccy-spittin' mouths; +thet's how. And they'll eat <i>you</i> up by eatin' everything you want to +eat; thet's how, too. Havin' nothin' to eat is jest about the same as +bein' et, accordin' to the way I looks at things.'</p> + +<p>"It is evident that Mr. Beasley was a philosopher and a pessimist; +that is, a man who sees the disagreeable sides of things, who doesn't +see the silvery lining to the dark clouds. In fact, in this particular +case Mr. Beasley was seeing a very dark lining to that silvery cloud +'jest off the edge o' the sun.'</p> + +<p>"I stared at the thin shining cloud for a long time, wondering if it +were really true that it was grasshoppers. People said the silvery +shimmer was made by the reflection<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> of the sunlight from the gauzy +wings of the hosts of flying insects. It occurred to me that if the +hoppers were just off the edge of the sun, they would all be burned +up, or at least have their wings so scorched that they would fall to +the ground. However, as the sun is 90,000,000 miles away from the +earth, it would take a very long time for the scorched grasshoppers to +fall all the way. I guessed that we might have a rain of dead and +crippled hoppers about Christmas-time. Anyway there were no +grasshoppers now, dead or alive, in the street. And I decided, rather +disappointedly, that we probably shouldn't get to see any of the live +hoppers at all. Then I asked Mr. Beasley where they came from.</p> + +<p>"'Rocky Mountains,' he answered, shortly.</p> + +<p>"This seemed a bit steep, for the nearest of the Rocky Mountains are +nearly a thousand miles west of Kansas. And to think of grasshoppers +flying a thousand miles!<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> A bit too much, that was. Still I thought I +ought to go home and tell the folks. But mother interrupted me in my +picturesque tale with a dry request for the meat. Oh, yes. Oh—well, I +had forgotten. So the first disagreeable result for me from the +grasshopper invasion of Kansas in the summer of 1876 was a painful +domestic incident.</p> + +<p>"But Mr. Beasley was right. The grasshoppers had come. Next morning +all the boys were out, each with a folded newspaper for flapper and a +cigar-box with lid tacked on and a small hole just large enough to +push a hopper through cut in one end. The rumor was we were to be paid +five cents for every hundred hoppers, dead or alive, that we brought +in. As a matter of fact nobody paid us, but we worked hard for nearly +half a day; that is as long as it was fun and novelty. By noon the +grasshoppers were an old story to us. And besides there were too many<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +of them. Hundreds, thousands, millions,—oh, billions and trillions I +suppose. And all eating, eating, eating!</p> + +<p>"First all the softer fresher green things. The vegetables in the +little backyard gardens; the sweet corn and green peas and tomato-and +potato-vines. Then the flowers and the grasses of the front yards. +Then the leaves of the dooryard trees. Then the fresh green twigs of +the trees! Then the bark on the younger branches!!</p> + +<p>"And you could hear them eat! Nipping and crunching, tearing and +chewing. It got to be terrible, and everybody so downcast and gloomy. +And the most awful stories of what was going on out in the great +corn-fields and meadows and pastures. Ruin, ruin, ruin was what the +hoppers were mumbling as they chewed.</p> + +<p>"And then the reports from the other states in the great Mississippi +Valley corn-belt came in by telegraph and letter. Over thousands and +thousands of square miles<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> of the great granary of the land were +spread the hordes of hoppers. Farmers and stockmen were being ruined. +Then the storekeepers and bankers that sell things and lend money to +the farmers. Then the lawyers and doctors that depend on the farmers' +troubles to earn a living. Then the millers and stock-brokers and +capitalists of the great cities that make their fortunes out of +handling and buying and selling the grain the farmers send in long +trains to the centers of population. Everybody, the whole country, was +aghast and appalled at the havoc of the hopper.</p> + +<p>"What to do? How long will they keep up this devastation? Have they +come to settle and stay in Kansas and Nebraska and Iowa? What will the +country do in the future for corn and wheat and pigs and fat cattle?</p> + +<p>"Well, it would be too long a story to tell of how all the +entomologists went to work studying the grasshoppers and their<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> ways: +their outsides and insides, their hopping and their flying, their +egg-laying and the growth and development of the little hoppers; how +the birds, and what kinds, stuffed on them, and the robber-flies and +the tachina flies and the red mites and the tiny braconids and +chalcids attacked them and laid eggs on them, and their grubs burrowed +into them; and everything else about them. But all the time the +hoppers kept right on eating; at least they did where there was +anything left to eat. Stories were told of their following roots of +plants and trees down into the ground to eat them; of how they +stripped great trees of bark and branches; of how they massed on the +warm rails of railroads at nights and stopped trains; of how +enterprising towns by offering rewards to farmers collected and killed +with kerosene great winrows and mounds composed of innumerable bushels +and tons of grasshoppers.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Some people of active mind and fertile imagination suggested that if +the grasshoppers were going to eat up all our usual food, we should +learn to eat <i>them</i>! And they got chemists to figure out how much +proteids and carbohydrates and hydrocarbons and ash, etc., there was +in every little hopper's body. And there was a remarkable dinner given +in St. Louis by a famous entomologist to some prominent men of that +city, in which grasshoppers were served in several different ways: +hopper <i>sauté</i>, hopper <i>au gratin</i>, hopper <i>escalloppé</i>, hopper +<i>soufflé</i>, and so on. The decision of the guests—those who lasted +through the dinner—was that 'the dry and chippy character of the +tibiæ was a serious objection to grasshoppers as food for man.'</p> + +<p>"But you want to know the end of it Mary, don't you? Well, it was a +very simple end. Simply, indeed, that the hoppers went back! Yes, +actually, when autumn came they all—that is, all that hadn't been<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +eaten by birds and toads and lizards, or collected by farmers and +burned, or hadn't got walked on by horses and people, or hadn't got +studied to death by entomologists—flew up into the air and sailed +back to the Rocky Mountains. Or at least they started that way. I +never heard if any of them really got all the thousand of miles back. +But whereas in the summer they had all been flying southeast, in the +fall they all began flying northwest.</p> + +<p>"But some of them had laid eggs in the ground in little +cornucopia-like packets before dying or flying away. And much alarm +was caused by predictions that millions of new hoppers would come out +of the ground in the coming spring and eat all the crops while young, +even if the old ones or more like them didn't come again in the summer +and eat the mature crops. But these predictions were only partly +fulfilled. Not many hatched out in the spring, and those that did +seemed to be<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> more anxious to get back to the Rocky Mountains where +their brethren were than to eat the Kansas crops. Indeed as soon as +the young hoppers got their wings—and that takes several weeks after +they come from the egg—they began flying northwest.</p> + +<p>"So this remarkable and terrible invasion was over. And all the poor +farmers, and the bankrupt or about to be bankrupt storekeepers and +bankers and the idle lawyers and doctors and the terrified capitalists +and the hard-studying entomologists drew a long breath of relief +together."</p> + +<p>"But have the hoppers come back any time since 1876?" asks Mary.</p> + +<p>"No, that was the last invasion. There had been earlier ones, though, +one or two of them just as bad as the Centennial-year one. Indeed +Kansas was called the Grasshopper State on account of these terrible +summer invasions. There was a bad one in 1866 and another in 1874. The +invasions<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> of 1874 and 1876 cost the farmers of the Mississippi Valley +at least fifty millions of dollars in crops eaten up."</p> + +<p>"But what made them come to Kansas? Why didn't they stay in the Rocky +Mountains? It's much more beautiful and interesting there than in +Kansas, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Much, Mary. But it probably wasn't a matter of scenery with these +tourist hoppers. Much more likely a matter of food. In those days +there were no farmers with irrigated fields on the great plateaus +along the eastern base of the Rocky Mountains in Colorado and Wyoming. +Nothing much but sage-brush and not overmuch of that grew there. And +probably there simply wasn't enough food for all the hoppers. So in +seasons when there were too many hoppers or too little food—and if +there was one, there was also the other—they flew up into the air, +spread their broad wings and sailed away on the winds from the +northwest for a thousand miles to Nebraska and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> Kansas and Texas. And +that made an invasion."</p> + +<p>"But, then, why didn't they stay there, where there were corn-fields +and wheatfields and vegetables?" persisted Mary.</p> + +<p>"Mary, I can only tell you what the hard-studying entomologists +decided about this, and published along with all the other things they +found out, or thought they did, in several big volumes devoted to the +grasshoppers. They found out that the hoppers tried to go back because +they couldn't stay! That is, odd as it may seem, either the climate or +the low altitude or something else uncomfortable about Kansas and +Missouri disagrees with the Rocky-Mountain hoppers and they can't live +there permanently. They can't raise a family there successfully; at +least it doesn't last for more than one generation. They have to live +on the high plateaus of the northern Rockies, but they can get on very +well for a single summer away from<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> home. Then they must get back if +they can. And so it was that the hoppers that came to Kansas solved +the weighty problem and relieved the great anxiety of the farmers and +the whole country in general as to what was to become of the great +grain-fields of the Middle West, by going back home again.</p> + +<p>"And will they ever evade Kansas again?"</p> + +<p>"That, Mary, is not a question for a stick-to-what-is-known scientific +person like me to answer. But as ever since farms and grain-fields and +vegetable gardens have been established on the Rocky Mountain plateaus +by the farmers who keep moving west, the hoppers haven't come back to +Kansas, and as this is probably because they have enough food at home +in these Colorado and Wyoming fields, I should be very much surprised +if they ever come back to Kansas again."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but weren't you surprised that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> first time you saw them in the +Sentinel year?"</p> + +<p>"Mary, you are a quibbler. Well, then, I'll say that I don't think +they'll ever make another foreign invasion. There!"</p> + +<p>It is time for us to stroll home for luncheon. As we get up from under +the live-oak, a stumpy-bodied little grasshopper whirs away in front +of us.</p> + +<p>"To think that such a little thing could make a summer evasion one +thousand miles away from here," said Mary.</p> + +<p>"Much littler things have done much bigger things," I reply, with my +serious manner of lecturer-after-luncheon.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i023.jpg" width="300" height="173" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i024.jpg" width="400" height="237" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="A_CLEVER_LITTLE_BROWN_ANT">A CLEVER LITTLE BROWN ANT</a></h2> + +<p>We were sitting in the warm sun on the very tip-top of Bungalow Hill. +This is a gentle crest that rises three hundred and fifty feet above +the campus level, and gives one a wonderful view far up and down the +beautiful valley and across the blue bay to the lifting mountains of +the Coast Range. Square-shouldered old Mt. Diablo standing as giant +warder just inside the Golden Gate, the ocean entrance to California, +looms massive and threatening directly to our east, while to its south +stretches the long brown range with its series of peaks, Mission, Mt. +Hamilton, Isabella, and so on, way down to the twin Pachecos that +guard the pass over into the desert. In the north rises Mt. Tamalpais, +the wonderful fog mountain that looks down on the busy life<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> at its +feet of San Francisco, and its clustering child cities growing up +rapidly these days, while the mother is lying ill of her wounds by +earthquake and conflagration. To the south stretch the long orchard +leagues of the Santa Clara Valley, with the little white spots of +towns peeping out from the massed trees so jealous of every foot of +fertile ground. And to the west—ah, that is the view that Mary and I +lie hours long to look at and drink in and feel,—"our view," we call +it.</p> + +<p>We think we see things there that other people cannot. We see these +things especially well when we half-close our eyes, and describe what +we see in a sort of low, drowsy, monotone murmur. Then the fringe of +towering spiry redwoods along the crest of the mountain range that +lies between us and the great ocean and lifts its forested flanks full +two thousand feet above us, becomes a long row of giants' spears +sticking up above the battlements<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> of a mighty castle. And the +shadow-filled somber slashes and tunnel-like holes of the dropping +cañons are the great entrances and doors to this castle. At our feet +the broad shallow cañada that stretches all along the foot of the +mountains and was made ages ago by some tremendous earthquake seems, +seen through our half-closed eyes, to be full of water and to be +really a broad moat shutting off all access to the castle.</p> + +<p>The giants themselves we have never yet seen. But some day when the +light is just right, and they are stirring themselves to look out at +the world, we probably shall. Perhaps if we had been up here that day +not long ago when the last earthquake came, we should have seen the +giants looking out to see who was knocking at their gates. For it will +take an earthquake's knocking ever to be felt in the heart of that +mountain castle where the giants keep themselves.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> + +<p>The air was so clear this day that it seemed as if we could see each +individual great redwood, each red-trunked, glossy-leaved madroño, +each thicket of crooked manzanita and purpling Ceanothus, on the whole +mountain side. Straight across through the clear blue-tinged +atmosphere above the cañada to the shoulders and cañons, the forests +and clear spaces and chaparral of the mountain flanks, we look. And it +rests our eyes that are so tired of reading. It is good to be +a-stretch on sunbathed Bungalow Hill this afternoon in October. The +rains will be coming in a few weeks and then we can't be out so much. +Or at any rate we can't lie close to the warm, brown, dry earth as we +can now. But the rains will bring the fresh, green grasses and the +flowers. If they come early enough the manzanitas will have on their +little trembling pink-white lily-of-the-valley bells by Christmas-day, +and the wild currants will be all green-and-rose<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> color, with little +leaves and a myriad fragrant blossoms.</p> + +<p>But Mary has found something. She had turned over a little flattish +stone and under it was—life! Living things disturbed in their work, +their play, their laying up of riches, their care of their children; +little animate creatures revealed in all the intimacies of their +housekeeping and daily life.</p> + +<p>But they didn't lose their presence of mind, these active, knowing +little ants, when the Catastrophe came. There was work to be done at +once and wisely. First, the saving of the children; and so in the +moment that passed between Mary's overturning of the stone and our +immediate shifting into comfortable position on our stomachs, head in +hands, for watching, half of the racing workers had each a little +white parcel in its jaws and was speeding with it along the galleries +toward the underground chambers.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ants' eggs," said Mary.</p> + +<p>"No," said I. "That's a popular delusion. These little white things +are not ants' eggs, but ants' babies. They are the already hatched and +partly grown young ants, the larvæ and pupæ, which are so well looked +after by the nurse ants. For these young ants are quite helpless, like +young bees in the brood-cells in a honey-bee hive. And they have to be +fed chewed food, and as they have no legs and so can't walk, they have +to be carried from the cool dark nurseries up into the warmer lighter +chambers for air and heat every day almost, and then carried back down +again. See how gently the nurse ant holds this baby in its jaws; jaws +that are sharp and strong and that can bite fiercely and hold on +grimly in battle."</p> + +<p>And I hand Mary my little pocket-lens through which she tries to look +with both eyes at once. She could, of course, if she would keep her +blessed eyes far enough<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> away, but as she persists in holding the +glass at the tip of her nose as she has seen me do, and as she cannot +shut one eye and keep the other open, as I can, and have done now so +many years that I have wrinkles all round the shut-up eye, why, she +makes bad work of it. So she hands back the lens with a polite "thank +you," and sticks to her own keen unaided eyes. And sees more than I +do!</p> + +<p>For in the next breath she cries, with a little note of triumph in her +voice: "But some of the ant babies <i>are</i> walking. See there! And you +said they have no legs. I can see them; little stumpy blackish legs +sticking out from their soft white body! And some of the ants are +carrying these babies with legs; I can see them!"</p> + +<p>I squirm around nearer Mary. True enough there are some little white +chubby creatures walking slowly around in the narrow runways. But I +<i>know</i> they cannot be ant larvæ. For ant larvæ have no legs<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> and +simply can't walk. What are they? I get out the little pocket-lens. +And the mystery is solved. They are the "ant-cattle," the curious +little mealy-bugs that many kinds of ants bring into their nests and +take care of for the sake of getting from them a constant supply of +"honey-dew." This "honey-dew" which the mealy-bugs make and give off +from their bodies is a sweetish syrupy fluid of which almost all ants, +even those most fiercely carnivorous, are very fond. And as the +mealy-bugs and plant-lice that make the honey-dew are quite +defenceless, soft-bodied, mostly wingless and rather sedentary +insects, the bright-witted ants establish colonies, or "herds," of +them in their nests, or visit and protect colonies of them living on +plants near the ant-nest. Some kinds of ants even build earthen +"sheds," or tents, over groups of honey-dew insects on plant-stems. +The mealy-bugs are white because they cover their soft little bodies +with delicate<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> threads or flakes of glistening white wax which they +make in their bodies and pour out through tiny openings in the skin.</p> + +<p>We watch the busy, excited ants until they have carried all their +babies and cattle down into the underground nursery chambers, out of +harm's way. Then we put the stone carefully back in place, and roll +back again to where we can watch the wonderful mountains in the west. +The redwood-fringed crest stands so sharply out against the sky-line +that we really can distinguish every tree that lifts its head above +the crest, although they are several miles away from us. These great +trees, which are the giants' jagged spears, are one hundred and fifty +feet high, some of them, and as big around at the base as one of the +massive columns in the Cologne Cathedral.</p> + +<p>Finally I say, rather lazily, "Mary, shall I tell you about the +special way the clever<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> little brown ant of the Illinois corn-fields +takes care of its cattle?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, please, if it isn't too long," says Mary.</p> + +<p>Mary and I are on perfectly frank terms. We are polite, but also +inclined to be honest. And Mary is not going to be an unresisting +victim of a garrulous old professor. But Mary need not be afraid that +I sha'n't know when I am boring her. We have wireless communication, +Mary and I. That's one, probably the principal, reason why we are such +good companions. No true companionship can possibly persist without +wireless and wordless communication.</p> + +<p>"All right," I answer, "here goes, Mary. Say when!"</p> + +<p>"I forget how many millions of bushels of corn were raised in the +state of Illinois last year, but they were very many. And that means +thousands and thousands of acres of corn-fields. Now in all these +corn-fields<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> there live certain tiny soft-bodied insects called +corn-root aphids. Their food is the sap of the growing corn-plants +which they suck from the roots. Although each corn-root aphid is only +about one-twentieth of an inch long and one-twenty-fifth of an inch +wide and has a sucking-beak simply microscopic in size, yet there are +so many millions of these little insects all with their microscopic +little beaks stuck into the corn-roots and all the time drinking, +drinking the sap which is the life-blood of the corn-plants that they +do a great deal of injury to the corn-fields of Illinois and cause a +great loss in money to the farmers.</p> + +<p>"So the wise men have studied the ways and life of these little aphids +to see if some way can be devised to keep them in check. The aphids +live only two or three weeks, but each one before it dies gives birth +to about twelve young aphids. Now this is a very rapid rate of +increase. If all the young which are born live their allotted<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> two or +three weeks and produce in their turn twelve new aphids, we should +have about ten trillion descendants in a year from a single mother +aphid. Ten trillion corn-root aphids, tiny as they are, would make a +strip or belt ten feet wide and two hundred and thirty miles long!</p> + +<p>"Some other kinds of aphids multiply themselves even more rapidly. An +English naturalist has figured out that a single-stem mother of the +common aphis, or 'greenfly' of the rose, would give origin, at its +regular rate of multiplication and provided each individual born lived +out its natural life, which is only a few days at best, to over +thirty-three quintrillions of rose aphids in a single season, equal in +weight to more than a billion and a half of men. Of course such a +thing never happens, because so many of the young aphids get eaten by +lady-bird beetles and flower-fly larvæ and other enemies before they +come to be old enough to produce young.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> + +<p>"However, besides this rapid increase of the corn-root aphids, there +is something else that helps them to be so formidable a pest. And this +is that they find very good and zealous friends in the millions of +little brown ants that also live in the Illinois corn-fields. These +swift, strong, brave little ants make their runways and nests all +through the corn-fields, and are very devoted helpers of the +soft-bodied helpless aphids. For the aphids pay for this help by +acting as 'cattle' for the ants.</p> + +<p>"This is what Professor Forbes, a very careful and a very honest +naturalist, found out about the ants and the aphids. The eggs of the +aphids, hosts of shining black, round, little seed-like eggs, are laid +late in the autumn. These eggs are gathered by the ants and heaped up +in piles in the galleries of their nests, or sometimes in special +chambers made by widening the runways here and there. All through the +winter these eggs are cared for by the ants,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> being carried down into +the deeper and warmer chambers in the coldest weather, and brought up +nearer the surface when it is warm. When the sunny days of spring +begin to come, the eggs are even brought up above ground and scattered +about in the sunshine, then carried down again at night. The little +ants may be seen sometimes turning the eggs over and over and +carefully licking them as if to clean them of dust-particles.</p> + +<p>"In the late spring the aphid eggs hatch, and the young must have sap +to drink right away. Their little beaks are thirsty for the +plant-juices that are their only food. But there are no tender +corn-roots ready for them in the fields because the corn has not yet +been planted. What, then, shall the hungering baby aphids and their +foster-mothers, the little brown ants, do?</p> + +<p>"This is what happens. Although it is too early yet for the corn to be +growing, there are various kinds of weeds that begin<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> to sprout with +the coming on of spring, and two of these, especially, the smart-weed +and the pigeon-grass, abundant and wide-spread in all the Mississippi +Valley, are sure to be growing in the fields. While the aphids much +prefer corn-roots to live on, they will get along very well on the +roots of smart-weed or pigeon-grass. So the clever little brown ants +put the almost helpless baby aphids on the tender roots of these +weeds, and there their tiny beaks begin to be satisfied. Don't you +call that clever, Mary?"</p> + +<p>"Clever! Gracious!" says Mary. "Do you know Professor Forbes? Is he +really—does he always tell the—"</p> + +<p>I interrupt. I am sensitive about such questions. I answer rather +sharply. "Yes, I <i>do</i> know him; and yes, he always tells the truth. +Don't interrupt any more, please, for there is still more of the +story." Mary is silent.</p> + +<p>"Well, the aphids stay on the smart-weed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> roots until the corn is +planted, which is in about ten days, and the kernels begin to +germinate and to send down the tender juice-filled roots. And then the +little brown ants take the aphids, now getting larger and stronger, of +course, but still too helpless or stupid to do much for themselves +except to suck sap, and carry them from the smart-weed roots to the +corn-roots—What's that, Mary?"</p> + +<p>But Mary had said nothing; just drawn in her breath with a little +sound. Still I think it best to remind her that I <i>do</i> know Professor +Forbes and that he really <i>does</i> always tell the truth. In fact, I +quote to Mary this honest professor's exact words about this transfer +of the aphids from the weed-roots to the corn-roots. This is what he +writes in his intensely interesting account of the whole life of these +little insects: "In many cases in the field, we have found the young +root aphis on sprouting weeds (especially pigeon-grass) which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> have +been sought out by the ants before the leaves had shown above the +ground; and, similarly, when the field is planted to corn, these +ardent explorers will frequently discover the sprouting kernel in the +earth, and mine along the starting stem and place the plant aphids +upon it."</p> + +<p>"And the little brown ants do all this so as to get honey-dew from the +aphids?" asks Mary.</p> + +<p>"Exactly," I reply. "The ants take such good care of the aphids not +because they pity their helplessness or just want to be good, but +because they know, by some instinct or reason, that these are the +insects that, when they grow up, make honey-dew, which is the kind of +food that ants seem to like better than any other. Indeed not only the +little brown ants alone take care of the corn-root aphids to get +honey-dew, but at least six other kinds of ants that live in the +Illinois corn-fields do it. But the little brown ants are the most<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +abundant and seem to give the aphids the best care."</p> + +<p>"It is exactly like keeping cows, isn't it," says Mary. "But they +don't have to milk them."</p> + +<p>"Well," I reply, "I don't know what you would call it, but some other +ants that take care of some other kinds of honey-dew insects seem to +have to carry on a sort of milking performance to make them pour out +their sweet liquid. The ants have to pat or rub them with their hairy +little feelers; sort of tickle them to get them to squeeze out a +little drop of honey-dew. The truth is, Mary, if I should tell you the +really amazing things that ants do, you simply wouldn't believe me at +all. But the next time we go out, I'll take you to see for yourself an +ant community right on the campus that does some remarkable things. +I'd much rather have you see the things yourself than tell you about +them."</p> + +<p>"I'd rather, too," says Mary, which isn't<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> exactly the nicest thing +she could say, but I know what she means. It's that seeing is better +than being told by anybody.</p> + +<p>And then the up-and-down "ding, dang, dong, ding," of the clock-bells +begins its little song in four verses that means the end of an hour. +And then come the six slow deep calls of the biggest bell that tell +what hour it is. It is the hour for us to go home.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i025.jpg" width="250" height="204" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i026.jpg" width="400" height="240" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="AN_HOUR_OF_LIVING_OR_THE_DANCE_OF_DEATH">AN HOUR OF LIVING; OR, THE DANCE OF DEATH</a></h2> + +<p>"But why didn't he go back if he liked France so much better; and if +he had plenty of money?" asked Mary.</p> + +<p>"Ah, well, even having plenty of money doesn't always make it possible +to do just what we prefer," I say. "The truth is,—if it is the truth, +and not just malicious gossip,—it was exactly because he had plenty +of money that he couldn't go back. He is supposed to have got that +money in some wrong way. Anyway, he didn't seem to care to go back to +<i>la belle France</i>, but preferred to live solitarily here, and to plant +lines of trees and lay out little lakes and build rockwork towers and +make terraces and driveways and paths, all in very formal lines, as in +the parks at Versailles<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> and St. Cloud, which were the playgrounds of +French kings and the pride of all France."</p> + +<p>Mary and I were seated on a curious little cement-and-stone imitation +tower-ruin that stuck up out of Frenchman's Pond, which is near the +campus, and is a good place for seeing things and getting away from +the classroom bells. A long row of scraggly Lombardy poplars stretches +away from the pond along an old terraced roadway with a cave opening +on it. Around two sides of the little lake is a rockwork wall, and +across one end, where the pond narrows, is a picturesque stone bridge +of single span. Everything is neglected, and altogether Frenchman's +Pond and its surroundings are a good imitation of something old and +foreign in this glaringly new and extremely Californian bit of the +world. It is a favorite place for us to come when I want to tell Mary +stories of the castles on the Rhine. We get a proper atmosphere.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was so sunny and warm this morning that we had given up chatting +and were simply sitting or sprawling as comfortably as we could on the +irregular top of our <i>Aussichtsthurm</i>. A few flying dragons, some in +bronze-red mail, some in greenish blue, were wheeling about over the +pond, and a meadow-lark kept up a most cheerful singing in the pasture +nearby. It was really just the sort of day and place and feeling that +Mary and I like best. We knew we ought, as persevering Nature +students, to get down and poke around in the weeds and ooze of the +edges of the pond so as to see things. But we didn't want to do it, +and so we didn't. That is one perfectly beautiful thing about the way +Mary and I study Nature. We don't when we don't want to.</p> + +<p>But if we didn't climb down to the live things this day at Frenchman's +Pond, they came up to us. One of the flying dragons actually swooped +so close to our heads that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> we could hear its shining brittle wings +crackle, and only a few minutes after, a curious delicate little +creature with four gauzy wings, a pair of projecting eyes with a fixed +stare, and three long hair-like tails on its body, lit on Mary's hand +and walked slowly and rather totteringly up her bare wrist and fore +arm. Then without any fluttering or struggling, it slowly fell over on +one side and lay quite still. It was dead!</p> + +<p>This rather took our breath away. We are only too well accustomed, +unfortunately, to seeing death come to our little companions; they do +not live long, at best, and then so many of them get killed and eaten. +But they usually make some protest when Death approaches. They do not +surrender their brief joy of living in such utterly unresisting way as +this little creature did. But when I had got my spectacles properly +adjusted, I saw what it was that had died so quietly and suddenly.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> +The little gauzy-winged creature was a May-fly, or ephemera, and life +with the May-flies is such a truly ephemeral thing, and death comes +regularly so soon and so swiftly, and without any apparent illness or +injury intervening between health and dissolution, that we naturalists +have ceased to wonder at it. Although this is not because we +understand it at all. Far from it. Indeed the death of any creature, +except from obvious accident or wasting illness, is one of the +mysteries of life. Which sounds rather Irish, but is just what I mean.</p> + +<p>But Mary was looking thoughtfully at this dead little May-fly in her +hand. It was so soft and delicate of body, had such frail and filmy +wings, that it seemed that it must have been very ill-fitted to cope +with the hard conditions of insect living, to escape the numerous +insect-feeding creatures and to find food and shelter for itself, to +be successful, in a word, in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> "struggle for existence"! And in a +way, this is quite true. But, in another way, it is not true. For the +May-flies, in their flying stage, make up for their frailness and +feebleness, their inability to feed—they have really no mouth-parts +and do not eat at all in their few hours or days of flying life—by +existing in enormous numbers, and millions may be killed, or may die +from very feebleness, and yet there are enough left to lay the eggs +necessary for a new generation, and that is success in life for them. +Nothing else is necessary; their whole aim and achievement in life +seems to be to lay eggs and start a new generation of May-flies.</p> + +<p>I settled back into a still more comfortable position and said: "Did I +ever tell you, Mary, of the May-flies' dance of death I saw in Lucerne +once, not far from the old bridge across the Reuss with its famous +pictures of our own dance of death? Well, then, we'll just about have +time before the <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>tower-clock calls us home. Do you want to hear +about it?"</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i027.jpg" width="400" height="593" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Yes, please," said Mary.</p> + +<p>"Well, I had been studying in a great university in an old German town +all the spring and early summer and had come to Switzerland for my +vacation. You know there are splendid mountains there—"</p> + +<p>"The Alps," interrupted Mary. "The highest is Mt. Blanc, 15,730 feet +above the sea."</p> + +<p>How Mary does know her geography!</p> + +<p>"And beautiful lakes," I continue. "And the roads are good for +tramping, and the hotels cheap. Anyway, the ones the students go to. I +had come to Lucerne from Zurich—"</p> + +<p>"Noted for its silks and university where women can go," Mary broke in +again.</p> + +<p>Bless me, what's the use of going to Europe anyway, if you learn +everything about everywhere in the grades?</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And had gone straight to the <i>Mühlenbrücke</i>," I go on,—"that's the +old bridge all covered with a roof that crosses the Reuss only a few +rods from where it flows out of the lake; the lake of Lucerne, you +know."</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Mary.</p> + +<p>"For it is on the ceiling of that bridge," I persist, "that these +curious old Dance of Death pictures are painted, and I had heard a +great deal about them. They show how everybody is dancing through life +to his grave. Not very pleasant pictures, Mary."</p> + +<p>"Very unpleasant, I should think," says Mary, positively. "I hope you +didn't look at them long."</p> + +<p>"No, because, for one reason, it was getting too dark to see them. The +sun had set behind the Gutsch—that's a pretty hill just west of +Lucerne—and the electric lights were already flashing along the +lake-shore promenade. You know what a wonderfully<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> beautiful lake +Lucerne is, of course, Mary?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; it is unsurpassed in Switzerland, perhaps in Europe, for +magnificence of scenery," replies Mary, in level voice.</p> + +<p>I resolve to cut geographic information out of any further stories I +tell Mary. Do they commit Baedeker to memory nowadays in the schools?</p> + +<p>"Exactly," I manage to reply without betraying too much astonishment +at this revelation of the American educational method.</p> + +<p>"Well, along the shore of this unsurpassed lake at the town of Lucerne +there is a broad promenade with trees and benches and electric lights. +Behind it are the big hotels all in a curving row, and after dinner +all the people come out and stroll about while the band plays. It is a +fine sight."</p> + +<p>Mary seemed to be getting a little less than interested. She squirmed +into a new<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> position on the rough rockwork and then, looking out over +the little pond with its hawking dragons whizzing back and forth, she +asked: "What about the May-flies, please?"</p> + +<p>I really believe she knew all about the hotels and promenade and the +band. What wonderful schools!</p> + +<p>"I was coming—I have just come to them," I reply with dignity.</p> + +<p>I am a professor and have a certain stock supply of dignity to draw on +when necessary. It isn't often necessary with Mary.</p> + +<p>"Well, as I came from the covered <i>Mühlenbrücke</i> and out on to the +lake-shore promenade, I saw a little crowd of people gathered under +and about a brilliant arclight hanging in an open place in front of +the great Schweizerhof Hotel. The light seemed to me curiously hazy, +and even before I got near the crowd I had made a guess at what was +going on. My guess<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> that it was a May-fly dance of death was quite +right. Perhaps it would really be better to call it a 'dance of life,' +for it really was sort of a great wedding dance. But it was a dance of +death, too, for the dancers were falling dead or dying out of the +dizzying whirly circles by thousands. How many hundreds or thousands +or millions of May-flies there were in the dense circling cloud about +the light, I have no idea. But the air for twenty feet every way from +the light was full of them, and the ground for a circle of thirty or +forty feet underneath was not merely covered with the delicate dead +creatures, but was covered for from one to two inches deep!</p> + +<p>"The crowd of promenaders looked on in gaping wonder. Not one seemed +to know what kind of creature this was, nor of course anything about +what was really going on; that this was all of the few hours of +feverish life which these May-flies enjoyed in their winged state, and +that they<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> gave it all up to the business of mating and egg-laying; +where they came from, how they had lived before, why they should be +here to-night and no other in the whole year, all these things which +it seems to me the onlookers ought to have wanted to know, nobody +seemed to know, nor anybody seemed particularly to care to.</p> + +<p>"But there are places in the world where the people do want to know +these things, and a great many more, about the May-flies. One such +place is the Thousand Islands in the St. Lawrence River. One day I was +sailing down this river among the Thousand Islands, and the +acquaintanceship of a small and unusually delicate kind of May-fly was +forced on me by the hundreds of them that persisted in alighting on my +clothes, my hat, and my hair. They kept walking unsteadily about over +my face and hands and the open pages of the book I was trying to read. +And they<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> kept dying, dying, all around. One would light on the outer +edge of the page, and before it had walked across to the beginning of +a sentence, it would die and its body would slide gently down into the +back of the book and—be a bookmarker!"</p> + +<p>"That's not a very nice way to talk about the poor little dead +May-flies," said Mary, rather seriously.</p> + +<p>"It isn't, Mary, I know," said I. "But we've got to relieve the gloom +of this tale someway, don't you think? There is too much wholesale +death in it to suit my publisher! And so I am trying to introduce a +little jocularity into it, don't you see, Mary?"</p> + +<p>"People are not supposed to be very funny at funerals," said Mary, +severely. "Where did the little Thousand Islands May-flies come from, +and why do the people there want to know about them?"</p> + +<p>"Because there are so many May-flies<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> that they are a great pest. Not +by eating crops—for there aren't any, I suppose, and the May-flies +don't eat anything anyway—nor by carrying malaria, but just by living +and dying all over; everywhere in one's summer cottage, down on the +river-bank where you are watching the sunset, under the trees when you +are lying in your hammock and trying to read, in your rowboat when you +are paddling about to visit your neighbors on other islands. To be +walked on and died on by hundreds and hundreds of little flies, and +all the time, grows to be very uncomfortable. So the May-flies or +river-flies or lake-flies as they are variously called are cordially +hated by all the Thousand-Islanders and the St. Lawrence-Riverers. And +the people want to know about where they come from, and how they live, +and all about them, indeed, so as to try to find some way to be rid of +them."</p> + +<p>"And do you know where they come<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> from, and how they live, and all +about them," asks Mary, with a slightly roguish manner, I fear.</p> + +<p>"Well, I know something. In the first place, after the dance of death, +the few that don't die fly out over the lake or river or pond and drop +a lot of little eggs into it. Then they die happy—if May-flies can be +happy. Mind you, I don't say they can. We are the only animals that we +know can be happy. And we mostly aren't. From the eggs hatch young +May-flies without wings or long thread-like tails, but just little, +flat, under-water creatures with gills along the sides so they can +breathe without coming up to the surface. Some kinds burrow into the +mud at the bottom, some kinds make little tubes or cases in which to +live, while others stay mostly on the under side of stones. They eat +little water-plants or broken-up stuff they find in the water, +although some eat other little live animals, even other young<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +May-flies. And many of them get eaten themselves. They are favorite +food of the under-water dragons. You remember, don't you, Mary, how +our dragons of Lagunita would snap up the young May-flies in Monday +Pond?</p> + +<p>"Well, these young May-flies—the ones that don't get eaten by +dragons, stone-flies, water-tigers, and other May-flies—grow larger +slowly, and wing-pads begin to grow on their backs. In a year, maybe, +or two years for some kinds, they are ready for their great change. +And this comes very suddenly. Some late afternoon or early evening +thousands of young May-flies of the same kind, living in the same lake +or river, swim up to the surface of the water, and, after resting +there a few moments, suddenly split their skin along the back of the +head and perhaps a little way farther along the back, and like a flash +squirm out of this old skin, spread out their gauzy wings and fly +away. They<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> do this so quickly that your eye can hardly follow the +performance."</p> + +<p>"And then they all fly to the light and begin their dance of death," +breaks in Mary.</p> + +<p>"No, wait; they are not yet quite ready for that. First, they do a +very unusual thing; something that no other kinds of insects have ever +been seen to do. This is it: They fly away to a plant or bush or tree +at the water's edge, and there they cling for a little while and then +cast their skin again."</p> + +<p>"The new skin they have just got, with the wings and everything?" asks +Mary.</p> + +<p>"Exactly; the new skin. It comes off of the wings, off of the long +tails and the short feelers, and all the rest of the body. No other +kind of insect but the May-fly casts its skin once its wings are +outspread. But now the May-fly is ready for its dizzy dance. And as it +has only a few hours to do it in, it usually starts as soon as there<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +are any lights to dance about. Think of it, to come up from under the +water, get your wings and be a real May-fly, not just a crawling thing +on the bottom of a pond, and have only one evening to live in! +Probably to dance the whole evening through is about the best thing to +do under such circumstances."</p> + +<p>"Don't any of the poor May-flies live for more than one evening?" asks +Mary. "It does seem a shame to put in so long a time, one year, two +years for some, getting ready to fly and then have only one evening or +night for flying."</p> + +<p>"Well, yes, some do, Mary. That is, there are many different kinds of +May-flies; some large ones, some small ones, some kinds with four +wings, some kinds with only two, and the length of the flying time is +not the same for all these kinds. Some live a day, some two, some +perhaps even three or four. But there are several kinds whose flying +life is just a few<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> hours; they are born, that is, as flying +creatures, after sundown and they die before the next sunrise. The +first kind of May-fly whose life was ever carefully studied—this was +nearly two hundred and fifty years ago, by a famous naturalist of +Holland—lives only five hours after it comes from the water. But +remember what a fine long time they have being young! If we could be +young—but there, that's foolish. Mary, the chimes in the tower-clock +are sounding. Listen!"</p> + +<p>And we sit perfectly still and hear the beautiful Haydn changes on the +four bells, and then count twelve clear strokes of the big clock-bell +that come all the way from the Quadrangle to us, softened and mellowed +by the distance. We must go home to luncheon. And after luncheon I +must go and lecture—Ugh! How sad!—sad for the students and sad for +me. But that's the way we do it, and until we find the real way, we +must all continue to suffer together.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Come, Mary, we're off. How would you like to be a May-fly?"</p> + +<p>"And have only one day to live when I'm all grown up?"</p> + +<p>"You might be saved some troubles, Mary."</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i028.jpg" width="300" height="318" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i029.jpg" width="400" height="244" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="IN_FUZZYS_GLASS_HOUSE">IN FUZZY'S GLASS HOUSE</a></h2> + +<p>Fuzzy was distinguished from most of her brothers and sisters, when we +first became acquainted with her, by the fine head of hair which she +had. It has been several weeks now since we first saw her, and there +are bald places already—so strenuous has been her life. To be sure +that we should be able to recognize her even after she became worn and +bald, like the others, we dabbed a spot of white paint on her back +between the shoulders, and although old age and its attendant ills, +including the loss of much of her hair, have come on rapidly, the +white spot is still there, and we know Fuzzy whenever we see her.</p> + +<p>We were watching what was going on in Fuzzy's glass house at the very +time that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> Fuzzy first came out of her six-sided little private +nursery room. In this she had spent all of her three weeks of getting +hatched from an egg—we had seen her own very egg laid by the queen +mother!—then of living as a helpless baby bee without wings or feet +or eyes or feelers, and having to be fed bee-jelly and bee-bread by +the nurses, and then as a slowly maturing young bee with legs and +wings and eyes and feelers all forming and growing. Part of this time +she had been shut up in her room by having the door sealed with wax, +and she had had no food at all. But she had been fed enough at first +to last her through the days when she had no food.</p> + +<p>It was the twentieth or twenty-first day since she had been born, that +is, had hatched from the little, long, white, seed-like egg that the +queen bee had laid in this six-sided waxen room or cell. And Fuzzy was +all ready to come out into the world. +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +So she tried her strong new +trowel-like jaws on the thin waxen door of her room, and found no +trouble at all in biting a hole through it large enough to let her +wriggle out. Which she did right under our very eyes.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i030.jpg" width="400" height="569" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p>Indeed we had planned Fuzzy's glass house and had had it built in the +way you see it in Sekko's picture just so we could see plainly and +certainly what goes on in the house of a bee family. Everybody has +watched bees outside gather pollen and drink nectar and hang in great +swarms, and do the various other things they do in their outdoor life. +But not everybody has seen what goes on indoors. Many people have seen +the inside of a hive every now and then. But it is always when the +bees are greatly excited and often when the people are too. And so +besides seeing that the honey and pollen are in such and such combs +and cells and the young bees in others, some of them in open and some +<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +in closed cells, and perhaps a few other things, one doesn't learn +much by peering into a hive through a mass of smoke-dazed bees while +dodging a few extra-lively and energetic ones!</p> + +<p>Mary and I had watched bees outside and we had looked into lots of +hives and, of course, had learned a little about indoor bee ways. But +ever since we got Fuzzy's glass-sided house built and a community of +pretty amber-bodied gentle Italians living in it, we have never got +over being sorry for ourselves in the old days and sorry for other +people all the time. For it is so easy and sure, so vastly +entertaining and utterly fascinating to sit quietly and comfortably in +chairs (one of us on each side) for hours together and see all the +many things that go on in the bee's house. The bees are not disturbed +in the slightest by our having the black cloth jacket off of the hive +and by the light shining in through the great window-like sides<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> of +the house, nor by Mary's bright eyes and my round spectacles staring +ever so hard at them.</p> + +<p>We have seen the queen lay her eggs, the little bees hatch out, the +nurse bees feed them, the foragers come in and dance their whirling +dervish dance and unload their baskets of pollen and sacs of honey, +the wax-makers hang in heavy festoons and make wax, the carrying bees +carry the wax to the comb-builders, and the comb-builders build comb +of it, the house-cleaners and the ventilators clean house and +ventilate, and the guards stopping intruders at the door. We have +heard the piping of the new queens in their big thimble-like cells, +and seen them come out, and the terrible excitement and sometimes +awful tragedy that follows; we have seen the wild ecstasy that comes +before swarming out, and the swarming itself begin in the house; we +have looked in at night and found some of the bees resting, but others +working, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> always some on guard; we have seen the lazy drones loaf +all the morning and then swing out on their midday flight and come +back and fall to drinking honey again; we have seen a great battle +when our gentle Italians fought like demons and repulsed a fierce +attack of foraging black Germans, and again a nomad band of +yellow-jackets; and we have seen the provident workers kill the drones +and even drag young worker bees from their cells when the first cold +weather comes on. We have seen, in truth, a very great deal of all the +wonderful life that these wise and versatile little creatures live in +their nearly perfect cooperative community. But above all we have +followed with special interest and affectionate pride the education +and experiences of Fuzzy, our most particular friend in all the +thousands of our gentle Italian family.</p> + +<p>Fuzzy must have been very glad to get out finally from her tight, +dark, little cell<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> and into the airy, light hive, with all of her +sisters and brothers moving around so lively and busily. And she must +have been especially delighted when she went to the open door of the +house for a peek out—for she wasn't allowed really to go outdoors for +exactly eight days—and saw the beautiful arcades of the outer +Quadrangle underneath her and the red-tiled roof on a level with her, +and then the great eucalyptus trees and the beautiful live-oaks in the +field beyond, and far off on the horizon the crest of the distant +mountains, with the giant redwoods standing up against the sky-line. +You have a glimpse in Sekko's picture of all this that Fuzzy saw that +day. That is, if she could see so much. I am afraid she couldn't.</p> + +<p>"But what are those other bees doing to her," cried Mary in some +alarm, as two or three workers crowded around Fuzzy just as she came +from her cell. "Are they trying to bite her?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not the least in the world," I hasten to answer reassuringly. "Just +look sharp and you will see." And Mary did look sharp and did see. And +she clapped her hands with glee. "Why, they are licking her with their +long tongues; cleaning her, just as a cat does her little kittens," +sang Mary. Which was exactly so. For a bee just out from its nursery +cell is a very mussed-up looking, and, I expect, rather dirty little +creature. And it needs cleaning.</p> + +<p>It was soon after Fuzzy had got cleaned and had her hair brushed and +had begun to wander around in an aimless way in the glass-sided house +that we got hold of her and dabbed the spot of white paint on her +back. We did it this way. She had walked up to just under the roof of +the house near where you see (in Sekko's picture) one of the +cork-stoppers sticking up like a little chimney-pot. These corks stop +up two round holes in the roof which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> we had made for the express +purpose of putting things,—other insects, say,—into the hive to see +what the bees would do with them, and also to take out a bee when we +wanted to experiment with it. When Fuzzy got up just under one of the +holes, we took the cork-stopper out gently and thus let her come +walking slowly up and out on top of the roof. Then we caught and held +her very gently with a pair of flat-bladed tweezers, and put the white +paint on. Then we dropped her back through the hole and put the cork +in its hole.</p> + +<p>We watched Fuzzy for a long time after she came out of her cell that +day, and although she walked about a great deal, she only once +ventured near the real door or entrance-slit of the hive through which +the foraging bees were constantly coming and going. And next day we +watched many hours and looked often between regular watching times, +always finding<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> Fuzzy in the house. And so for eight days. And then +she made her first excursion outside.</p> + +<p>It was interesting to watch her on this eighth day. She would fly a +little way out, then turn around and come in. Then she would fly out +farther, turn around, hover a little in front of the window, and +finally come in again. A lot of other young bees were doing the same +thing. They seemed to be getting acquainted with things around the +door of the house so they would know how to find it when they came +back from a long trip. On the ninth day Fuzzy brought in her first +loads of pollen, two great masses of dull rose-red pollen held +securely in the pollen-baskets on her hind legs. And after that she +brought many other loads of pollen and later sacs of honey.</p> + +<p>But you must not imagine that Fuzzy was idle during all those eight +days before she went outside of the glass house. Not<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> a bit of it. No +bees are idle. But yes, the drones. Big, blunt-bodied, hairy, +blundersome creatures that move slowly about over the combs. Not over +the nursery combs where there is work to be done, feeding and caring +for the young bees. Dear me, no. But over the pantry combs. They keep +close to the honey-pots and bread-jars. But even they have their work. +Each day from spring into late summer they all, or nearly all, fly out +about eleven o'clock and circle and traverse the air for long +distances in search of queens. Then in the early afternoon they come +back and fall to sipping honey again.</p> + +<p>However, to return to Fuzzy and her work in those first eight days +spent all inside the house. One day Mary saw Fuzzy stretching her head +down into one open cell after another in the brood-comb. At the bottom +of each of these cells was a little white grub; a very young bee, of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> +course, only one or two or three or four days out from the egg. +Several days before (it takes only three days for a bee's egg to +hatch) we had seen the beautiful long slender-bodied queen moving +slowly about over these cells, with her little circle of attendants +all moving with her with their heads always facing toward her. She +would thrust her long hind body down into one of these empty cells and +stand there quietly for two or three minutes. Then draw her body out +and go on to another. And in the cell she had just left we could see +plainly a tiny seed-like white speck stuck to the bottom of the cell. +It was an egg of course. That is nearly all the queen does; she simply +goes about all through the spring and summer laying eggs, one at a +time, in the nursery or brood-cells. There is one other thing she +does, or really several things, at the time of the appearance or the +birth of a new queen. But that will come later.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p> + +<p>We do seem to have trouble keeping to Fuzzy and her life, don't we? +Well, when Mary saw Fuzzy sticking her head down into the cells with +the bee-grubs in, she knew at once what Fuzzy was doing. For it was +plain that the young bees had to have something to eat and it was +plain, too, that they couldn't get it for themselves, for they have no +legs, and can't even crawl out of their cells. Fuzzy was feeding them. +She would drink a lot of honey from a honey-cell, and eat a lot of +pollen from a pollen-filled cell, and then make in her mouth or front +stomach (for bees have two stomachs, one in front of the other), or in +certain glands in her head (it doesn't seem to be exactly known +which), a very rich sort of food called bee-jelly. Then she sticks the +tip of her long tongue into the mouth of the helpless, soft-bodied +little white bee-grub and pours the food into it. After the bee-grub +is two or three days old, the nurse bees<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>—and that is what Fuzzy +could be called now—feed the babies some honey and pollen in addition +to this made-up bee-jelly, unless the baby is to be a queen bee, and +then it gets only the rich bee-jelly all the time.</p> + +<p>Mary thought Fuzzy should have a neat cap and white apron on and drew +a clever little picture of Fuzzy as a nurse. But we are being very +careful in this book not to fool anybody, and if we should print the +picture Mary drew, some people would be stupid enough to think that we +meant them to believe that the nurse bees wear uniforms! We say right +now that they don't, and that you can't tell them from the other bees +except that most of them are the younger or newly issued bees and +hence haven't lost any of their hair, and so look "fuzzier" than the +other bees in the hive. For just as with Fuzzy, so with the other +younger bees; they stay in the hive for a week or more and act as +nurses.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> + +<p>When they once are allowed to go out, and begin bringing in pollen and +honey, however, then the new bees are ready to do any of the many +other things that have to be done inside the hive. One day Mary saw +Fuzzy standing quite still on the floor of the house, with her head +pointed away from the door and held rather low, while her body was +tilted up at an angle. She just stood there immovable and apparently +doing nothing at all. Suddenly Mary called out: "Why, what has +happened to Fuzzy? Her wings are gone!" I hurried to look. And it did +seem, for a minute, as if Mary were right. Which would have been a +most surprising and also a most terrible thing. But my eyes seemed to +see a sort of blur or haze just over Fuzzy's back, and I bade Mary +look close at this blur with her sharp eyes. And Mary solved the +mystery.</p> + +<p>"She is fanning her wings so fast that you can't see them," cried +Mary. "And<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> here is another bee about two inches in front of Fuzzy +doing the same thing; and another," called out Mary, who was greatly +excited. And it rather did seem as if these bees had gone crazy, or +were having a very strange game, or something. Until I made Mary +remember what would happen to us if not just three or four or five or +six of us, but many thousand—indeed in Fuzzy's house there are more +than ten thousand—were shut up in one house with but a single small +opening to let fresh air in and bad air out. For bees breathe just as +we do, that is, take fresh air into their bodies and give out +poisonous air. And then Mary understood. Fuzzy and the other bees +fanning their wings so fast and steadily were ventilating the house! +They were making air-currents that would carry the poisonous air, +laden with carbonic-acid gas, out of the door, and then fresh air +would come in to replace it.</p> + +<p>And another time Fuzzy kept Mary<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> guessing a little while about what +she was doing. We had looked all through the crowds of nurses and +wax-makers and comb-builders and house-cleaners without finding Fuzzy. +And we decided she was out on a foraging trip, when Mary caught sight +of our white-spotted chum loafing about in the little glass-covered +runway that leads from the outer opening into the house proper, a sort +of little glass-roofed entry we have arranged so that we can see the +foragers as they alight and come in, and the various other things that +go on by the door. Fuzzy seemed to be loafing, but both Mary and I +have seen so much of the feverish activity and the constant work of +bees in the hive, and out of it for that matter, that we never expect +to find a worker honey-bee really loafing. They literally work +themselves to death, dying sometimes at the very door of the hive, +with the heavy baskets of pollen on their thighs, the gathering and +carrying of which has<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> been the killing of them. Only the bees that +over-winter in the hive must have some spare moments on their hands. +And here in California even these are few, for a certain amount of +foraging goes on practically all the year round.</p> + +<p>But Fuzzy did seem to be loafing there in the entry. Until Mary's +sharp eyes discovered her important business. She was one of the +warders at the gate, a guard or sentinel told off, with one or two +others, to test each arrival at the entrance. As a forager would +alight and start to walk in through the entry, Fuzzy would trot up to +it and feel it with her sensitive antennæ. If the newcomer were a +member of the community, all right; it was passed in. But if not,—if +it were one of the vicious black Germans from the other observation +hive that stands close by, opening out of the same window +indeed,—there would be an instant alarm and a quick attack. Two or +three Italians would pounce on the intruder,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> who would either hurry +away or, if bold enough to fight, would get stung to death and pitched +unceremoniously out of the entry. Or if it were a stray yellow-jacket +attracted by the alluring odor of honey from the hive, one of the same +things would happen. One day not a single German came, but an army, a +guerrilla band intent on pillage and murder. And then there was a +grand battle—but we must wait a minute for that.</p> + +<p>There were also other enemies of Fuzzy's glass house besides German +bees and yellow wasps. There is a delicate little moth, bee-moth it is +called, that slips into the hive at night all noiselessly and without +betraying its presence to any of the bees if it can help it. And it +lays, very quickly indeed, a lot of tiny round eggs in a crack +somewhere. It doesn't seem to try to get out. At any rate it rarely +does get out. For it almost always gets found out and stung to death +and pulled and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> torn into small pieces by the enraged bees, who seem +to go almost frantic whenever they discover one of these +innocent-seeming little gray-and-brown moths in the house. And well +they may, for death and destruction of the community follow in the +train of the bee-moth. From the eggs hatch little sixteen-footed grubs +that keep well hidden in the cracks, only venturing out to feed on the +wax of the comb nearest them. As they grow they need more and more +wax, but they protect themselves while getting it by spinning a silken +web which prevents the bees from getting at them. Wherever they go +they spin silken lines and little webs until, if several bee-moths +have managed to lay their eggs in the hive and several hundred of +their voracious wax-eating grubs are spinning tough silken lines and +webs through all the corridors and rooms of the bees' house, the +household duties get so difficult to carry on that the bee community +begins<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> to dwindle; the unfed young die in their cells, the indoor +workers starve, and the breakdown of the whole hive occurs. Such a +thing happened in this very glass house of Fuzzy's a year before we +got acquainted with Fuzzy herself. And we had to get a new family of +bees to come and live in the house after we had cleaned out and washed +and sterilized all the cracks and corners so that no live eggs of the +terrible bee-moth remained.</p> + +<p>Some days we found Fuzzy at work with several companions on more +prosaic and commonplace things about the house; chores they might be +called. She had to help clean house occasionally. For the bees are +extremely cleanly housekeepers, with a keen eye for all fallen bits of +wax, or bodies of dead bees, or any kind of dirt that might come from +the housekeeping of so large a family. Every day the hive is +thoroughly cleaned. If there comes a day when it is not, that is a bad +sign. There<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> is something wrong with the bee community. They haven't +enough food, or they are getting sick, or something else irregular and +distressing is happening.</p> + +<p>Also the house has to be "calked" occasionally to keep out draughts +and more particularly creeping enemies of the hive, like bee-moths and +bee-lice. The cracks are pasted over with propolis, which is made from +resin or gum brought in from certain trees. If something gets into the +hive that can't be carried out, then the bees cover it up with +propolis. If they find a bee-moth grub in a crack where they can't get +to it to sting it to death, they wall it up, a living prisoner, with +propolis. Once our bees kept coming in with a curious new kind of +propolis; a greenish oily-looking stuff that stuck to their legs and +got on their faces and bodies and wouldn't clean off. We discovered +that they were trying to unpaint a near-by house as fast as it was +being freshly painted!</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p> + +<p>Fuzzy took her turn at all these odd jobs, and though she was +beginning to show here and there a few places where her luxuriant hair +was rubbed off a little, she was still as lively and willing and +industrious as ever. Every day we liked her more and more and wished, +how many times, that we could talk with her and tell her how much we +liked her, and have her tell us how she enjoyed life in the glass +house. But we could only watch her and keep acquainted with all her +manifold duties and hope that nothing would happen to her on her long +foraging trips for pollen and nectar and propolis. Whenever Mary and I +came to the glass house and couldn't find Fuzzy, we were in a sort of +fever of excitement and apprehension until she came in with her great +loads of white or yellow or red pollen and went to shaking and dancing +and whirling about in the extraordinary way that she and her mates +have while hunting for a suitable<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> pantry cell in which to unload her +pollen-baskets. Sometimes she would walk and dance and whirl over +almost all of the pollen-cells in the house before she would finally +decide on one. Then she would stand over it and pry with the strong +sharp spines on her middle legs at the solidly packed pollen loads on +her hind legs, trying to loosen them so they would fall into the cell. +Sometimes she simply couldn't get the pollen loads loose, and then a +companion would help her. And after they were loosened and had fallen +into the cell, she or a companion would ram her head down into the +cell and pack and tamp the soft sticky pollen loads down into one even +mass. And then how industriously she would clean herself, drawing her +antennæ through the neat little antennæ combs on her front legs, and +licking herself with her long flexible tongue, or getting licked by +her mates all over.</p> + +<p>Perhaps as she was washing herself after<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> a hard foraging trip, the +stately and graceful queen of the house would come walking slowly by, +looking for empty cells in which to lay eggs. Then Fuzzy would turn +around, head toward the queen, and form part of the little circle of +honor that always kept forming and re-forming around the queen mother. +For the honey-bee queen is the mother of all the great family, and her +relation to the community is really the mother relation rather than +that of a reigning queen. She does not order the bees; indeed, the +worker bees seem to order her. They determine what cells she may have +to lay eggs in and when she shall be superseded by a new queen. And +when they decide for a new queen, they immediately set to work in a +very interesting way to make one.</p> + +<p>This is the way, as Mary and I saw it through the glass sides of +Fuzzy's house. First, a little group of workers went to work tearing +down, apparently, some comb<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> already made; that is, they began on the +lower edge of a brood-comb, in the cells of which the old queen had +just laid eggs, to tear out the partitions between two or three of the +cells. What became of the eggs we couldn't tell, for they are very +small, and the bees were so crowded together that we could see only +the general results of their activity. Soon it was evident that they +were building as well as tearing down, and a new cell, much larger +than the usual kind and quite different in shape, began to take form. +It was like a thimble, only longer and slenderer, and it had the wide +end closed and the narrower tapering end open. They worked excitedly +and rapidly, and the new cell steadily grew in length. Never was it +left alone for a minute. Always there were bees coming and going and +always some clustered about. It was a constant center of interest and +excitement.</p> + +<p>Mary and I knew of course that this was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> a queen cell, and that at its +base there was one of the eggs laid by the old queen in a worker cell. +This egg hatched, we knew, in a few days, although we could not see +the little grub, but nurse bees were about constantly besides the +cell-builders, and all the bees that came to the wonderful new cell +seemed to realize that a very important, if at present rather grubby +and wholly helpless, personage was in it. The cell finally got to be +more than an inch long, and at the end of five days it was capped. A +lot of milky bee-jelly had been stored in it before capping. After +this nothing happened for seven days.</p> + +<p>Mary was in the room where the glass bee-houses are, and I was in an +adjoining room, with the door between the two open. As I sat peering +through my big microscope, I seemed to hear a curious unusual sound +from the bee-room, a sort of piping rather high-pitched but muffled. +Perhaps it was Mary trying a new song.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> She has a good assortment of +noises. But now came another sound; lower-pitched but louder than the +other; a trumpet-call, only of course not as loud as the soldiers' +trumpets or the ones on the stage when the King is about to come in. +Then the shrill piping again; and again the trumpet answer. And +finally a third and new sound, but this last unmistakably a Mary +sound. And with it came the dear girl herself, with her hair standing +on—well, no, I cannot truthfully say standing on end, but trying to. +And her eyes shooting sparks and her mouth open and her hands up.</p> + +<p>"The bees," she gasped, "the bees are doing it!"</p> + +<p>There was no doubt of what "it" meant. It was this sounding of pipes +and trumpets; these battle calls.</p> + +<p>I leaped to my feet; that is, if an elderly professor, who has certain +twinges in his joints occasionally, can really leap. Anyway I knocked +over my chair—and precious<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> near my microscope—in getting up, and +started for the bees. And that shows the high degree of my excitement. +But never before in all the years I had played with bees had I heard +the trumpet challenges of queen bees to the death duel. Inside the +cell was the new queen shut up in darkness, but ready and eager to +come out, and piping her challenge. And outside, brave and fearless, +if old and worn, was the mother queen trumpeting back her defiance. It +was the spirit of the Amazons.</p> + +<p>And <i>what</i> excitement in the hive! Simply frantic were the thousands +of workers. We watched them racing about wildly; up, down, across, +back; but mostly clustering in the bottom near the queen cell. And +working industriously at the cell itself, a group of builders, +strengthening and thickening the cell's walls especially at the closed +lower end. They seemed to be, yes, they were, preventing the new queen +inside from coming out. She was probably<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> gnawing away with her +trowel-like jaws at the soft wax from the inside, while they were +putting on more wax and keeping her a prisoner.</p> + +<p>This went on for two or three days. The piping and trumpeting kept up +intermittently, and the thickening of the cell constantly. Until the +time came!</p> + +<p>And now I am going to disappoint you dreadfully. But much less than +Mary and I were disappointed. We were not there when the time came!</p> + +<p>The bees were excited, I have said. Mary and I were excited, I have +said. The bees put in <i>all</i> their time being excited and watching the +queen cell. We put in <i>most</i> of ours. But we had to eat and we had to +sleep. The bees didn't seem to. And so we missed the coming out. What +a pity! How unfair to us! And to you.</p> + +<p>As there is by immemorial honey-bee tradition but one queen in a +community at one time, when new queens issue from<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> the great cells, +something has to happen. This may be one of three things: either the +old and new queens battle to death, and it is believed that in such +battles only does a queen bee ever use her sting, or the workers +interfere and kill either the old or new queen by "balling" her +(gathering in a tight suffocating mass about her), or either the old +(usually old) or new queen leaves the hive with a swarm, and a new +community is founded. In Fuzzy's community this last thing happened +when the new queen came out.</p> + +<p>Mary and I were on hand very early the morning of the third day after +the piping and trumpeting had begun. As we jerked the black cloth +jacket off the hive to see how things were, we were astonished at the +new excitement that was apparent in the hive; the bees seemed to be in +a perfect frenzy and had suspended all other operations except racing +about in apparent utter dementia. We could find neither<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> the old queen +nor the new queen in the seething mass, nor could we even see whether +the queen cell was open or still sealed up.</p> + +<p>Another curious thing was that the taking off of the black cloth +jacket seemed to affect the bees very strongly. They had suddenly +become very sensitive to light, and while, when the jacket was on, +they all seemed to be making towards the bottom and especially towards +the exit corner, which was the lower corner next to the window, as +soon as we lifted off the jacket they seemed all to rush up to the top +where the light was strongest. So nearly simultaneous and uniform were +the turning and rushing up that the whole mass of bees seemed to flow +like some thick mottled liquid.</p> + +<p>It was evident that all this was the excitement and frenzy of +swarming. And it was also evident that the bees, in their great +excitement, were finding their way<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> to the outlet by the light that +came in through it. And when we removed the cloth jacket we confused +them because the light now came into the hive from both sides and was +especially strong at the top, which was nearest the greatest expanse +of the outer window. So we finally let the jacket stay on, and after a +considerable time of violent exertion, the bees began to issue +pell-mell from the door of the house. The first comers waited for the +others, and there was pretty soon formed a great mass of excited bees +around the doorway, and clustered on the stone window-sill just +outside. Then suddenly the whole mass took wing and flew away +together. And pretty soon all was quiet in the hive.</p> + +<p>Mary and I had been nearly as excited as the bees, and we were glad to +sit and rest a little and get breath again. Soon it was luncheon time +and we went off to Mary's house without looking into the hive. We had +had just about all the bee<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> observing we needed for one forenoon. But +almost the first thing that Mary did at the table was to straighten up +suddenly and cry out, "I wonder if Fuzzy swarmed!" And thereafter that +was all we thought of, and we made a very hasty meal of it. And the +moment we got up we hurried back to Fuzzy's home and jerked off the +black jacket.</p> + +<p>How quiet everything was inside. And how lessened the number of bees. +Fully one-third of the community must have gone out. We set to work +looking carefully at all the remaining bees. It was only a minute or +two before Mary clapped her hands and cried, "She's here!" "She" was +Fuzzy, of course. And we were both very glad that Fuzzy had not +deserted the glass house—and us.</p> + +<p>Some one came in and said that a "lot of your bees are out here +hanging on to a bush." But we had seen "swarms" before, and were much +more interested<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> in finding out what the bees do inside after a swarm +has gone off than in watching the swarm outside. We knew that "scouts" +would fly away soon from the great hanging bunch or swarm to look for +a suitable new home; a hollow tree, a deserted hive, a box in hedge +corner, any place protected and dark, and when they had found one, +they would come back, and soon the whole swarm would fly off to the +new house. Once one of our swarms started down a chimney of a +neighbor's house, and immensely surprised the good people by coming +out, with a great buzzing, into the fireplace! And another swarm, not +finding a suitable indoors place, simply began to build new combs +hanging down from the branch of a cypress-tree in the Arboretum, and +really made an outdoor home there, carrying on all the work of a +bee-community for months. But usually a bee-swarm gets found by some +bee-keeper and put into an empty hive.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> And that is what happened to +our deserters.</p> + +<p>After Mary had found Fuzzy, who seemed to have lost considerable hair +and to have got pretty well rubbed in the grand melée, she continued +to peer carefully through the glass side of the hive. And I looked +carefully too. Of course we wanted to find out about the queens. Was +there any queen left in our hive? We knew there must be a queen with +the swarm; bees don't go off without a queen. So if the old and new +queen had fought and one had been killed, or if the workers had +"balled" the new queen when she came out, there could be no queen left +in the hive. Of course this would not be very serious. For there were +many eggs and also many just-hatched bee-grubs in the brood-combs, and +the workers could easily make a new queen. But this wasn't necessary, +for we soon found a graceful, slender-bodied bee, but so fresh and +brightly colored and clean<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> that we knew her to be the new queen and +not the old.</p> + +<p>Things were perfectly normal and quiet. Some foragers were coming and +going; house-cleaners were busily at work on the floor of the house, +and nurses were moving about over the brood-cells. Not a trace of the +wild frenzy of the forenoon. What a puzzling thing it is to see all +the signs of tremendous mental excitement in other animals and yet not +to be able to understand in the least their real condition! They may +seem to do things for reasons and impulses that lead us to do things, +but we can't be at all sure that their mental or nervous processes, +their impulses and stimuli, are those which control us. We can't +possibly put ourselves in their places. For we are made differently. +And therefore it is plainly foolish to try to interpret the behavior +of the lower animals on a basis of our understanding of our own +behavior. Insects may see colors we cannot<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> see; may hear sounds we +cannot hear; smell odors too delicate for us to smell. In fact, from +our observations and experiments, we are sure they do all these +things. The world to them, then, is different from the world to us. +And their behavior is based on their appreciation by their senses in +their own way of this different world.</p> + +<p>What determines which queen shall leave the hive with the swarm? What +determines which five thousand out of fifteen thousand worker bees, +all apparently similarly stimulated and excited, shall swarm out, and +which ten thousand shall stay in? These are questions too hard for us +to answer. We may take refuge in Maeterlinck's poetical conception of +the "spirit of the hive." Let us say that the "spirit of the hive" +decides these things. As well as what workers shall forage and what +ones clean house; what bees shall ventilate and what make wax and +build comb.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> Which is simply to say that we don't know what decides +all these things.</p> + +<p>The reduction in numbers of the inmates of Fuzzy's house made it much +easier to follow closely the behavior of any one bee, or any special +group of bees doing some one thing. And both Mary and I had long +wanted to see as clearly as possible just what goes on when the bees +are making wax and building comb. We had often examined, on the bodies +of dead bees, the four pairs of five-sided wax-plates on the under +side of the hind body. We knew that the wax comes out of skin-glands +under these plates as a liquid, and oozes through the pores of the +plates, spreading out and hardening in thin sheets on the outside of +the plates. To produce the wax certain workers eat a large amount of +honey, and then mass together in a curtain or festoon hanging down +from the ceiling of the hive or frame. Here they increase the +temperature of their bodies<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> by some strong internal exertion; and +after several hours or sometimes two or three days, the fine +glistening wax-sheets appear on the wax-plates. These sheets get +larger and larger until they project beyond the edges of the body, +when they either fall off or are plucked off by other workers.</p> + +<p>It was only two or three days after the excitement of the swarming out +that Mary and I saw one of these curtains or hanging festoons of bees +making wax, and you may be sure we tried to watch it closely. The bees +hung to each other by their legs and kept quite still. The curtain +hung down fully six inches from the ceiling of the house, and the +first or upper row of bees had therefore to sustain the hanging weight +of all those below. And there were certainly several hundred bees in +the curtain. The wax-scales began to appear on the second day. And +many of them fell off and down to the floor of the house. Some of the +scales were plucked off by<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> other workers and carried in their mouths +to where a new comb had been started before the swarming, and either +used by themselves to help in the comb-building or given to +comb-builders already at work. Some of the scales were plucked off by +the wax-making workers themselves, who then left the curtain and +carried the wax-scales to the seat of the comb-building operations. +Various other workers picked up from the floor the fallen scales and +carried them to the comb-builders. These building bees would chew up +pieces of wax in their mouths, mixing it with saliva, and then would +press and mould it with their little trowel-like jaws against the +comb, so as to build up steadily the familiar six-sided cells.</p> + +<p>Each layer of comb is composed of a double tier or layer of these +cells, a common partition or base serving as bottom of each tier. The +cells to be used for brood are of two sizes, smaller ones for workers<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> +to be reared in, and larger ones for the drones. Sometimes the queen +lays drone eggs in worker cells and then the cells have to be built up +higher when the drone-grub gets too large for its cell. Sometimes, +too, the worker bees lay eggs—this happens often in a hive bereft by +some accident of its queen—but these eggs can only hatch into drones. +Occasionally the workers make a mistake and build a queen cell around +a drone egg. This happened once in our hive when there were no +queen-laid eggs in the brood-cells, and some workers had laid eggs. +The workers tried to make a new queen out of one of these eggs, but of +course only a worthless drone came out of the queen cell. In building +comb and cells for storing honey, new wax is almost exclusively used, +but for brood-comb old wax and wax mixed with pollen may be used. Any +comb or part of a comb not needed may be torn down and the wax used to +build new comb or to cap cells with.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p> + +<p>I have said that the nearest neighbors of Fuzzy's family are a lot of +black German bees, housed in a larger house than Fuzzy's, but one also +with glass sides so that we can see what goes on inside. The door of +the house opens through the same large window as that of Fuzzy's +house, but the foragers coming back from their long trips rarely make +a mistake in the doors, the Germans coming to their door and the +Italians to theirs. The German community is much the larger, there +being probably thirty or forty thousand workers in it, although of +course only one queen, and only a few hundred drones. Sometimes the +foragers, both Germans and Italians, make the mistake of coming to the +wrong window of the room in which their houses are. There are five +large windows all alike in the west wall of this room, and often we +find our bees bumping against the other windows, especially the ones +just next to the right one. They can't, of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> course, see in through +these windows because the room is much darker than outside, and so all +that the home-coming bees can see as they approach the building is a +row of similar windows separated from each other by similar spaces of +buffy stone. And keen as our bees are in finding their way straight to +their hives from distant flower-fields, this repetition of similar +windows seems to confuse some of them.</p> + +<p>But what I started to tell about is something that happened between +the neighboring bee-houses quite different from the troubles of the +bees finding their way home. It was something that gave Mary and me +the principal excitement that we had in all our many days of watching +bees.</p> + +<p>Mary and I do not want to say that the German bees knew that a third +of Fuzzy's community had swarmed out and gone away. Though how they +could help knowing it really seems more a puzzle, for there<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> was +excitement and buzzing and window-sill covered and air full of bees +enough to have told everybody within a rod of what was going on in the +Italian house. But it was true that Fuzzy's community had never been +troubled at all seriously by the belligerent Germans, until after it +had been much reduced in strength by the loss of one-third of its +members. And then this trouble did come, and came soon. So it looks as +if the Germans realized the weakness of their neighbors. But perhaps +not.</p> + +<p>Just as our other exciting time beginning with the piping of the new +queen and lasting until the subsequent swarming was a discovery of +Mary's, so with this new time of high excitement; high excitement I +may say both on our part and the bees'. Mary was in the room where the +bees are, although not at the moment watching them, when she heard a +sound of violent buzzing and humming. It grew quickly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> louder and +shriller, and in a moment both communities were in an uproar.</p> + +<p>It was a battle, a great battle. On the one hand, a struggle by brutal +invaders intent on sacking the home and pillaging the stores of a +community given to ways of peace and just now reduced in numbers by a +migration or exodus from home of a large group of restless spirits; on +the other hand, a struggle for home and property and the lives of +hundreds of babies by this weak and presumably timid and unwarlike +people. A great band of Germans were at the door of Fuzzy's house +trying to get in! They buzzed and pushed and ran their stings in and +out of their bodies, and crowded the entryway full. But the Italian +workers and guards had roused their community, and pouring out from +the hive into the narrow entry was a stream of angry and brave amber +bees, ready to fight to the death for their home.</p> + +<p>It was really a terrific struggle. The<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> Italians, few in numbers as a +community, were yet enough to oppose on fairly equal terms the band of +Germans, for by no means all the Germans had come from their house. +And the Italians had the great advantage of being defenders. They had +only to keep out the black column trying to force its way in through +the narrow door and entry. And they were no laggards in battle. They +fought with perfect courage and great energy. Often a small group of +Italians would force its way out of the door and into the very midst +of the Germans outside on the window-sill. These brave bees were all +killed, overwhelmed by the superior numbers of the enemy. But not +until they had left many dying Germans on the stone window-ledge were +their own paralyzed and dying bodies hustled out of the way.</p> + +<p>In many cases the combat took on the character of duels between single +pairs of combatants. A German and an Italian<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> would clasp each other +with jaws and legs, and thus interlocked and whirling over and over +with violent beating of their wings would stab at each other until one +or both were mortally wounded. All the time the frenzied ball would be +rolling nearer and nearer the outer edge of the treacherous sloping +window-ledge, until finally over it would go, whirling in the air +through the thirty feet of fall to the ground below. Here the struggle +would go on, if the fighters were not too stunned by the fall, until +one or both bees were dead or paralyzed.</p> + +<p>It is really too painful to tell of this fight. And it was painful to +watch. But the end came soon. And it was a glorious victory for Fuzzy +and her companions. The German robbers flew back, what were left of +them, to their own hive. Mary and I tried all through the fight to +watch Fuzzy. But we saw her only once; she was in the entry then and +nearly in the front row of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> fighters. We were glad to see her so +brave, but fearful for her fate. After the fight we looked anxiously +through the hive for our little white-spotted friend. We didn't see +her, and were ready to mourn her for lost, when Mary happened to look +out on the window-ledge where a few Italians were pushing the +remaining paralyzed or dead Germans off. There was Fuzzy dragging, +with much effort, a dead, black bee along the rough stone.</p> + +<p>We were very happy, then, and wanted more than ever to be able to talk +to our brave little champion and rejoice with her over the splendid +victory. But we could only do as Fuzzy seemed to be doing. That is, +take up again the work that lay at our hands. My work was to go into +the lecture-room and talk to a class about the absence of intelligence +and mind and spirit in the lower animals and the dependence of their +behavior upon physics and chemistry and mechanics! Mary's<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> work was to +go out into the poppy-field and talk with the little grass people whom +she never sees or hears, but knows are there.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i031.jpg" width="300" height="290" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i032.jpg" width="400" height="240" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="ANIMATED_HONEY-JARS">ANIMATED HONEY-JARS</a></h2> + +<p>It was one evening not long after our afternoon on Bungalow Hill, +where Mary had found the mealy-bugs in the runways of an ant's nest +under a stone, and I had told her about the clever little brown ants +and their aphid cattle in the Illinois corn-fields. Ever since that +afternoon Mary had been asking questions about ants, and so this +evening I was translating bits to her from a new German book about +ants. It told about the cruel forays of the hordes of the great +fighting and robbing Ecitons of the Amazons; of the extraordinary +mutually helpful relations between the Aztec ants and the Imbauba tree +of South America, which result in the ants getting a comfortable home +and special food from<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> the tree, while the tree gets protection +through the Aztecs from the leaf-stealing Ecodomas. It told of the +ants that live in the hollow leaves of the Dischidia plants in the +Philippine Islands, and the way the plants get even by sending slender +aerial rootlets into the leaves to feed on the dead bodies of the ants +that die in the nests. It told of the ants in this country that build +sheds of wood-pulp over colonies of honey-dew insects or ant-cattle on +the stems of plants; of the fungus-garden ants of South America and +Mexico and Texas that bite off little pieces of green leaves and make +beds of them in special chambers in their underground nests, so that +certain moulds grow on these leaf-beds and provide a special kind of +food for the ant-gardeners. It told of the ants that make slaves of +other ants, and get to depend so much on these slaves that they can't +even care for their own children, and it told about the honey-ants of +the Garden<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> of the Gods that make some of the workers in each +nest—but that's what this story is going to tell about, so we had +better wait.</p> + +<p>But it was all a veritable fairy-story book, as any good book about +the ways and life of ants must be. And Mary listened eagerly. She +liked it. When going-home time came she had, however, one insistent +question to ask. "What can I <i>see</i>?" she demanded. "What can I see +right away; to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Mary you can—see—to-morrow,"—and I think rapidly,—"you can +see—to-morrow,"—still thinking,—"ah, yes—yes you <i>can</i>; you can +see them to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"But <i>what</i> can I see to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Why the animated honey-jars; didn't I say what? No? Well, to-morrow +we can go to see them; in the Arboretum at the foot of the big +Monterey pine. I think I remember the exact place."</p> + +<p>"But I thought the honey-ants were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> only in Mexico and New Mexico and +Colorado," says Mary. "Didn't the book say that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that kind; but we have a kind of our own here in California. The +sort that McCook found in the Garden of the Gods and studied all that +summer twenty-five years ago is found only there and in the Southwest, +but there are two or three other kinds of honey-ants known, and one of +them that has never been told about in the books at all is right here +on the campus. There are several of the nests here, or were a few +years ago, and we'll go to-morrow and try to find one. It will be +fine, won't it?"</p> + +<p>"Fine," said Mary. "Good-night."</p> + +<p>And so the next morning we went. The Arboretum is a place where once +were planted almost all the kinds of trees that grow wild in +California, besides many other kinds from Australia and Japan and New +Zealand and Peru and Chili and several of <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>the other Pacific Ocean +countries. But the big, swift-growing eucalyptuses and Monterey pines +have crowded out many of the other more tender and less-pushing kinds. +However, it is still a wonderful place of trees. Many birds live +there; swift troops of the beautiful plumed California quails; +crimson-throated Anna humming-birds, crestless California jays, +fidgeting finches and juncos, spunky sparrows and wrens, chattering +chickadees and titmice, fierce little fly-catchers and kinglets. There +are winding paths and little-used roads in it, and altogether it is a +fine place to go when one has only a short hour for walking and seeing +things.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i033.jpg" width="400" height="274" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p>And so Mary and I came with a garden-trowel and a glass fruit-jar to +the foot of the big Monterey pine near the <i>toyon</i>. A <i>toyon</i>, if you +are an Easterner and need telling, is the tree that bears the red +berries for Christmas for us Pacific-Coasters. It is our holly, as the +Ceanothus is our<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> lilac, and the poison-oak is our autumn-red sumac.</p> + +<p>At the foot of the Monterey pine we began our search for the +honey-ants. We didn't, of course, expect to find them walking about +with their swollen bodies full of amber honey, for the honey-bearers +are supposed not to walk around, but to stay inside the nest, in a +special chamber made for them. We looked rather for the +honey-gatherers, the worker foragers.</p> + +<p>Pretty soon Mary found a swift little black ant. But, no, it was an +<i>Aphænogaster</i> that—</p> + +<p>"A feeno-gasser?" asks Mary. "What is that?"</p> + +<p>"That has the curious, flat-bodied dwarf crickets living with it in +its nests," I continue. "<i>Myrmecophila</i>, the ant-lover, they call this +little cricket which has lost its wings and its voice and is +altogether an insignificant and meek little guest unbidden but +tolerated at the ant's table. And here,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> here is a big black-and-brown +carpenter-ant going home with a seed in its mouth."</p> + +<p>"Where is its home? Does it build a house out of wood? Let's follow +it," Mary bursts in.</p> + +<p>"No, we are after honey-ants, remember. We mustn't let ourselves get +distracted by all these others. The carpenter-ants do make themselves +a home of wood, but they do it by gnawing out galleries and chambers +in a dead tree trunk or stump or in a neglected timber. That isn't +exactly building, but it is at least a kind of carpentering, a sort +of—"</p> + +<p>"Is this one?" interrupts Mary, poking violently at an angry +red-headed little slave-maker ant that seemed anxious to get off to +its home where its slaves, which are other ants captured when still +young and unacquainted with their rightful family, do all the work of +food-getting and cleaning and taking care of the babies.</p> + +<p>And then I recognized a <i>Prenolepis</i>, that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> is,—and I <i>do</i> beg +pardon,—one of our campus honey-ants. Of course I suppose they are +elsewhere in California and perhaps north in Oregon and east in Nevada +and Arizona, but I have only seen them here, and hence always think of +them as belonging exclusively with us campus-dwellers. It was a little +brown ant with black hind body and paler under side. It isn't +particularly impressive, for it is only about one-eighth of an inch +long, and its colors and appearance are much like those of many other +ants, but there is something about it sufficiently distinctive to let +one recognize it at sight.</p> + +<p>The thing to do now, of course, was to find its nest. There are +various ways of finding the nest of any particular ant you may happen +to discover running about loose over the country, but not one of them +am I going to tell you. They are good things to work out for yourself. +Mary and I know how, and so we had little trouble<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> and didn't +have to spend much time in finding the home of our wandering +<i>Prenolepis</i>,—there it is again,—campus honey-ant I mean. And that +is a fair name for it, for McCook who found the famous honey-ants of +the Garden of the Gods in Colorado named his kind <i>Myrmecocystus +melliger hortusdeorum</i>, which is straight Latin and Greek for the +"honey-pot ant of the Garden of the Gods." But <i>what</i> a name for a +little ant one-eighth of an inch long to carry!</p> + +<p>It would take too many words and I am afraid would be too trivial a +story for even this very happy-go-lucky little book to tell how Mary +and I dug and dug in the ground near the foot of the tree, and how +carefully we worked with our garden-trowel and mostly with our +fingers! And how we traced out runway after runway and opened chamber +after chamber of the honey-ant's nest until we found the honey-pantry +with its strange jars of sweetness<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> all hanging from the roof. The +picture that Mary carefully sketched in, and that Sekko Shimada +painted for us with his dainty Japanese brushes and little saucers of +costly Japanese ink, shows very well part of the nest, that part that +had one of the honey-rooms in. You won't see the base of the Monterey +pine-tree in the picture, nor any of the other trees that were all +around, because Mary didn't put them into her sketch, and we forgot to +tell Sekko where the nest was. But the galleries and honey-chamber and +the ants themselves are all right in Sekko's picture.</p> + +<p>In some of the galleries we had found ants with considerably swollen +hind bodies, which evidently had the stomach or crop well filled with +some nearly transparent, pale yellowish-brown liquid. But it was not +until we discovered the honey-pantry that we saw the extraordinary +fully laden real live honey-jars, which were, of course, nothing but +some of the worker ants hanging<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> by their feet from the roof of the +chamber, with their hind bodies enormously swollen by the great +quantity of honey held in the crop. In opening the chamber we +dislodged two or three of the honey-jars that fell to the floor and +could hardly turn over or walk at all, so helpless were they. And one +of them broke and the honey came out in a big drop, and I tasted it on +the tip of my little finger, and it was sweet. So it was surely honey. +And you should have seen how eagerly two or three other workers in the +chamber, without swollen bodies, lapped up this sweet drop that came +out of the body of the poor, broken honey-jar!</p> + +<p>As we had broken into the home of the honey-ants and had pretty nearly +wrecked it, it seemed only fair that we should try to help our +honey-ants begin another home under as kindly conditions as possible. +So we put as many of them as we could find, foraging workers, +honey-holders, and the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> queen whom we found in a special queen room, +into our glass fruit-jar with some soil, and brought them all home and +put them into a formicary. Which is simply an artificial ants' nest, +or house already arranged for ants to live in. It has a place to hold +food and has dark rooms and sunny rooms, cool rooms and warm ones, all +nicely fixed with runways connecting them, and food is put in as often +as necessary and always in one place, which the ants learn to know +very soon, indeed. This makes housekeeping easy and pleasant for the +ants, and lets us see a great deal of how it is carried on, because +there are glass sides and top to the house, so that by lifting little +pieces of black cardboard or cloth we can look in and watch the ants +at work.</p> + +<p>The honey-ants' colony seemed to live very contentedly in our +formicary, for they went ahead with all their usual business of laying +eggs and rearing babies and feeding them, and finding honey and +getting the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> honey-jars loaded with it and hung by their feet from the +ceiling of their room, and all the other things that go on regularly +in a honey-ant's house.</p> + +<p>The principal thing we wanted to do, however, was to learn how the +honey-jars got filled and also how they got emptied again! And this +was not at all hard to find out, although we never found out certainly +where the worker foragers got their honey in the Arboretum. McCook +found that his foragers in the Garden of the Gods gathered a sweet +honey-dew liquid that oozed out in little drops from certain live +oak-galls near the nest. But our ants seemed to be getting their honey +from somewhere up in the pine-tree, for there was a constant stream of +them going up and down the trunk. Besides, many of those coming down +had swollen bodies partially filled with honey, while none of those +going up did. Now the only honey supply in the pine-tree that we know +is the honey-dew<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> given off liberally by a brown roundish scale insect +that lives on the pine-needles. So we <i>think</i> our honey-ants gathered +their honey material from these honey-dew scale insects. But we have +seen them collect honey stuff from various aphids and also from the +growing twigs of live-oak trees. They seem to be willing to take it +wherever they can find it.</p> + +<p>Of course we had to provide a supply of honey for our indoor colony, +and this supply was eagerly and constantly visited by the foraging +workers. They would lap it up and then go into the nest and feed the +live honey-pots! That is, a well-fed forager would go into the +honey-pantry and force the honey out from its own crop through its +mouth into the mouth of one of the live honey-jars. Undoubtedly the +honey-bee honey we furnished them was considerably changed while in +the body of the foraging worker.</p> + +<p>But all the time the nurses and workers<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> inside the nest needed honey +for food. And this they got by going to the honey-pantry, and by some +gentle means inducing the live honey-pots to give up some of their +store. Mouth to mouth the feeder and the filled honey-ant would stand +or cling for some minutes. And there was no doubt of what was going +on. The honey-pot was this time forcing honey out of its own +over-filled crop and into the mouth of the nurse.</p> + +<p>Thus all the time there went on a constant emptying and replenishing +of the strange honey-pots. What an extraordinary kind of life! Nothing +to do but to drink and disgorge honey; to cling motionless to the +ceiling of a little room, or lie helpless, or feebly dragging about on +the floor and be pumped into and pumped out of! To have one's body +swollen to several times its natural size by an overloaded stomach, +and to be likely to burst from a fall or deep scratch!</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p> + +<p>But there is simply no telling beforehand what remarkable condition of +things you may find in an ant's nest. There is an ardent naturalist +student of ants in the great museum of natural history in New York, +who keeps publishing short accounts of the new things he is all the +time discovering about the habits and life of ants. And if I didn't +know him to be not only a perfectly truthful man but a trained and +rigorously careful observer and scientific scholar, I should simply +put his stories aside as preposterous. But on the contrary, as I do +know them to be true, I am more and more coming to be able to believe +anything anybody says or guesses about ants! Which is, of course, not +a good attitude for a professor!</p> + +<p>Dr. Wheeler, this New York student of ants, is putting a great deal of +what he knows about ants into a large book which, when published, will +make a whole shelfful of green, red, blue, and yellow fairy<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> books +hide their faded colors in shame. For tellers of fairy tales cannot +even think of things as extraordinary and strange as the things that +ants actually do!</p> + +<p>But what a prosaic lecture this story of the animated honey-jars has +come to be. Mary is long ago asleep, curled up in a big leather +arm-chair in my study, and I sit here in the falling dusk, straining +my bespectacled eyes to write what will, I am afraid, only put other +little girls to sleep. Which is not at all my idea in writing this +book. It is, indeed, just the opposite. It is to make anybody who +reads it open his eyes. But, "<i>Schluss</i>," as my old Leipzig professor +used to say at the end of his long dreary lecture. So <i>Schluss</i> it is!</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i034.jpg" width="300" height="103" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i035.jpg" width="400" height="245" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="HOUSES_OF_OAK">HOUSES OF OAK</a></h2> + +<p>There are eight different kinds of oak-trees growing on or near the +campus where Mary and I live. And each kind of oak-tree has several +kinds of houses peculiar and special to it. Which makes altogether a +great many styles and sizes of houses of oak for Mary and me to get +acquainted with. For we have made up our minds to know them all, and +something about the creatures that live in them. This is a large +undertaking, we are finding, but an intensely interesting and +delightful one. Some of it is quite scientific, too, which makes us +proud and serious. We are keeping notes, as we did about Argiope and +the way it handled flies and bees, and some day we shall print<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> these +notes in the proceedings of a learned society, and make a real +sensation in the scientific world. Anyway we think we shall. Just now, +however, we shall only tell the very simplest things about these +houses of oak and their inhabitants, for we suppose you wouldn't be +interested in the harder things; perhaps, indeed, not even understand +them all.</p> + +<p>Although, as I have already said, there are eight different kinds of +oak-trees growing in our valley and mountains, two of these kinds, the +live-oaks and the white oaks, are by far the most common and numerous. +As one stands upon the mountain tops or foothills and looks down and +over the broad valley, all still and drowsy under the warm afternoon +sun, it seems as if you were looking at a single great orchard with +the trees in it in close-set regular lines and plots in some places, +and irregularly scattered and farther apart in other places. Where +they are regular and close together, <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>they really are orchard trees; +where they are irregular and widely spaced and larger, they are the +beautiful live-oaks and white oaks that grow in all the grain-fields +and meadows and pastures of our valley. The live-oaks have small +leaves, dark green and close together, and the head of the tree is +dense and like a great ball; the white oaks have larger, less thickly +set leaves of lighter green, and the branches are more irregular and +straying and they often send down delicate pendent lines that swing +and dance in the wind like long tassels. The live-oaks have leaves on +all the year through; the white oaks lose theirs in November.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i036.jpg" width="400" height="508" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p>In both of these kinds of trees the oak houses can be found, but +especially in the white oaks. And there are, as I have said, many +kinds of the houses. Mary and I have found little round ones, big +bean-shaped ones, little star-shaped ones, slender cornucopia-like +ones, green, whitish,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> red-striped, pink-spotted, smooth, hairy, +rough-coated, spiny ones, and still other kinds. Some of the houses +are on the leaves, some on the leaf-stems, some on the little twigs, +and some on the branches. Some of the houses stay in the trees all +through the year, but most of them drop off in the autumn, especially +in the white-oak trees, just as the leaves do.</p> + +<p>We go out and hunt for the houses in the trees and among the fallen +leaves on the ground under the trees. They are sometimes, especially +the little ones, hard to find, for their colors and shapes often seem +to fit in with their surroundings, so as to make them very hard to +see. But others, like the big ball-shaped white ones shown in Sekko +Shimada's picture, are, on the contrary, very conspicuous. If the +houses are on the ground, or even if they are still on the tree and we +think they are all through being made—and there are various ways of +knowing about this, but<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> the most important is the time of year—Mary +and I bring them home with us and put them in little bags of fine +cloth netting, tarlatan usually, the houses that are alike and from +one place being put together in a single bag. Then we tie a string +around the mouth of the bag and wait for the dwellers in the houses to +come out.</p> + +<p>For one has to be careful about trying to see the oak-house dwellers +before they are ready to come out. It is much better to await their +own sweet pleasure in this matter, than to go digging or prying in, +for the houses have no doors or windows until just at the time the +dwellers come out! In fact they make the doors as they come out. You +will see, after we tell you a little more, that this arrangement is a +very good one. Even as it is, various unwelcome intruders find their +way into the house much to the annoyance and even to the fatal +disaster of the inmates.</p> + +<p>So we wait until the dwellers are ready<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> to come out. Or if +occasionally we really think we ought to see how things are going on +inside, we chop a house or two open and see what we can see. What this +is, usually, is a house's insides very unusual and curious, for the +rooms occupy so little space and the walls so much. Sometimes there is +only one room and that right in the middle, all the rest of the house +being just a dense or sometimes loose and spongy wall all around it. +In the single room, or in each of the several rooms, we find a +curled-up little shining white grub without legs, and of course +without wings, and with a head that doesn't seem much like a head, for +it has no eyes nor feelers, and most of the time is drawn back into +the body of the grub so that it is hardly visible at all. But there is +a mouth on this silly sort of head, and the grub eats. What it eats is +part of its own house!</p> + +<p>The houses, or galls, as the entomologists call them, are of course +not actually made<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> by the insects that live in them; they are made by +the oak-tree on which they are. But they are only made at the demand, +so to speak, of the insects. That is, the oak-galls are formed only +where a gall-insect has pricked a live leaf or stem or twig with her +sharp, sting-like little egg-layer, and has left an egg in the +plant-tissue. Nor does the gall begin to form even yet. It begins only +after the young gall-insect is hatched from the egg, or at least +begins to develop inside the egg. Then the gall grows rapidly. The +tree sends an extra supply of sap to this spot, and the plant-cells +multiply, and the house begins to form around the little white grub. +Now this house or gall not only encloses and protects the insect, but +it provides it with food in the form of plant-sap and a special mass +or layer of soft nutritious plant-tissue lying right around the grub. +So the gall-insect not only lives in the house, but eats it!</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></p> + +<p>After it is full-grown, the grub stops eating. Then the house, or +gall, stops growing and becomes harder and changes from greenish to +some other color, and, in most cases, pretty soon drops off the tree +to the ground. The gall-insect is still alive inside, of course, but +is perfectly quiet and is simply waiting. It is at this time in the +life of the houses and their dwellers that Mary and I collect them and +bring them home and put them into little tarlatan bags. This is +autumn, the time that the trees in the East turn yellow and red, but +in California do not. They just stay green, but get quiet or turn +brown or simply drop off their leaves and stand bare.</p> + +<p>All through the autumn and winter the gall-insects do nothing inside +their houses. Indeed we can take them out and keep them in little +vials, and most of them get on very well. They require no food; they +simply want to be let alone. But in early spring—and spring in +California comes<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> very early; indeed, it comes in winter!—they wake +up and in a short time change into stout-bodied little real +insect-looking insects with six legs, four wings, a round head with +feelers and eyes and whatever else an insect's head ought to have. +Especially sharp jaws. For each gall-dweller has now to get out of its +house. And as there are no doors, it has to make them. Which it does +with its sharp jaws, gnawing a tunnel from the center of the house +right out through the thick hard wall to the outside.</p> + +<p>When it gets out it flies around in lively manner for a few days, +finally settling on a sprouting oak-leaf or bud or green stem or twig, +and laying a few eggs, or several, or many, according to the habits of +its special kind, and then it dies. And when the tiny white grubs +hatch from these eggs, new houses begin to be made around them by the +oak-trees, and a new generation of gall-insects is fairly started.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p> + +<p>But not all the dwellers in the houses of oak have such a smooth and +easy life as I have described. There will often come out of one of the +galls that Mary and I have in a tarlatan bag, not one kind of insect, +but several kinds, and only one of these kinds is the regular proper +house-owner. The others are interlopers. Some of them may be only +uninvited but not especially harmful guests, just other kinds of +gall-insects that seem to have given up the habit—if they ever had +it—of starting houses of their own, and have adopted the cuckoo-like +way of laying their eggs in the just-starting houses of other +gall-insects. The grubs, or young of these messmate gall-insects, live +in, and feed on, the same house, with the rightful dwellers, but as +the oak-tree has plenty of sap and the gall-house is usually large +enough for all, there is generally no harm done by these cuckoo +intruders.</p> + +<p>But some of the intruding insects that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> come from our galls are not so +harmless. They are the ones called parasites. They live in the houses +not for the sake of the protection or the food furnished by the house, +but in order to eat the actual dwellers in the house. Often and often +not a single real gall-insect would come out in the spring from many +of our collected houses, but only a little swarm, or sometimes just +two or three or even one, of these insect-devouring parasites that has +eaten up the rightful owners of the houses.</p> + +<p>There are other enemies, too, of the oak-house dwellers. Birds like to +peck into the soft, growing galls to get at the tidbits inside. And +predaceous beetles and other strong-jawed insects with a fondness for +helpless, soft-bodied, juicy grubs would like to gnaw into the houses. +So the houses have to protect the dwellers inside, and they do this in +various ways. Some are extra thick-walled or have an extra-hard<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> outer +shell. Some are covered with spines or hairs. Some have a viscous +gluey excretion, some have a very bad odor, some are so colored and +patterned that they are very hard to distinguish from the foliage or +from the fallen leaves around them, and, finally, some secrete a +sweetish honey-dew which attracts ants, and these fierce visitors, who +are content with the honey-dew, probably drive away many visiting +parasites and predaceous insects.</p> + +<p>But it would be tiresome to go on and tell you all the things we are +finding out about the houses of oak and the insects that live in them. +Of how we have got them to lay their eggs right before our eyes on +little fresh branches that we bring into the house. Of how the houses +begin to form under the bark or leaf surface as mere little swellings +and then break through and get larger and larger and take on their +characteristic form and color. Of how we have to study the +gall-dwellers with a microscope,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> for the largest that we have found +yet—the ones that make the big galls shown in Sekko's picture—are +only one-fifth of an inch long, while others are not more than +one-twenty-fifth of an inch long. Of how some kinds have to lay their +eggs always on the same kind of oak-tree, while others prick different +kinds of oaks.</p> + +<p>Nor can we tell of the questions and problems that we are trying to +answer. As why it is that two galls made by two different kinds of +gall-insects, but in the same parts, as leaves, of the same oak-tree, +should be so different, or why the galls in different kinds of trees, +though made by the same kind of insect, should be alike, as they +usually are. And why with some kinds of the house-dwellers the +children grow up to be different from the mother, but their own +children grow up like the grandmother, and different from themselves. +Or how they know not to lay too many eggs in one place, the ones +making<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> little galls often laying several to many eggs in one leaf, +but the ones making large galls being careful to lay only one egg in a +leaf. And a lot of other things that they do that need explaining.</p> + +<p>Perhaps we shall find out the reason for some of these things. But +naturalists have known the houses of oak-insects for two hundred years +now, and if they haven't found the answers to some of these questions +yet, perhaps no one ever can. But that isn't a good way to look at +Nature. And so Mary and I don't. We think we may make a great +discovery any day. We are like prospectors in the gold mountains. We +never give up; we always keep prying and peering. The worst of it is, +I suppose you think, that we always keep talking too. Well, this is +the last sentence of this dose of talking; or next to last. For this +is the</p> + +<p class="h3">END</p> + +<p>of this rambling, talky, little book.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i037.jpg" width="250" height="325" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class="topbox"> +<p> +BY THE SAME AUTHOR<br /> +<br /> +ELEMENTARY ZOOLOGY<br /> +Pp. xv+492, 172 figs., 12mo, 1901, $1.20<br /> +<br /> +FIRST LESSONS IN ZOOLOGY<br /> +Pp. x+363, 257 figs., 12mo, 1903, $1.15<br /> +<br /> +AMERICAN INSECTS<br /> +Pp. vii+671, 812 figs., 11 colored<br /> +plates, 8vo, 1905 (<i>American Nature</i><br /> +<i>Series, Group I</i>), $5.00. Students'<br /> +edition, $4.00<br /> +<br /> +DARWINISM TO-DAY<br /> +Pp. xii+403, 8vo, 1907, $2.00<br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Henry Holt and Company</span><br /> +<span class="in2 smcap">Publishers New York</span> +</p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p class="h3">THE AMERICAN NATURE SERIES</p> + +<p>In the hope of doing something toward furnishing a series where +the nature-lover can surely find a readable book of high authority, +the publishers of the American Science Series have begun the publication +of the American Nature Series. It is the intention that in its +own way, the new series shall stand on a par with its famous predecessor. +</p><p> +The primary object of the new series is to answer questions +which the contemplation of Nature is constantly arousing in the +mind of the unscientific intelligent person. But a collateral object +will be to give some intelligent notion of the "causes of things." +</p><p> +While the coöperation of foreign scholars will not be declined, +the books will be under the guarantee of American experts, and generally +from the American point of view; and where material crowds +space, preference will be given to American facts over others of not +more than equal interest. +</p><p> +The series will be in six divisions: +</p> + +<p class="h3">I. NATURAL HISTORY</p> + +<p>This division will consist of two sections. +</p><p> +<b>Section A. A large popular Natural History</b> in several volumes, +with the topics treated in due proportion, by authors of unquestioned +authority. 8vo. 7-1/2x10-1/4 in. +</p><p> +The books so far publisht in this section are: +</p><p> +<b>FISHES</b>, by <span class="smcap">David Starr Jordan</span>, President of the Leland Stanford +Junior University. $6.00 net; carriage extra. +</p><p> +<b>AMERICAN INSECTS</b>, by <span class="smcap">Vernon L. Kellogg</span>, Professor in the +Leland Stanford Junior University. $5.00 net; carriage extra. +Arranged for are: +</p><p> +<b>SEEDLESS PLANTS</b>, by <span class="smcap">George T. Moore</span>, Head of Department +of Botany, Marine Biological Laboratory, assisted by other specialists. +</p><p> +<b>WILD MAMMALS OF NORTH AMERICA</b>, by <span class="smcap">C. Hart Merriam</span>, +Chief of the United States Biological Survey. +</p><p> +<b>BIRDS OF THE WORLD</b>, A popular account by <span class="smcap">Frank H. +Knowlton</span>, M.S., Ph.D., Member American Ornithologists +Union, President Biological Society of Washington, etc., etc., +with Chapter on Anatomy of Birds by <span class="smcap">Frederic A. Lucas</span>, +Chief Curator Brooklyn Museum of Arts and Sciences, and edited +by <span class="smcap">Robert Ridgway</span>, Curator of Birds, U. S. National Museum. +</p><p> +<b>REPTILES AND BATRACHIANS</b>, by <span class="smcap">Leonhard Stejneger</span>, Curator +of Reptiles, U. S. National Museum. +</p><p> +<b>Section B. A Shorter Natural History</b>, mainly by the Authors +of Section A, preserving its popular character, its proportional treatment, +and its authority so far as that can be preserved without its +fullness. Size not yet determined. +</p> + +<p class="h3">II. CLASSIFICATION OF NATURE</p> + +<p><b>1. Library Series</b>, very full descriptions. 8vo. 7-1/2x10-1/4 in. +</p><p> +Already publisht: +</p><p> +<b>NORTH AMERICAN TREES</b>, by <span class="smcap">N. L. Britton</span>, Director of the +New York Botanical Garden. $7.00 net; carriage extra. +</p><p> +<b>FERNS</b>, by <span class="smcap">Campbell E. Waters</span>, of Johns Hopkins University. +8vo, pp. xi+362. $3.00 net; by mail, $3.30. +</p><p> +<b>2. Pocket Series, Identification Books</b>—"How to Know," brief and +in portable shape. +</p> + +<p class="h3">III. FUNCTIONS OF NATURE</p> + +<p>These books will treat of the relation of facts to causes and +effects—of heredity and the relations of organism to environment. +8vo. 6-5/8x8-7/8 in. +</p><p> +Already publisht: +</p><p> +<b>THE BIRD: ITS FORM AND FUNCTION</b>, by <span class="smcap">C. W. Beebe</span>, +Curator of Birds in the New York Zoological Park. 8vo, 496 pp. +$3.50 net; by mail, $3.80. +</p><p> +Arranged for: +</p><p> +<b>THE INSECT: ITS FORM AND FUNCTION</b>, by <span class="smcap">Vernon L. +Kellogg</span>, Professor in the Leland Stanford Junior University. +</p><p> +<b>THE FISH: ITS FORM AND FUNCTION</b>, by <span class="smcap">H. M. Smith</span>, of +the U. S. Bureau of Fisheries. +</p> + +<p class="h3">IV. WORKING WITH NATURE</p> + +<p>How to propagate, develop, care for and depict the plants and +animals. The volumes in this group cover such a range of subjects +that it is impracticable to make them of uniform size. +</p><p> +Already publisht: +</p><p> +<b>NATURE AND HEALTH</b>, by <span class="smcap">Edward Curtis</span>, Professor Emeritus +in the College of Physicians and Surgeons. 12mo. $1.25 net; +by mail, $1.37. +</p><p> +Arranged for: +</p><p> +<b>PHOTOGRAPHING NATURE</b>, by <span class="smcap">E. R. Sanborn</span>, Photographer +of the New York Zoological Park. +</p><p> +<b>THE SHELLFISH INDUSTRIES</b>, by <span class="smcap">James L. Kellogg</span>, Professor +in Williams College. +</p><p> +<b>CHEMISTRY OF DAILY LIFE</b>, by <span class="smcap">Henry P. Talbot</span>, Professor +of Chemistry in the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. +</p><p> +<b>DOMESTIC ANIMALS</b>, by <span class="smcap">William H. Brewer</span>, Professor Emeritus +in Yale University. +</p><p> +<b>THE CARE OF TREES IN LAWN, STREET AND PARK</b>, by +<span class="smcap">B. E. Fernow</span>, Professor of Forestry in the University of +Toronto. +</p> + +<p class="h3">V. DIVERSIONS FROM NATURE</p> + +<p>This division will include a wide range of writings not rigidly +systematic or formal, but written only by authorities of standing. +Large 12mo. 5-1/4x8-1/8 in. +</p><p> +<b>FISH STORIES</b>, by <span class="smcap">Charles F. Holder</span> and <span class="smcap">David Starr Jordan</span>. +</p><p> +<b>HORSE TALK</b>, By <span class="smcap">William H. Brewer</span>. +</p><p> +<b>BIRD NOTES</b>, by <span class="smcap">C. W. Beebe</span>. +</p><p> +<b>INSECT STORIES</b>, by <span class="smcap">Vernon L. Kellogg</span>. +</p> + +<p class="h3">VI. THE PHILOSOPHY OF NATURE</p> + +<p>A Series of volumes by President <span class="smcap">Jordan</span>, of Stanford University, +and Professors <span class="smcap">Brooks</span> of Johns Hopkins, <span class="smcap">Lull</span> of Yale, <span class="smcap">Thomson</span> +of Aberdeen, <span class="smcap">Przibram</span> of Austria, <span class="smcap">zur Strassen</span> of Germany, +and others. Edited by Professor <span class="smcap">Kellogg</span> of Leland Stanford. 12mo. +5-1/8x7-1/2 in. +</p> + +<p class="smcap">HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY, New York<br /> +June, '08.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p class="h3">STANDARD CYCLOPÆDIAS FOR YOUNG OR OLD</p> + +<p class="h3 smcap">CHAMPLIN'S<br /> +Young Folks' Cyclopædias</p> + +<p class="h4">By JOHN D. CHAMPLIN</p> + +<p class="h6"><i>Late Associate Editor of the American Cyclopædia</i></p> + +<p>Bound in substantial red buckram. Each volume complete +in itself and sold, separately. 12mo, $3.00 per volume, retail</p> + +<p class="h3">COMMON THINGS</p> + +<p>New, Enlarged Edition, 850 pp. Profusely Illustrated +<br /> +"A book which will be of permanent value to any boy or girl to +whom it may be given, and which fills a place in the juvenile library, +never, so far as I know, supplied before."—<i>Susan Coolidge.</i> +</p> + +<p class="h3">PERSONS AND PLACES +</p><p> +New, Up-to-Date Edition, 985 pp. Over 375 Illustrations +</p><p> +"We know copies of the work to which their young owners turn +instantly for information upon every theme about which they have +questions to ask. More than this, we know that some of these copies +are read daily, as well as consulted; that their owners turn the leaves +as they might those of a fairy book, reading intently articles of which +they had not thought before seeing them, and treating the book simply +as one capable of furnishing the rarest entertainment in exhaustless +quantities."—<i>N. Y. Evening Post.</i> +</p> + +<p class="h3">LITERATURE AND ART +</p><p> +604 pp. 270 Illustrations +</p><p> +"Few poems, plays, novels, pictures, statues, or fictitious characters +that children—or most of their parents—of our day are likely to inquire +about will be missed here. Mr. Champlin's judgment seems unusually +sound."—<i>The Nation.</i> +</p> + +<p class="h3">GAMES AND SPORTS +</p><p> +By <span class="smcap">John D. Champlin</span> and <span class="smcap">Arthur Bostwick</span> +</p><p> +Revised Edition, 784 pp. 900 Illustrations +</p><p> +"Should form a part of every juvenile library, whether public or +private."—<i>The Independent.</i> +</p> + +<p class="h3">NATURAL HISTORY +</p><p> +By <span class="smcap">John D. Champlin</span>, assisted by <span class="smcap">Frederick A. Lucas</span> +</p><p> +725 pp. Over 800 Illustrations +</p><p> +"Here, in compact and attractive form, is valuable and reliable information +on every phase of natural history, on every item of interest +to the student. Invaluable to the teacher and school, and should be on +every teacher's desk for ready reference, and the children should be +taught to go to this volume for information useful and interesting."—<i>Journal</i> +<i>of Education.</i> +</p> + +<p class="h3">HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY +</p><p> +NEW YORK (ii, '06) CHICAGO</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p class="h3">MISS MARY WRIGHT PLUMMER'S ROY AND RAY IN MEXICO +</p><p> +Illustrated from photographs, with map, words and +music of Mexican national songs, and index, large +</p><p> +12mo, 400 pp., $1.75 net, by mail $1.90 +</p> + +<div> +<img class="wrapr" src="images/i038.jpg" width="200" height="216" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p> +A story of Mexican travel for +children. Roy and Ray Stevens, +twins "going on twelve," with +their parents, spend a summer +in Mexico. The book tells from +the children's standpoint what +they see and do, and what they +learn about Mexico. They visit +eight Mexican cities, going as +far south as Oaxaca. They meet +President Diaz, learn Mexican +habits and customs, particularly +those of the mass of the population, take part in the +Fourth of July celebration of the American colony in the +City of Mexico, visit the ruins of Mitla, learn some very +interesting Mexican history, and spend much time comparing +things Mexican with things American. +</p><p> +Many minor responsibilities of travel are in the children's +hands, and they learn much of traveling customs and +etiquette. The spirit of travel permeates the book. +</p><p> +"Will be welcome to many readers of mature years as well as to +the juveniles for whom it is primarily written.... Embodies +very much that is of interest respecting Mexican history, manners +and customs as well as descriptions of scenery. It deserves the +widest circulation in this country, and no public library can afford +to be without it."—<i>Boston Transcript.</i> +</p><p> +"Most pleasing style.... The book is an accurate travel +guide in its main points, and should be particularly helpful to +teachers and school children.... Experiences of interest even +to adults."—<i>Chicago Evening Post.</i> +<br /> +"Very bright and accurate.... All the novel sights of +this tropical land come before the vision of these children like a +moving-picture show. They visit eight cities, and what they don't +see is not worth telling about.... Pictures are good and really +illustrate."—<i>Mexican Herald</i> (City of Mexico). +</p> + +<p class="h3">A BOOK OF VERSES FOR CHILDREN +</p><p> +Compiled by <span class="smcap">Edward V. Lucas</span>. Over 200 poems from +eighty authors. Revised Edition, $2.00 net +</p><p> +<i>Popular Edition</i> +</p><p> +"We know of no other anthology for children so complete and +well arranged."—<i>The Critic.</i> +</p><p> +"It contains much that is charming, much that is admirably in +tune with the spirit of childhood."—<i>New York Tribune.</i> +</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Insect Stories, by Vernon L. 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a/39206-h/images/titlepage.jpg b/39206-h/images/titlepage.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..180355e --- /dev/null +++ b/39206-h/images/titlepage.jpg diff --git a/39206.txt b/39206.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8382974 --- /dev/null +++ b/39206.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5082 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Insect Stories, by Vernon L. Kellogg + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license + + +Title: Insect Stories + +Author: Vernon L. Kellogg + +Illustrator: Mary Wellman + Maud Lanktree + Sekko Shimada + +Release Date: March 19, 2012 [EBook #39206] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INSECT STORIES *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Matthew Wheaton and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + American Nature Series + + Group V. Diversions from Nature + + + + + INSECT STORIES + + BY + + VERNON L. KELLOGG + + + _With Illustrations_ + + BY + + MARY WELLMAN, MAUD LANKTREE, AND SEKKO SHIMADA + + + NEW YORK + HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY + 1908 + + + COPYRIGHT, 1908, + BY HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY + Published June, 1908 + + + ROBERT DRUMMOND COMPANY, PRINTERS, NEW YORK + + + TO + DOROTHY S., ANNA F., AND MARY L. + WHO ARE MARY + + + + +PREFATORY NOTE + + +In these days many strange, true stories about animals are being +written and read, but it seems to me that some of our most intimate +and interesting animal companions are being overlooked. So I have +tried to write about a few of them. These stories are true. I know +this, for Mary and I have really seen almost everything I have told; +and they seem to us strange. If there have slipped into the stories +occasional slight attempts to show some reason for the strange things +or to point an unobtrusive moral, it is because the teacher's habit +has overcome the story-teller's intention. So the slips may be +pardoned. + +Of course I recognize that it is taking great chances nowadays with +one's reputation for honesty and truth-telling to write or tell +stories about animal behavior. Nature writers seem to be held, as a +class, not to be above suspicion. But is a truthful man to be kept +silent by criticism or abuse, or, on the other hand, is he to +surrender, even for cash, to bad examples? I call out, "No!" and beat +on the table as I say this until the pens and paper hop, and Mary +asks, "No what?" Which reminds me that I must make some exception to +my sweeping declaration of the truth of the whole of this little book. +I am not responsible for Mary! She is, bless her, a child of dreams, +and sometimes her dreams get into her talk. So some of Mary in this +book is fancy; but the beasties and their doings are--I say it +again--true, quite true. + + V. L. K. +STANFORD UNIVERSITY, CALIFORNIA. + + + + + LIST OF STORIES + + + A NARROW-WAISTED MOTHER + RED AND BLACK AGAINST WHITE + THE VENDETTA + THE TRUE STORY OF THE PIT OF MORROWBIE JUKES + ARGIOPE OF THE SILVER SHIELD + THE ORANGE-DWELLERS + THE DRAGON OF LAGUNITA + A SUMMER INVASION + A CLEVER LITTLE BROWN ANT + AN HOUR OF LIVING; OR, THE DANCE OF DEATH + IN FUZZY'S GLASS HOUSE + THE ANIMATED HONEY-JARS + HOUSES OF OAK + +[Illustration: A NARROW-WAISTED MOTHER] + + + + +A NARROW-WAISTED MOTHER + + +I first got acquainted with Mary when she was collecting tarantula +holes. This appealed to me strongly. It was so much more interesting +than collecting postmarks or even postage-stamps. + +It is part of my work, the part which is really my play--to go out and +look at things. To do the same, I found out, is Mary's play--which is, +of course, her most serious employment. We easily got acquainted when +we first met, and made an arrangement to go out and look at things, +and collect some of them, together. So after Mary had shown me that +collecting tarantula holes is really quite simple--although at first +thought of it you may not think so--I proposed to her to come along +and help me collect a few wasp holes. They are smaller of course than +tarantula holes and do not make quite such a fine showing when you get +them home, but they have several real advantages over the spider +burrows, only one of which I need tell you now. This one is, that you +can watch the wasps make their holes because they do it in the +daytime, while you can't watch the tarantula make its hole because it +does it at night. So Mary and I went together to the place of the +wasps. + +I ought to tell you right away that Mary and I live in California. +This explains to you partly why we are so happy in our rambles, +because for any one whose work or whose play it is to go out and look +at things, California is a wonderfully good place to live in. In fact, +I know of none better. But I should tell you more of where we live, +because California is so many places at once, that is, so many +different kinds of places, such as high mountains, burning deserts, +great forests, fertile plains, salt lakes, blue ocean, low soft hills, +wide level marshes, fragrant orchards, brilliant flower gardens, hot +springs and volcanic cones, deep canons and rushing rivers,--O, +indeed, almost all the kinds of places that the physical geography +tells about. + +Mary and I live in a beautiful valley between two ranges of mountains +and very near the marsh-lined shores of a great ocean bay. Over beyond +one range of mountains is the ocean itself stretching blue and ripply +all the way to China, while beyond the other range of mountains is a +desert with jackrabbits and burrowing owls and cactuses. Not the +worst--or best--sort of desert like that far south toward Mexico, but +one that gets a little rain, and hence is called a "Land of Great +Possibilities" by men who sell pieces of it now and then to people +from Maine. + +It is easy for us to get from the little town in which we live to +several very good places for looking at things. The foothills and +mountain sides with their forests and coverts and swift little brooks; +the orchards and flower gardens and grain and grass fields; the wide +flat marshes with their salt-grass and pickle-weed, their wide +channels and pools, and finally the bay itself; all are near by and +all are fine places for observing and collecting things. + +When I met Mary first--the time she was collecting tarantula holes--we +were on the gentle slopes of the lower foothills of the mountains. The +big hairy tarantulas are very numerous there, although one rarely sees +them because they mostly stay in their holes in daytime. There are +tarantula hawks there too, enormous black and rusty-red wasps with +wings stretching three inches from tip to tip. Mary and I saw one of +these giant wasps swoop down on a big tarantula just as he came out of +his hole one evening after sundown, and that was a battle to remember, +and it had a very strange ending. The tarantula--but I must save that +battle for another chapter all to itself. I must try and stick to the +wasp holes in this one. + +It was a day in September. This month in California is the last one of +the long, rainless, sun-filled summer, and everywhere it is very dry +and brown. The valley floors and foothill slopes lie thirsty and +cracking under the ardent sun, and a thin cover of fine dust lies on +all the leaves of the live-oak and eucalyptus trees. Everything out of +doors is waiting for the first rain. The birds are still and the frogs +all hidden away. The insects buzz about rather heavily and keep pretty +well under cover. If one wants to see much lowly life it is necessary +to go to the banks of the few persisting streams or lakes or to the +shores of bay or ocean. So Mary and I left the dry foothill slopes and +their many silk-lined holes with a big black hairy tarantula sitting +quietly at the bottom of each, and took the gently dropping dusty +road to the marshes. + +I like the salt marshes of California. They are a change and relief, +in their soothing monotony and simple plant life, from the lush and +variegated flower fields, the dense and hostile chaparral thickets, +the dark forests of great trees, and the miles of artificial +plantations of orchards and vines. On the marshes you are greater and +more important than the plants. In an orchard or a giant-tree forest, +you feel second-rate someway. The fruit-trees have men for servants, +while to the giant trees with their outlook from a height of three +hundred feet and their memories of two thousand years, a man is no +more than an ant. But in the marshes you feel that you are much more +important a kind of creature than the pickle-weed, and that is almost +the only plant that grows there. + +There are many curious little bare dry spots in the marshes where we +know it. Flat, smooth, salt-encrusted, clean white spots rather +circular in outline, and perhaps twenty feet in diameter. All around +is the low thick growth of fat-leaved pickle-weed, but for some reason +it doesn't invade these pretty little empty rooms. Mary and I like to +lie on the clean dry floor of one of these unroofed rooms and look up +at the blue sky and out beyond the low side walls of pickle-weed far +across the flat marsh stretches, over the shining bay, and on through +the quivering blue to the beautiful mountains that bound our views on +both sides. On clear afternoons we can see a gleaming white speck on +the top of the highest mountain in the eastern range. That is the +famous Lick Observatory, where the astronomers are looking always into +the sky to read the riddle of the stars and planets and comets. We +feel rather small, Mary and I, when we realize that we are only +loafing or at best watching insignificant little insects and +collecting wasp holes that lie at our noses' ends, while those men up +there are looking at wonders millions of miles away. But we are so +interested and contented with our small doings and small wonders that +we do not at all envy the astronomers on the mountain top. While they +watch the conflagrations of the stars and the mighty sailing of the +planets through the blackness of space, we watch the work and play and +living of our lowly companions on the sun-flooded marshes. They like +the cold glittering sky; we like the warm brown earth. + +We had been lying quietly on the white salt sand in one of the +unroofed marsh rooms for some time this September day before we saw +the first wasp begin to work. She was standing on her head, +apparently, and biting most energetically with her jaws, cutting a +little circle in the salt crust. When she got the circle all cut, she +tugged and buzzed until she dug up, unbroken, the little circular +piece (perhaps one-third of an inch across) of crust. She dragged +this about three inches away. Then she returned to the spot thus +cleaned and dug out with her sharp jaws a bit or pellet of soil. +Holding this in her mouth, she flew away about a foot and dropped it. +Then came back. Then dug out another pellet of soil and carried and +dropped it a foot or so away. Then back again and so on until it was +plain that she was digging out a little cylindrical vertical hole or +burrow. As the hole got deeper, the wasp had to crawl down into it, +first with head and fore legs, then with head and half her body; +finally her whole body, long legs, wings and all, was hidden as she +dug deeper and deeper. She had to come out of the hole of course to +carry away each bit of dug up soil. She always backed upward out of +the burrow, and all the while she was digging she kept up a low +humming sound. It was this humming sound that attracted our attention +to other narrow-waisted wasps like the first one. By moving about +cautiously and listening and looking carefully, we found more than a +dozen others digging holes, each one going about the work just like +every other one. + +When our first wasp had made its hole deep enough--this took a pretty +long time; we found out later that it was about three inches deep--she +brought back the first little circular piece of salt crust and +carefully put it over the top of the burrow, thus covering it up +entirely and making it look as if no hole were there. Then she flew +away, out of the little bare room and off into the pickle-weed +somewhere. We waited several minutes but she didn't come back, so we +turned our eyes to another wasp near by which had its hole only just +begun. It was interesting to see how closely like the first wasp this +second one worked. Prying and pulling with the jaws, the same +fluttering of the wings and humming, the same backing out of the hole +and the swift little flight for a foot or two feet away from the hole +to drop the pellet of soil. + +I tried to point out to Mary that this was the way animals do which +work by instinct and not by reason. That all the animals of the same +kind do things in the same way, and that they do them without any +teaching or imitating or reasoning out. They are born with the +knowledge and skill and the impulse to do the things in the particular +way they do. But Mary found this very tiresome and let her eyes rove, +and it is well she did or we might not have made our great discovery: +a really thrilling discovery it was for us, too. + +The first wasp had come back! But not empty handed, or rather not +empty mouthed, for in her pointed jaws she held a limp measuring-worm +about an inch and a quarter long. A measuring-worm or looper is the +caterpillar of a certain kind of moth, and it loops or measures when +it walks because it has no feet on the middle of the under side of +the body as other caterpillars have, and so has to draw its tail +pretty nearly up its head to take a step forward. This naturally makes +its body rise up in a fold or loop. "See," cried Mary, "the wasp is +going to put the measuring-worm into the hole." + +That is exactly what happened. How the wasp could tell where the hole +was, was surprising, for it had so carefully put the bit of salt crust +in place that you couldn't tell the top of the hole from the rest of +the crust-covered ground. But our wasp came straight to the right +place. Perhaps as a carrier-pigeon comes to its loft from a hundred +miles away, or a cat carried away in a bag to a strange place finds +its way quickly back home. + +Some of the other wasps that we watched later weren't so sure of their +holes, though, and other people who have watched digger-wasps in other +places have found them showing varying degrees of uncertainty about +locating their nests. Mr. and Mrs. Peckham, who have studied the +behavior of the various kinds of digger-wasps more than anybody else +in this country, have concluded that the wasps "are guided in their +movements by their memory of localities. They go from place to place +quite readily because they are familiar with the details of the +landscape in the district they inhabit. Fair eyesight and a moderately +good memory on their part are all that need be assumed in this simple +explanation of the problem." + +But quite different from this conclusion is that of Fabre, the +wonderful French observer of wasps, who experimented on them in regard +to this matter of finding and knowing their holes, by carrying them +away shut up in a dark box to the center of a village three kilometers +from the nesting ground, and releasing them after being kept all night +in the dark boxes. These wasps when released in the busy town, +certainly a place never visited by them before, immediately mounted +vertically to above the roofs and then instantly and energetically +flew south, which was the direction of their holes. Nine separate +wasps released one at a time did this without a moment's hesitation, +and the next day Fabre found them all at work again at their +hole-digging. He knew them by two spots of white paint he had put on +each one. + +"Are the wasps guided by memory when placed by man beyond their +bearings and carried to great distances into regions with which they +are unacquainted and in unknown directions?" asks Fabre. "By memory so +quick that when, having reached a certain height at which they can in +some sort take their bearings, they launch themselves with all their +power of wing towards that part of the horizon where their nests are? +Is it memory which traces their aerial way across regions seen for the +first time? Evidently not," emphatically declares Fabre. So there you +are. Where doctors (of science) fall out it is not for you or me to +decide. + +But Mary was growing excited. "See, she has put the worm down and is +prying up the top of the hole. She has got it off. She is--" + +"Ss-h," say I, for wasps can hear. Or, wait; that's quite dogmatic. +Wasps fly away when you talk too loud. That's better. That's not +judging wasp doing by what we can do. That is just telling an observed +fact. + +Mary "ssh"-ed, but she pointed a plump little finger; a finger +trembling with excitement. The wasp had gone down into the uncovered +hole with the worm. Then she backed out, found the lid, covered up the +hole and flew away into the pickle-weed again! + +In twenty minutes she came back, _with another limp measuring-worm_, +straight to the covered hole; worm dropped on the ground; lid taken +off; worm dragged in; wasp backed out; lid carefully replaced; flight +to the distant jungle of pickle-weed again! + +O, this was exciting. Mary fairly exploded into exclamations and +questions after the wasp was well away. What are the worms for? Are +they dead? The second one seemed to wriggle feebly a little on the +ground by the nest while the wasp was getting off the lid. Will she +bring more? Will she fill the hole full of worms? Now I knew the +answers to some of these questions, for I had been in this happy place +before, but I wanted Mary to find out, to discover--exquisite and +prideful pleasure--for herself. So I remained dumb. + +Three more times the wasp brought worms. Three more times went through +all the performance. But the last time she didn't come up for a long +time; that is, for several minutes, and when she did come, instead of +putting the salt crust on the hole, she got a little pellet of soil +and dropped it in; and then another, and many others. Sometimes she +scraped them in with her front feet, but there weren't many bits of +soil close enough for that, for she had carried them all a foot or so +away as she brought them out of the hole. She worked very +industriously: jumping and running about, making little buzzing leaps +and flights, until she had quite filled up the hole with the five dead +worms in the bottom. + +Then she did the most wonderful thing. With her fore feet she pawed +and raked the surface until it was quite smooth, and with her jaws and +horny head she pressed down and tamped the fine bits of soil until +they were a little below the surface of the salt crust around the +hole, and then she brought again the little circular lid or top of +salt crust and carefully put it in the little depression on the top +of the filled-in burrow, so that it fitted perfectly with the hard +uncut salt crust around the hole's edge! + +This is true. Does it seem wonderful to you? Why? Because we think +that other animals cannot do what would be a very simple thing indeed +for us? Our wasp was evidently concealing the whereabouts of her +worm-stored burrow. I don't say that she _wanted_ to conceal it; or +_decided_ to conceal it; or even _intended_ to conceal it. She was +simply, I say, concealing it. That seems quite certain, doesn't it? +Well, this action of cutting out and replacing the bit of salt crust +over the burrow was about the simplest and most effective way of +concealing the hole that could be reasoned out, if we ourselves were +to undertake it. The wasp, and all the other wasps of the same kind in +our marshes, concealed their holes in the way that our reason would +suggest to us as the best way. But I do not say anything about the +wasp's mental processes toward getting at this behavior. One thing is +pretty sure. Among a score or hundred of us doing this work, there +would be pretty sure to be some to do it in a different sort of way +from the others. The wasps of the same kind all do it alike. Perhaps +that is the chief difference between reason and instinct. + +But if our digger-wasp--whose name is Ammophila, the sand-lover--made +Mary's and my eyes bulge out by her cleverness, what shall we think of +that other Ammophila that Dr. Williston watched on the plains of +Kansas, or that other one still which the Peckhams studied in +Wisconsin? These other Ammophilas, instead of using their hard heads +to tamp down the soil in the hole, hunted about until they found a +suitable little stone which, held tightly in the jaws, was used as a +tool to pack and smooth the dirt! And the Kansas wasp did another odd +thing. Instead of making its hole of the same caliber or width all +the way down, the upper half-inch or so was made of greater diameter +than the rest of the burrow so that a little circular shelf ran around +the inside of the hole half an inch below the top. Now when the clever +Kansas wasp closed the burrow each time it went away to hunt for +measuring-worms, it did it in a curious way. I quote the exact words +of Professor Williston, the observer: "When the excavation had been +carried to the required depth"--this is our professional way of +saying, when the hole had been dug deep enough--"the wasp, after +surveying the premises, flying away, soon returned with a large pebble +in its mandibles, which it carefully deposited within the opening; +then, standing over the entrance upon her four posterior feet, she +rapidly and most amusingly scraped the dust, 'hand over hand' back +beneath her till she had filled the hole above the stone to the top. +[The stone of course was resting on the little circular shelf half an +inch down in the hole.] ... When she had heaped up the dirt to her +satisfaction, she again flew away and immediately returned with a +smaller pebble, perhaps an eighth of an inch in diameter, and then +standing more nearly erect, with the front feet folded beneath her, +she pressed down the dust all over and about the opening, smoothing +off the surface and accompanying the action with a peculiar rasping +sound." + +Is this not a creature of wits, this Kansas wasp? And an undaunted +worker? For each time she went away to get a nice fat looper, she +covered up her hole in this elaborate way, and each time she came +back, she had to remove the half-inch of tamped-down soil and the +little covering stone resting on the shelf in the hole. + +The Peckhams, too, saw an Ammophila in Wisconsin use a pebble as a +tool, and what is especially interesting and important, this wasp was +only a single individual of several others watched by the observers, +all these wasps being of one kind, that is, belonging to the same +species. The tool-user thus revealed an individuality that made its +actions seem to be dictated by something else than rigid instinct; +certainly so if instinct is to be defined as untaught and unreasoned +behavior common to all the individuals of a kind. In fact the Peckhams +(most persistent, practised and intelligent observers) insist that "in +all the processes of Ammophila the character of the work differs with +the individual." + +But where is Mary in all this digression of mine? Never fear for Mary. +While I was mumbling about instinct and reason and automatism and +individual idiosyncrasy, Mary was crawling slowly and cautiously about +over the salt-crust floor of our room, counting the wasp holes in +course of making, and she was making a second discovery. The +measuring-worms, limp and lifeless as they appeared, were really not +dead! She had seen at least two, left lying on the ground by the hole +while the wasp prized off the cover, give feeble wriggles, and one +that she poked with a pin squirmed rather energetically. That is, it +did if she poked it at one end, but not if she poked it in the middle, +which is such a great discovery that it really gets to be science! + +Now as one is entitled to take violent measures for the sake of +science, Mary and I decided after considerable serious discussion to +"collect" the hole which our wasp had finished and apparently left for +good. So we dug it up, and on the spot we examined it and all of its +insides. And we found it quite true that the loopers were not dead, +but they were _paralyzed_! When we poked a head or tail, each worm +could squirm just a little, but if we touched them in the middle, they +didn't know it, and on one of them, the top one, we found a little +shining white speck. + +Mary's excitement became merged into an intense thoughtfulness. Then +she cried aloud with eyes shining: "My, it's the egg! the egg of the +wasp! and the worms are for food for the young wasp when it hatches!" + +Ah, Mary, you have wits! Have you ever heard any one tell about this? +Did you really guess it, or not guess it, but actually reason it out +for yourself? Mary, I have great hopes of you. + +For it is quite true what Mary says. The little white seed-like thing +glued on to the last looper's body is the egg of the wasp, and the +stung and paralyzed but not killed measuring-worms are the food stored +up by this extremely clever narrow-waisted mother for the wingless, +footless, blind, almost helpless wasp grub, when it shall hatch from +the egg. Down in the darkness of the cell, there will be a horrible +tragedy. For days and weeks together the wasp grub will nibble away +on the helpless loopers until all five are eaten alive! Then the grub +will change to a winged wasp with strong sharp jaws with which she +will dig her way up and out of the noisome prison and into the free +air and sunlight of the marsh room. And she will then dig holes of her +own, find and sting and store loopers, lay an egg on one, and close up +the hole just as her mother did. Or at least all this would happen if +we hadn't collected the hole. But it will happen in the other holes. + +But why should the loopers be only paralyzed instead of killed? Isn't +it plain that if killed they would only be decaying carrion by the +time the wasp grub was ready to eat them, and young wasps must have +fresh meat, not dead and decayed flesh. And if the loopers were simply +put in alive, not paralyzed, wouldn't their violent squirming in the +hole surely crush the delicate egg or the more delicate newly hatched +wasp grub? Or wouldn't they simply dig their way with their heavy +jaws out of the hole and away? Or, indeed, could the slender-bodied +mother wasp carry and handle successfully a strong squirming looper +over an inch long? The reason for the paralyzing of the worms is plain +then. But how is this extraordinary condition brought about? And the +answer to this, which Mary and I didn't discover for ourselves, but +had to find out from the accounts of the men who did, like Fabre and +others, reveals the most extraordinary thing that our wasps do. Most +people think the wasps that live in communities or large families in +big paper nests (the yellow-jackets and hornets) are the most +interesting and most intelligent or clever of the wasps. But Mary and +I do not think so. The solitary wasps do the most wonderful things, +and of all they do, the paralyzing of the insects they store up as +food for their young is the hardest to explain on any basis except +that of wasp reasoning. But of course we don't have to explain it, +which is fortunate for the high record of truth we are trying to +establish in this book. + +Fabre, the patient Frenchman, waited for years and years for a chance +to see just how the Ammophila paralyzes her victims, and at last he +saw and understood it. To understand the matter from Fabre's account +of it, we must remember that the measuring-worm's body is made up of a +series of rings or body segments, in each of which (except the very +last) is a little nerve center or brain situated just under the skin +on the under side of the body. And all this row of brains is connected +by a slender nerve cord running along the middle line of the under +side of the long body. Now Fabre saw that the wasp darted its sting +into each looper, "once for all at the fifth or sixth segment of the +victim." And when he pricked the stung worms with a needle in various +parts of the body, he found, just as Mary did, that the needle could +entirely pierce the middle of the body (which is where the fifth and +sixth segments are), without causing any movement of the worm. "But +prick even slightly a segment in front or behind and the caterpillar +struggles with a violence proportioned to the distance from the +poisoned segment." + +Now what is the reason, asks Fabre, for the wasp's selecting this +particular spot for stinging the worm, and he answers his own question +as follows: + +"The loopers have the following organization, counting the head as the +first segment: Three pairs of true feet on rings two, three, and four; +four pairs of membranous feet on rings seven, eight, nine, and ten, +and a last similar pair set on the thirteenth and final ring; in all +eight pairs of feet, the first seven making two marked groups--one of +three, the other of four pairs. These two groups are divided by two +segments without feet, which are the fifth and sixth. + +"Now, to deprive the caterpillar of means of escape, and to render it +motionless, will the Hymenopteron [that's the wasp] dart its sting +into each of the eight rings provided with feet? Especially will it do +so when the prey is small and weak? Certainly not: a single stab will +suffice if given in a central spot, whence the torpor produced by the +venomous droplet can spread gradually with as little delay as possible +into the midst of those segments which bear feet. There can be no +doubt which to choose for this single inoculation; it must be the +fifth or sixth, which separate the two groups of locomotive rings. The +point indicated by rational deduction is also the one adopted by +instinct. Finally, let us add that the egg of the Ammophila is +invariably laid on the paralyzed ring. There, and there alone, can the +young larva bite without inducing dangerous contortions; where a +needle prick has no effect, the bite of a grub will have none either, +and the prey will remain immovable until the nursling has gained +strength and can bite farther on without danger." + +But some Ammophilas catch much larger caterpillars than the inch-long, +slender, little loopers. Fabre found a wasp dragging to its nest a +caterpillar weighing fifteen times the weight of the wasp. Does one +stab suffice for such a giant caterpillar? Here is what Fabre saw: An +Ammophila was noticed scratching in the ground around the crown of a +plant. She was "pulling up little grass roots, and poking her head +under the tiny clods which she raised up, and running hurriedly, now +here, now there, round the thyme, visiting every crack which gave +access under it; yet she was not digging a burrow, but hunting +something hidden underground, as was shown by manoeuvres like those +of a dog trying to get a rabbit out of its hole. And presently, +disturbed by what was going on overhead and closely tracked by the +Ammophila, a big gray worm made up his mind to quit his abode and +come up to daylight. It is all over with him; the hunter is instantly +on the spot, gripping the nape of his neck and holding on in spite of +his contortions. Settled on the monster's back, the Ammophila bends +her abdomen, and, methodically, deliberately--like a surgeon +thoroughly familiar with the anatomy of his subject--plunges a lancet +into the ventral surface of every segment, from the first to the last. +Not one ring is omitted; with or without feet each is stabbed in due +order from the front to the back." + +This is what the patient, careful observer saw, with all the "leisure +and ease required for an irreproachable observation." "The wasp acts," +says Fabre, "with a precision of which science might be jealous; it +knows what man but rarely knows; it is acquainted with the complex +nervous system of its victim, and keeps repeated stabs for those with +numerous ganglia. I said 'It knows; is acquainted'; what I ought to +say is, 'It acts as if it did.' What it does is suggested to it; the +creature obeys, impelled by instinct, without reasoning on what it +does. But whence comes this sublime instinct? Can theories of atavism, +of selection, of the struggle for life, interpret it reasonably?" + +When I had finished reading this to Mary she looked up and said +softly: "Of course I don't understand all this that he says about +'avatism and selection' and so on, but I think the wasp knows. Don't +you?" + +"Mary," I reply promptly, "the word is 'atavism,' not 'avatism,' +please remember!" + +"I hope I can," said Mary. + +[Illustration: RED AND BLACK AGAINST WHITE] + + + + +RED AND BLACK AGAINST WHITE + + +The meadow lark on the fence post behind my house is unusually voluble +this uncertain morning; maybe he is getting his day's singing off +before the sun shall hide, discomfited, behind the unrolling cloud +furls. A solemn grackle, with yellow eyes and bronzed neck, stalks +with cocking head in the wet green of the well-groomed front lawn; a +whisking bevy of goldfinches, which chat to each other in high-pitched +hurried phrases, disposes itself with much concern in the bare tree +across the road, and swinging along overhead, a woodpecker cries its +harsh greetings. But the life here on the street is tame and usual +compared to that busy living and to those eventful happenings taking +place in a remoter corner of the garden. There where the warm dust is +figured with the dainty tracks of the quail hosts and the flower-flies +hum their contentedest note; there in that half-artificial, half-wild +covert of odorous vegetation, a life in miniature, with the excitement +and stresses, the failures and successes and the inevitable comedies +and tragedies of any world of life is going on, with the history of it +all unrecorded. + +Mary has just come to call on me, bringing an unkempt bouquet of +Scotch broom from the garden. On these branches of broom are many +conspicuous white spots. They are not flowers, for it is not broom +flower time, and the flowers are yellow when their time does come. But +these white spots, soft little cottony masses, like little pillows or +cushions, and with regular tiny flutings along the top, have puzzled +Mary, and she has come to ask me about them, for I am supposed to know +all things. Well, luckily, I do happen to know about these, but I +suggest that we go into the garden together and see if we can find +out. The truth is, I am glad of an excuse to get away from this +tiresome German book about _Entwicklungslehre_. And then, too, I want +to look at things and talk with Mary. + +Mary has such a fascinatingly serious way of doing things that aren't +serious at all. She has got the curious notion lately that many little +people live among the grasses, the grass people she calls them, and +that that is the reason there are so many very little white flowers +coming up in my lawn. My own notion had been that some rascally +seedsman had sold me unclean grass seed, but Mary's notion that the +grass people are planting and raising these little flowers for their +own special delectation is, of course, a much wiser one. So when we +walk on the lawn, we go very slowly, and I have to poke constantly +among the grasses with my stick as we move along so that the little +people may know we are coming and have time to scurry away from under +our great boots. + +When we got out to the row of brooms, we found many of the soft white +cushions on all the bushes. But some of them were torn and +dishevelled. And in these torn masses many tiny round particles could +be seen. These little black specks are simply eggs, insect eggs, as I +told Mary, and soon she had discovered among them some slightly larger +but still very small red spots which were waving tiny black feet and +feelers about. They were of course the baby insects just hatching from +the eggs. + +"Does the mother lay the eggs in these little white cushions and then +go away and leave them?" asks Mary. + +"No, she stays right by them," I answer. + +"But where is she then? I can't--Yes I can too," cries Mary in great +triumph. "Here she is at one end of the egg cushion. She is a part of +it." + +"Well, no, not exactly," I have to say. "It is part of _her_, or +rather she spins the cushion, which is really a sac or soft box of +white wax, in which to lay her eggs. Something the way the spiders do, +you know. Only their egg box is made of silk and usually fastened to a +fence rail or on the bark of a tree and left there. But some of the +spiders, the large, swiftly running, black kinds that live under +stones, carry the silken ball with the eggs inside about with them, +fastened to the end of the body. Well, this cottony cushion scale +insect--that's its right name--keeps its waxen sac of eggs fastened to +it, but as the egg sac is much larger than the insect itself, it can't +run about any more, but has to stay for all the rest of the time until +it dies in the spot where it makes the sac. However, as it gets all +the food it wants by sticking its slender little beak into the broom +or other plant it is on and sucking up the fresh sap, it gets on very +well." + +"But what makes some of the egg cushions--how pretty they are, +too!--so torn and pulled open," asks Mary, who has listened to my long +speech very nicely. She often gets impatient when I lecture for too +many minutes together. + +"That is for you to find out," I say. "There is a dreadful thing going +on here if you can only see it. But a rather good thing too. Good for +the broom bushes anyway, and as they are _my_ broom bushes and I like +their flowers, good for me." + +Just then a very stubby, round-backed, quick little red beetle with +black spots walked off a broom stem on to Mary's hand. She didn't +scream, of course, nor even jerk her hand away. She may learn when she +is older to be frightened when pretty, harmless, little lady-bird +beetles walk on her. But now she likes all sorts of small animals, and +is not afraid at all. + +Mary is not at all slow to understand things, and when this +hard-bodied little beetle, with a body like half a red-and-black +pill, walked off the broom on to her hand, she guessed that he might +have something to do with the torn-up egg cushions. So it didn't take +her long to find another little beast like him actually nosing about +in an egg sac and voraciously snapping up all the unfortunate tiny, +red, black-legged baby scale insects. He ate the eggs, too, and seemed +to take some bites at the mother insect herself, and then Mary found +more of the lady-bird beetles, and still more. They were on all the +broom bushes where the white cushions were. And so one of the dreadful +tragedies going on in my garden was soon quite plain to Mary, and she +was very sorry for the helpless white insects. + +"Where did the red beetles come from?" she asked pretty soon. + +"From Australia," I answered. "Or rather their +great-great-grandparents did. These particular beetles were probably +born right here in the garden, because a colony of them live here. +But they couldn't if there were not some cottony cushion scale insects +here too. For this particular kind of lady-bird beetle can't live on +any other food--at least they don't--except this particular kind of +scale insect and its eggs, which is surely a curious thing, isn't it?" + +But Mary is so used to finding that the insects have extremely unusual +and curious habits--that is, habits different from ours--that she +doesn't get excited any more when I tell her about them. She does +though when she finds them out for herself, which makes me wonder if I +haven't wasted a good deal of time in my life giving lectures to +students about things instead of always making them find out for +themselves. And maybe I am wasting some more time now while I am +writing! + +"How did they come from Australia?" asks Mary. For she knows that +Australia is several thousand miles away across the ocean from +California, and lady-bird beetles do not swim. At least not from +Australia to America. So I have to give Mary another informing +lecture, and this is it: + +"Years and years ago, there lived in some fragrant-leaved orange-trees +in Australia some white cottony cushion insects whose life was +untroubled by other cares than those of eating and of looking after +the children. As each insect was fastened for life on the leaf or twig +that supplied it with all the food it needed, which was simply an +occasional drink of sap, and as the white insects always died before +their children were born, neither of these cares was very harassing. +On thousands of other similar fragrant-leaved orange-trees in +Australia lived millions of other similar white insects. And for a +long time this race of white insects enjoyed life. Those were happy +days. But on a time there came into one of the trees a few small red +beetles, who eagerly and persistently set about the awful business of +eating the defenceless white insects. From this tree the red beetles, +or the children of them, went to other trees where white insects +lived, and with unrelenting rapacity and uncloyed appetite ate all the +white insects they could find. And so in other trees; and finally, +with years, the red beetles had invaded all of the thousands of +fragrant-leaved orange-trees in Australia, and had eaten nearly all of +the millions of white insects. + +"One day a very small orange-tree was taken out of the ground in +Australia and sent with many others across the ocean to California. On +this small tree there were a few of the white insects. The little tree +was planted again in California and soon put out many fresh fragrant +leaves. The white insects were astonished and rejoiced that day after +day went by without the appearance of any red beetles. The white +insects increased in numbers; there were thousands of fragrant-leaved +orange-trees in California, and in a few years there were millions of +white insects in them. One morning a man stood among the trees and +said, 'Confound these bugs; they'll ruin me; what shall I do?' and a +man who knew said, 'Get some red beetles from Australia.' So this +orange-grower, with some others, paid a man to go to Australia and +collect some live red beetles. The collector went across the ocean, +three weeks' steady steaming, and sent back a few of the voracious +little beetles in a pill box. They were put into a tree in a +California orange-orchard in which there were many cottony cushion +scale insects. The red insects promptly began eating the white ones; +and their children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren have kept +up this eating ever since. And so the orange-growers never tire of +telling how the red beetles (whose name is Vedalia) were brought from +Australia to save them from ruin by the white insects (whose name is +Icerya)." + +Now there are not many cottony cushion scales left in California. A +very promising colony of them seems to have sprung up in my Scotch +broom bushes. But the red beetles have found their way there already, +as Mary and I discovered to-day, and so we think that by the time the +broom flowers come, there will be few white insects left in the +bushes. + +[Illustration: THE VENDETTA] + + + + +THE VENDETTA + + +This is the story of a fight. In the first story of this book, I said +that Mary and I had seen a remarkable fight one evening at sundown on +the slopes of the bare brown foothills west of the campus. It was not +a battle of armies--we have seen that, too, in the little world we +watch,--but a combat of gladiators, a struggle between two champions +born and bred for fighting, and particularly for fighting each other. +One champion was Eurypelma, the great, black, hairy, eight-legged, +strong-fanged tarantula of California, and the other was Pepsis, a +mighty wasp in dull-blue mail, with rusty-red wings and a poisonous +javelin of a sting that might well frighten either you or me. Do you +have any wasp in your neighborhood of the ferocity and strength and +size of Pepsis? If not, you can hardly realize what a terrible +creature she is. With her strong hard-cased body an inch and a half +long, borne on powerful wings that expand fully three inches, and her +long and strong needle-pointed sting that darts in and out like a +flash and is always full of virulent poison, Pepsis is certainly queen +of all the wasp amazons. But if that is so, no less is Eurypelma +greatest, most dreadful, and fiercest, and hence king, of all the +spiders in this country. In South America and perhaps elsewhere in the +tropics, live the fierce bird-spiders with thick legs extending three +inches or more on each side of their ugly hairy bodies. Eurypelma, the +California tarantula, is not quite so large as that, nor does he +stalk, pounce on and kill little birds as his South American cousin is +said to do, but he is nevertheless a tremendous and fear-inspiring +creature among the small beasties of field and meadow. + +But not all Eurypelmas are so ferocious; or at least are not ferocious +all the time. There are individual differences among them. Perhaps it +is a matter of age or health. Anyway, I had a pet tarantula which I +kept in an open jar in my room for several weeks, and I could handle +him with impunity. He would sit gently on my hand, or walk +deliberately up my arm, with his eight, fixed, shining, little reddish +eyes staring hard at me, and his long seven-jointed hairy legs +swinging gently and rhythmically along, without a sign of hesitation +or excitement. His hair was almost gray and perhaps this hoariness and +general sedateness betokened a ripe old age. But his great fangs were +unblunted, his supply of poison undiminished, and his skill in +striking and killing his prey still perfect, as often proved at his +feeding times. He is quite the largest Eurypelma I have ever seen. He +measures--for I still have his body, carefully stuffed, and fastened +on a block with legs all spread out--five inches from tip to tip of +opposite legs. + +At the same time that I had this hoary old tarantula, I had another +smaller, coal-black fellow who went into a perfect ecstasy of anger +and ferocity every time any one came near him. He would stand on his +hind legs and paw wildly with fore legs and palpi, and lunge forward +fiercely at my inquisitive pencil. I found him originally in the +middle of an entry into a classroom, holding at bay an entire excited +class of art students armed with mahl-sticks and paint-brushes. The +students were mostly women, and I was hailed as deliverer and greatest +_dompteur_ of beasts when I scooped Eurypelma up in a bottle and +walked off with him. + +But this is not telling of the sundown fight that Mary and I saw +together. We had been over to the sand-cut by the golf links, after +mining-bees, and were coming home with a fine lot of their holes and +some of the bees themselves, when Mary suddenly called to me to "see +the nice tarantula." + +Perhaps nice isn't the best word for him, but he certainly was an +unusually imposing and fluffy-haired and fierce-looking brute of a +tarantula. He had rather an owly way about him, as if he had come out +from his hole too early and was dazed and half-blinded by the light. +Tarantulas are night prowlers; they do all their hunting after dark, +dig their holes and, indeed, carry on all the various businesses of +their life in the night-time. The occasional one found walking about +in daytime has made a mistake, someway, and he blunders around quite +like an owl in the sunshine. + +All of a sudden, while Mary and I were smiling at this too early bird +of a tarantula, he went up on his hind legs in fighting attitude, and +at the same instant down darted a great tarantula hawk, that is, a +Pepsis wasp. Her armored body glinted cool and metallic in the red +sunset light, and her great wings had a suggestive shining of dull +fire about them. She checked her swoop just before reaching Eurypelma, +and made a quick dart over him, and then a quick turn back, intending +to catch the tarantula in the rear. But lethargic and owly as +Eurypelma had been a moment before, he was now all alertness and +agility. He had to be. He was defending his life. One full fair stab +of the poisoned javelin, sheathed but ready at the tip of the +flexible, blue-black body hovering over him, and it would be over with +Eurypelma. And he knew it. Or perhaps he didn't. But he acted as if he +did. He was going to do his best not to be stabbed; that was sure. And +Pepsis was going to do her best to stab; that also was quickly +certain. + +At the same time Pepsis knew--or anyway acted as if she did--that to +be struck by one or both of those terrible vertical, poison-filled +fangs was sure death. It would be like a blow from a battle-axe, with +the added horror of mortal poison poured into the wound. + +So Eurypelma about-faced like a flash, and Pepsis was foiled in her +strategy. She flew up and a yard away, then returned to the attack. +She flew about in swift circles over his head, preparatory to darting +in again. But Eurypelma was ready. As she swooped viciously down, he +lunged up and forward with a half-leap, half-forward fall, and came +within an ace of striking the trailing blue-black abdomen with his +reaching fangs. Indeed it seemed to Mary and me as if they really +grazed the metallic body. But evidently they had not pierced the +smooth armor. Nor had Pepsis in that breathless moment of close +quarters been able to plant her lance. She whirled up, high this time +but immediately back, although a little more wary evidently, for she +checked her downward plunge three or four inches from the dancing +champion on the ground. And so for wild minute after minute it went +on; Eurypelma always up and tip-toeing on those strong hind legs, with +open, armed mouth always toward the point of attack, and Pepsis ever +darting down, up, over, across, and in and out in dizzy dashes, but +never quite closing. + +Were Mary and I excited? Not a word could we utter; only now and then +a swift intake of breath; a stifled "O" or "Ah" or "See." And then of +a sudden came the end. Pepsis saw her chance. A lightning swoop +carried her right on to the hairy champion. The quivering lance shot +home. The poison coursed into the great soft body. But at the same +moment the terrible fangs struck fair on the blue armor and crashed +through it. Two awful wounds, and the wings of dull fire beat +violently only to strike up a little cloud of dust and whirl the +mangled body around and around. Fortunately Death was merciful, and +the brave amazon made a quick end. + +But what of Eurypelma, the killer? Was it well with him? The +sting-made wound itself was of little moment; it closed as soon as the +lancet withdrew. But not before the delicate poison sac at its base +inside the wasp-body had contracted and squirted down the slender +hollow of the sting a drop of liquid fire. And so it was not well with +Eurypelma in his insides. Victor he seemed to be, but if he could +think, he must have had grave doubts about the joys of victory. + +For a curious drowsiness was coming over him. Perhaps, disquieting +thought, it was the approaching stupor of the poison's working. His +strong long legs became limp, they would not work regularly, they +could not hold his heavy hairy body up from the ground. He would get +into his hole and rest. But it was too late. And after a few uneven +steps, victor Eurypelma settled heavily down beside his amazon +victim, inert and forevermore beyond fighting. He was paralyzed. + +And so Mary and I brought him home in our collecting box, together +with the torn body of Pepsis with her wings of slow fire dulled by the +dust of her last struggles. And though it is a whole month now since +Eurypelma received his stab from the poisoned javelin of Pepsis, he +has not recovered; nor will he ever. When you touch him, he draws up +slowly one leg after another, or moves a palpus feebly. But it is +living death; a hopeless paralytic is the king. + +Dear reader, you are of course as bright as Mary, and so you have +noticed, as she did right away, the close parallel between what +happened to Eurypelma and what happened to the measuring-worms brought +by Ammophila to her nest burrow as described in the first story in +this book. And so, like Mary, you realize that the vendetta or life +feud between the tarantula family and the family of Pepsis, the +tarantula hawk, is based on reasons of domestic economy rather than on +those of sentiment, which determine vendettas in Corsica and feuds in +Kentucky. + +To be quite plain, Pepsis fights Eurypelma to get his huge, juicy body +for food for her young; and Eurypelma fights Pepsis to keep from +becoming paralyzed provender. If Pepsis had escaped unhurt in the +combat at which Mary and I "assisted," as the French say, as +enthralled spectators, we should have seen her drag by mighty effort +the limp, paralyzed, spider giant to her nest hole not far distant--a +great hole twelve inches deep and with a side chamber at the bottom. +There she would have thrust him down the throat of the burrow, and +then crawled in and laid an egg on the helpless beast, from which in +time would have hatched the carnivorous wasp grub. Pepsis has many +close allies among the wasps, all black or steely blue with smoky or +dull-bronze wings, and they all use spiders, stung and paralyzed, to +store their nest holes with. + +"Do the little black and blue wasps hunt the little spiders and the +larger ones the big spiders?" asks Mary. + +"Exactly," I respond, "and the giant wasp of them all, Pepsis, the +queen of the wasp amazons, hunts only the biggest spider of them all, +Eurypelma, the tarantula king, and we have seen her do it." + +"Well," says Mary, "even if she wants him for her children to eat, +it's a real vendetta, isn't it?" + +"Indeed it is," I answer, "it's more real, and fiercer, and more +relentless, and more persistent than any human vendetta that ever was. +For every Pepsis mother in the world is always hunting for Eurypelmas +to fight. And not _all_ Corsicans have a vendetta on hand, nor all +Kentuckians a feud." + +[Illustration: THE TRUE STORY OF THE PIT OF MORROWBIE JUKES] + + + + +THE TRUE STORY OF THE PIT OF MORROWBIE JUKES + + +"It seemed that some one was calling to me in a whisper--'Sahib! +Sahib! Sahib!' exactly as my bearer used to call me in the mornings. I +fancied that I was delirious until a handful of sand fell at my +feet. Then I looked up and saw a head peering down into the +amphitheater--the head of Dunnoo, my dog-boy, who attended to my +collies. As soon as he had attracted my attention, he held up his hand +and showed a rope. I motioned, staggering to and fro the while, that +he should throw it down. It was a couple of leather punkah-ropes +knotted together, with a loop at one end. I slipped the loop over my +head and under my arms; heard Dunnoo urge something forward; was +conscious that I was being dragged, face downward, up the steep +sand-slope, and the next instant found myself choked and half-fainting +on the sand-hills overlooking the crater." + +And then Mary broke in. We were lying in a sunny warm spot on an open +hillside a little way off the road, and I was reading aloud from a +favorite author. + +"That is a fairy story," said Mary, "and I thought we were not going +to read any more fairy stories now that I am grown up." + +Mary's idea of being grown up is to be more than three feet eleven +inches high and to have her hair no longer in two braids. + +"Not exactly a fairy story," I replied. "For Kipling rather prefers +soldiers to fairies and machines to caps of invisibility. Of course, +though, he wrote the Mowgli stories." + +"But those are not fairy stories," interrupted Mary. "Those were about +a real boy and real animals only a long way off and different from +ours." + +"Ah-um, real? Well, perhaps; anyway, the Mowgli animals seem more real +than most real animals. But this story of the sand-pit and the man +sliding down into it and not being able to get out isn't impossible at +all. Only the other people down in the bottom seem a little unusual." + +"No, there can't be any such place," said Mary positively, "and as +there can't be any such place, nobody could have slid into it or been +in the bottom, and so it is a fairy story. Any story that isn't so is +a fairy story." + +"Well, that makes it easy to tell a fairy story from the other kinds, +and I never knew exactly how before. But I once saw a place much like +the sand-pit that Morrowbie Jukes slid into, or that Kipling says he +slid into. It is on the side of a great mountain in Oregon; Mt. Hood +its name is. I had climbed far above timber line, that is, above where +all the trees and bushes stop because it is too cold for them to live, +and there is only bare rocks and snow and ice, and had sat down to +rest near a great snowbank a mile long. As I looked back down the +mountain I saw a curious yellowish smoke rising in little puffs and +curls. I decided to find out about this smoke on my way down; perhaps +it was the beginning of a forest fire, and ought to be put out. + +"Well, when I got to it there was no fire; the puffs and curls were +not smoke. It was a real Morrowbie Jukes pit; a great crater-like hole +in the mountain, with its side so steep that the loose volcanic sand +and rocks (for the whole mountain is an old volcano) kept slipping +down in little avalanches from which puffs and curls of fine yellow +dust kept rising and drifting lazily away. If I had made the mistake +of going too close to the edge, I should certainly have started one +of these avalanches and gone slipping and sliding, faster and faster, +to the very bottom, a thousand feet below." + +"My!" said Mary; "and were there horrible people in the bottom, and +crows?" + +"Well, really, Mary, I couldn't see on account of the dust-smoke." + +"Of course there weren't, probably," said Mary thoughtfully and a +little wistfully. + +"Probably not," I had to reply regretfully. + +But a bright thought came to me. I remembered something. Several days +before I had tramped along this hillside road near which Mary and I +were lying and I had seen--well, just wait. So I said to Mary: "But I +know where there is a Morrowbie Jukes pit, several of them, indeed, +near here. Sha'n't we go and see them?" + +"Why, of course," said Mary rather severely. + +"Let us go galloping as Morrowbie Jukes did," said I. So we took hold +of hands and as soon as we got out of the chaparral, we went +galloping, hop, hop, hoppity, hop, down the road. I must confess that +I got out of breath pretty soon and my knees seemed to creak a little. +And when a swift motor-car came exploding by, going up the hill, all +the people stared and smiled to see an elderly gentleman with +spectacles and a long coat hop-hopping along with a yellow-haired +red-cheeked little girl in knee skirts. But we don't mind people much! +They simply don't know all the things that go with being happy. + +Pretty soon--and it was high time, for I had only three breaths +left--we came to a place where the road bent sharply around the +hillside and was especially broad. + +"Now, Mary," I said, "be careful and don't fall in. I'm afraid I +could not get you out." + +"Fall in where? Get me out of what?" asked Mary, quite puzzled. She +was staring about excitedly, looking most of the time down into the +canon with its spiry redwood trees pushing far up from the bottom. And +then suddenly she saw. She flopped down on her hands and knees in the +warm sand by the roadside and cried out, "What funny little holes!" + +"Why, Mary," I said with pained surprise. "You don't really mean to +call these awful Morrowbie Jukes pits 'funny little holes'! That isn't +fair after all we've done to find them. Especially after my galloping +all the way right to the very edge of this largest one." + +As I spoke I pointed it out with the toe of my shoe, but inadvertently +filled it all up by poking a couple of tablespoonfuls of sand and dust +into it. But size is quite a relative matter, and for the tiny +creatures with whom Mary and I have to deal, the little crater-like +holes in the sand of the roadside are large and dangerous pits. We +sprawled down on our stomachs among the pits to see what we could see. + +Mary saw first. Ah, those bright eyes! My spectacles are rather in the +way out-of-doors, I find. But if I keep on getting younger--and I +certainly am younger since I got acquainted with Mary--I shall be able +soon to leave them at home in my study when I go out to see things. + +Mary, then, saw first. What she saw were two very small shining, +brown, gently curved, sharp-pointed, sickle-like jaws sticking up out +of the loose sand in the very bottom of one of the pits. They moved +once, these curved and pointed jaws, and that movement caught Mary's +eye. + +"It's the dragon of the pit," I cried. "Dig him out!" + +So Mary dug him out. He was very spry and had a strong tendency to +shuffle backwards down into the hiding sand. But it takes a keen +dragon to get away from Mary, and this one wasn't and didn't. + +He was an ugly little brute, squat and hump-backed, with sand sticking +to his thinly haired body. But he was fierce-looking for all his +diminutiveness. Remember again that whether a thing is big or little +to you depends on whether you are big or little. This dragon of the +sand-pit was little to us. He is terribly big to the ants. + +When Mary got him out and had put him down on the sand near the pit, +he trotted about very actively but always backwards. He seems to have +got so used to pulling backwards against the frantic struggles of his +prey to get up and out of the pit, that he can now only move that way. +After we watched him a while, we "collected" him; that is, put him +into a bottle, with some sand, to take home and see if we could keep +him in our room of live things. Then we turned our attention to +another crater. It was about three inches across at the top and about +two inches deep; a symmetrical little broad-mouthed funnel with the +loose sand-slopes just as steep as they could be. The slightest +disturbance, a touch with a pencil-point for example, would start +little sand avalanches down the slopes anywhere. It is, of course, +easy to see how this horrible pit-trap works. And, in fact, in the +very next moment we saw actually how it did work. + +A foraging brown ant that was running swiftly over the ground plunged +squarely over the verge of the crater before she could stop. She +certainly tried hard to stop when once over, but it was too late. +Slipping and sliding with the rolling sand-grains, down she went right +toward those waiting scimitar-like jaws. + +Now, these jaws deserve a word of description. Because, horrible as +they may seem to the unfortunate ants, they are so well arranged for +their particular purpose that they must attract our admiration. The +dragon of the pit, ant-lion he is usually called, has no open, yawning +mouth behind those projecting jaws, as might be expected. Indeed there +is no mouth at all, just a throat, thirsty for ant blood! The slender +scimitar jaws have each a groove on the concave inner side, and down +this groove runs the blood of the struggling victim, held impaled on +the sharp points of the curving mandibles. The two fine grooves lead +directly into the throat, and thus there is no need of open mouth with +lips and tongue, such as other insects have. + +"But see," cried Mary, "the ant has stopped sliding. It is going to +get out!" + +Ah, Mary, you are not making allowance for all the resources of this +dreadful dragon of the pit. Not only is the pit a nearly perfect trap, +and the eager jaws at the bottom more deadly than any array of spikes +or spears at the bottom of an elephant pit, but there is another most +effective thing about this fatal dragon's trap, and that is this: it +is not merely a passive trap, but an active one. Already it is in +action. And Mary sees now how hopeless it is with the ant. For a +shower of sand is being thrown up from the bottom of the pit against +the ant and it is again sliding down. The dragon has a flat, broad +head and powerful neck muscles, and has wit enough to shovel up and +hurl masses of dry sand-grains against the victim on the loose slopes. +And this starts the avalanche again, and so down slides the frantic +ant. + +What follows is too painful for Mary and me to watch and certainly too +cruel to describe. But one must live, and why not ant-lions as well as +ants? If truth must be told, many ants have as cruel habits and as +bloodthirsty tastes as the ant-dragon. Indeed, more cruel and +revolting habits. For ants have a gastronomic fondness for the babies +of other ants, which is a fondness quite different from that which +they ought to have. It means that they like these babies--to eat. Some +communities of ants, indeed, spend most of their time fighting other +communities just to rob them of their babies, which they carry off to +their own nests and use in horrible cannibalistic feasts. + +Mary and I had seen enough of the Morrowbie Jukes pits. So we went +back to our little open sunny spot in the chaparral on the hillside +and lay quiet and silent for a long time. Then Mary murmured, "I +wonder how the ant-lion digs its pit." + +"I can tell you, Mary," I replied. "For a man who once saw one digging +told me. It is this way: First he makes a circular groove the full +circumference of the top of the pit. Then he burrows into the sand +inside of the groove and piles sand-grains on top of his flat, horny, +shovel-like head with his fore feet. This sand he tosses over the +groove so that it will fall outside. He works his way all around the +groove, doing this over and over, and then makes another groove inside +the first, and digs up and tosses the sand out as before. And so on, +groove after groove, each inside the one made before, thus gradually +making a conical pit with the sides as steep as the loose sand will +lie. The pit must always be made in a dry sandy spot, and is usually +located in a warm sunny place at the foot of a large rock. This man +said that it is easy to get the ant-lions to dig pits in boxes of sand +in the house, and so we can try with our 'collected' fellow." + +Mary was silent some moments. Then she said softly, "But how will he +get anything to eat?" + +"Why," said I, "of course we can give him--" Mary looked up at me in a +special way she has. I go on, more slowly, but still without very +much hesitation: "But, of course, we sha'n't do that, shall we?" + +And Mary said quietly: "No, we sha'n't." + +We rested our chins on our hands and lay still, looking down over the +chaparral-covered hillside and far out across the hazy valley. On the +distant bay were little white specks, small schooners that carry wood +and tan-bark and hay from the bay towns to San Francisco; and across +the blue bay lifted the bare, brown mountains of the Coast Range, with +always that gleaming white spot of the Observatory a-tiptop of the +highest peak. It was a soft, languid, lazy day. Such a peace-giving, +relaxing, healing day! And we were so enveloped by it, Mary and I, +that we simply lay still and happy, with hardly a word. I had, of +course, intended to give Mary an informing lecture about how the ugly, +horrid ant-lion finally stops preying on ants and rolls himself up in +a neat little silk-and-sand ball, and changes into a beautiful, +slender-bodied, gauzy-winged creature without any resemblance at all +to its earlier incarnation. But I didn't. It was too fine a day to +spoil with informing lectures. + +And so Mary and I lay still and happy. Finally it was time to go. As +we went down the road we passed again the place of the pits, and Mary +looked once more at the neat little craters with their patient waiting +jaws at the bottom. + +"I wonder," she said, musingly, "if Mr. Kipling ever saw an ant-lion +pit." + +"I wonder," said I. + +[Illustration: ARGIOPE OF THE SILVER SHIELD] + + + + +ARGIOPE OF THE SILVER SHIELD + + +Argiope of the Silver Shield is the handsomest spider that Mary and I +know. Do you know a handsomer? Or are you of those who have +prejudices, and hold all spiders to be ugly, hateful things? We are so +sorry for you if you are, for that means you can never enjoy having a +pet Argiope. The truth is, Mary and I like clever and skillful people, +but when we can't find that kind, we rather prefer clever and skillful +spiders and wasps or other lowly beasties to the other sort of people, +which shows just how far a fancy for nature may lead one. + +It _is_ rather bad, of course, to prefer to chum with a spider, even +such a wonderfully handsome and clever one as Argiope, instead of +with a human soul. But that isn't our situation exactly. We prefer +human souls to anything else on earth, but not human stomachs and +livers and human bones and muscles and sick human nerves. And, +someway, too many people leave on one an impression of bowels or sore +eyes rather than one of mind and soul. So we rush to the fields or +woods or roads after such an experience and live a while with the keen +bright eyes, the sensitive feelers, the dexterous feet and claws and +teeth, and the sharp wits of the small folk who, while not human, are +nevertheless inhabitants and possessors of this earth, side by side +with us, and are truly our blood-cousins, though some incredible +number of generations removed. + +Mary and I scraped acquaintance with our Argiope in a cypress-tree. +That is, Argiope had her abiding-place there; she was there on her +great symmetrical orb-web, with its long strong foundation lines, +its delicate radii and its many circles with their thousands of +tiny drops of viscid stuff to make them sticky. In the center was the +hub, her resting-place, whence the radii ran out, and where she had +spun a broad zigzaggy band of white silk on which she stood or sat +head downward. Her eight long, slender, sensitive legs were +outstretched and rested by their tips lightly on the bases of the taut +radii so that they could feel the slightest disturbance in the web. +These many radii, besides supporting the sticky circles or spiral, +which was the real catching part of the web, acted like so many +telegraph lines to carry news of the catching to waiting Argiope at +the center. + +I have said that Mary and I think Argiope of the Silver Shield +the most handsome spider we know. There are, however, other +Argiopes to dispute the glory with our favorite; for example, a +golden-yellow-and-black one and another beautiful silver-and-russet +one. Other people, too, may fancy other spiders; perhaps the little +pink-and-white crab-spiders of the flower-cups, or the curious spiny +Acrosomas and Gasteracanthas with their brilliant colors and bizarre +patterns and shape. Others may like the strawberry Epeira, or the +diadem-spider, or the beautiful Nephilas. There are enough kinds and +colors and shapes of spiders to satisfy all tastes. But we like best +and admire most the long-legged, agile, graceful Argiopes, and +particularly her of the silver shield. Her full, firm body with its +flat, shield-shaped back, all shining silver and crossed by staring +black-and-yellow stripes, the long tapering legs softly ringed with +brown and yellow, the shining black eyes on their little rounded +hillock of a forehead, and the broad, brown under body with eight +circular silver spots; all go to make our Argiope a richly dressed and +stately queen of spiders. But the royal consort--O, the less said of +him, the better. A veritable dwarf; insignificant, inconspicuous and +afraid for his life of his glorious mate. How such a queen could +ever--but there, how tiresome, for that is what gets said of most +matches, royal or plebeian. + +Mary and I brought Argiope in from her home in the cypress-tree and +put her in a fine, roomy, light and airy cage, where she could live +quietly and unmolested by enemies, and where we could see to it that +she should not lack for food. There are many of the small creatures +with which we get acquainted that do not object at all to being +brought into our well-lighted, well-ventilated, warm vivarium--that +means live-room. Creatures of sedentary habits, and all the web-making +spiders are of course that, ought not to object at all and usually do +not seem to. For they get two things that they cannot be sure of +outside: protection and plenty of food. Argiope seemed perfectly +content and settled right down to spinning a glistening new web, a +marvel of symmetry and skillful construction, in her roomy cage, and +in a day or two was seated quietly but watchfully on the broad-banded +hub in the center, with her toes on her telegraph lines, ready for +good news. It was, of course, our duty to see that she was not +disappointed. + +The message she wanted was from some struggling fly fastened anywhere +in the broad expanse of web. So we tossed in a fly. It buzzed about a +moment, then blundered into the web which it shook violently in its +struggle to escape. Argiope rushed at once out upon the web. + +"How can she run about on the sticky web without getting caught, too?" +interrupts Mary. + +I think a moment, then with some dignity reply: "Pretty soon, please, +Mary." + +Argiope, I repeat, rushed at once out upon the web, seized the fly in +her jaws and ran back to the hub with it, where she appeared to wet +it all over, squeeze it into a ball and then proceed to feed upon it, +holding and manipulating it skillfully all the time in her jaws. +Evidently Argiope was very hungry, for as you will see, this is not +her usual way of taking care of her prey. + +"Now, Mary, what was it you asked?" + +"Oh, just how the spider can run around so fast on the web without +sticking to it and getting caught or tearing it all to pieces." + +"Ah,--ah, yes. Well, Mary, I don't know! that is, exactly; or, well +not even very close to exactly. But she does it, you see." + +"Yes, I see," said Mary, demurely, and--can it be that Mary is +slightly winking one eye? I do hope not. + +"Of course you know, Mary, that the web is made of two kinds of silk +or rather two kinds of lines? Oh, you didn't know?" Mary has shaken +her head. + +"Well it is," I continue, with my usual manner of teacher-who-knows +somewhat restored again. "The foundation lines, the radii and a first +set of circles are all made of lines without any sticky stuff on them. +As you see"--and I touch my pencil confidently to a radius, with the +manner of a parlor magician. "Then the spider, on this foundation, +spins in another long spiral, the present circles of the web, which is +liberally supplied with tiny, shining droplets of viscid silk that +never dries, but stays moist and very sticky all the time. This is the +true catching part of the web." + +"We surely must watch her spin a web sometime," breaks in eager Mary. + +"We certainly must," say I, and continue. "Now perhaps when Argiope +runs out on the web from her watching-place at the hub, she only puts +her long delicate feet on the unsticky radii. Or perhaps her feet are +made in some peculiar way so that they do not stick to the circles. As +a matter of fact, a spider's foot is remarkably fashioned, with +curious toothed claws, and hosts of odd hairs, some knobbed, some +curved and hook-like, and some forming dense little brushes. But after +all, Mary, the truth is, I don't know really how it is that spiders +can run about over their webs without getting stuck to them." + +After my long discursus about web-making and spider's feet, it seemed +time to give Argiope another fly. Indeed her bright little black eyes +seemed to Mary to be shining with eagerness for more fly, although she +still had the remains of the first one in her jaws--gracious, +Argiope's jaws, please, not Mary's! + +So we tossed in another fly. We hope you won't think this cruel. But +flies are what Argiope eats, and if she was out in the garden, she +would be catching them, and, what is worse, they would not be the +disgusting and dangerous house-flies and bluebottles that we feed her, +but all sorts of innocent and beautiful little picture-winged +flower-flies and pomace-flies and what not. House-flies and +stable-flies and bluebottles are truly dangerous because they help +spread human diseases, especially typhoid fever. So if we are to live +safely they should be killed. Or, better, prevented from hatching and +growing at all. + +So we tossed in another fly. Argiope immediately dropped the nearly +finished first fly into the web, ran out to the new one and pounced on +it, seizing it with her fore legs. Then she doubled her abdomen +quickly underneath her and there issued from the spinnerets at its tip +a jet, a flat jet of silk, which was caught up by the hind feet and +wrapped around the fly as it was rolled over and over by the front +feet. She tumbled it about, all the time wrapping it with the issuing +band of silk, until it was completely enswathed. Then she left it +fastened in the web, went back to the hub, and resumed her feeding on +the first fly. But soon she finished this entirely, dropped the wreck +out of the web and went out and got the second fly, bringing it back +to the hub to eat. + +"But why," asked Mary, "does Argiope wrap the fly up so carefully in +silk? Why not just kill it by biting, and then leave it in the web +until she wants it?" + +"Perhaps," I answer, "she wants to make it helpless before she comes +to close quarters with it. You notice she holds it away from her body +with her fore feet and pulls the silk band out far with her hind feet +so that her body does not touch the fly at all while she wraps it. +Perhaps she is not sure that it isn't a bee or some other stinging +insect. It buzzes loud enough to make me think it a bee." + +So Mary and I decided to try some experiments with our Argiope to find +out, if possible, first, if she could tell a bee from a fly, and +second, if so, whether she treated it differently, and third, why she +wraps her prey up so carefully before coming to too close quarters +with it. We feel quite proud of these experiments because we seemed to +be doing something really scientific; and we know that Experimental +Zoology, that is, studying animals by experimenting with them, is +quite the most scientific thing going nowadays among professional +naturalists. So here are our notes exactly as we wrote them during our +experimenting. This is, of course, the correct manner for publishing +real scientific observations, because it gives the critical reader a +chance to detect flaws in our technique! + + +OUR NOTES ON THE BEHAVIOR OF ARGIOPE + +"Nov. 18, 4:45 P.M.; released a fly in the cage. The spider pounced +upon it, seized it with fore and third pair of legs, threw out a band +of silk and enswathed it, tumbling it over and over with her hind feet +about thirteen times, hence enswathed it in thirteen wrappings of +silk. The fly was then disconnected from the web, the spider making +but little attempt to mend the gap. It was carried to the hub and +eaten. While the feast was going on, a honey-bee [with sting +extracted; we didn't want to run any risks with Argiope!] was +liberated in the cage. As soon as it touched the web, the spider was +upon it, throwing out a band of silk in a sheet a quarter of an inch +broad. ['Drawing out' would be more accurate, for the spinnerets +cannot spurt out silk; silk is drawn out and given its band character +by lightning-like movements of the comb-toothed hind feet.] With her +hind legs Argiope turned the bee over and over twenty-five or +twenty-six times, thus enswathing it with twenty-five or twenty-six +wrappings of the silken sheet. + +"No sooner was the bee enswathed than a second bee was liberated in +the cage and caught in the web. This was treated by the spider like +bee No. 1. + +"Nov. 20, 8:15 A.M.; Argiope perfectly still in center of hub, +feeding on bee No. 2. The only thing that reveals the feeding is a +slight moving of the bee's body as the juices are sucked up. Remains +of bee No. 1 dropped to the bottom of the cage. + +"Fed all day, 8:15 A.M. to 5 P.M., on bee No. 2. + +"At 2:30 P.M., a box-elder bug, which is very ill-smelling, was thrown +into the web. Argiope did nothing for three minutes, then went out on +the web to it and wrapped, making five complete turns; then went away. +Probably not hungry, as she has had two bees and a fly in three days. + +"Nov. 21, 8:15 A.M.; box-elder bug finished during last night. Old web +replaced by a new one with twenty-nine radii, eleven complete spirals +and several partial spirals. The hub is formed of fine irregular +webbing about an inch and a half in diameter, without the viscid +droplets that cover the spirals. An open space of about a half-inch +intervenes between the hub and the beginning of the spirals. + +"4:30 P.M.; liberated a fly in the cage. Argiope pounced upon it and +began to eat immediately, not taking time or trouble to enswath it. + +"While the fly was being devoured, we liberated a strong-smelling +box-elder bug in the cage. It flew into the web. Argiope, by a quick +movement, turned on the hub toward the bug and stood in halting +position for eight seconds, then approached the bug slowly, hesitated +for a second or two, then wrapped it about with five wrappings, halted +again, and finally finished with five more wrappings. The bug was then +attached to the web where it had first touched, the spider passing +back to the center and resuming her meal. + +"When the fly was finished, Argiope walked over to the bug, grasped it +in her mandibles, walked up to the hub, turned herself about so that +her head was downward, manipulated the bug with her fore and third +pair of feet until it seemed to be in right position for her with +reference to the hub of the web, and began to feed. + +"5 P.M.; bee liberated in cage _with sting not extracted_. Argiope +leaped instantaneously to the spot where it was caught, enswathed it +with great rapidity thirty-seven times, then bit at it, and enswathed +it five times more, making forty-two complete wrappings in all, then +left it fastened in the web and resumed feeding upon the bug. All the +time she was wrapping it, Argiope kept her body well clear of the +bee's body, the spinnerets being fully one-half an inch from the bee, +making the broad band of issuing silk very noticeable. In biting it, +which she seemed to do with marked caution, she of course had to bite +through the silken covering. + +"A few minutes later a second bee, with sting, was liberated in the +cage, caught in the web and rapidly pounced on by the spider. As +before, she turned it over and over with great rapidity, using +apparently all of her legs. She enswathed it fifty times, bit it, and +then wrapped it with five more silken sheets, making fifty-five +wrappings in all. Leaving it hung to the web, she went back to the +bug. + +"Before Argiope had reached the bug, bee No. 3 was caught in the web +at the exact spot where bee No. 2 was hung up. In its efforts to +disentangle its feet, it shook the whole web violently. In spite of +the violent vibration of the web, Argiope pursued her course to the +bug at the hub of the web, adjusted herself with head downward, and +resumed feeding. + +"Query: Did Argiope think the web-shaking due to futile struggles of +the well-wrapped bee No. 2, and hence needing no attention? + +"Vibration of the web continued. After several seconds had elapsed, +Argiope seemed suddenly to realize that her efforts were called for +out on the web, for she pounced down as rapidly as before and rolled +and tumbled _both bees together_, enswathing both in the same sheet of +silk, never stopping until she had given them fifty-five wrappings. +After biting twice, she wrapped them with five more turns, bit again, +and wrapped again with seven more turns, making sixty-seven in all. +Argiope then returned to her bug. + +"Query: Does Argiope distinguish bees from flies? + +"Further query: Does Argiope distinguish bees _with stings_ from bees +with _stings extracted_? + +"Nov. 22, 9:45 A.M.; Argiope feeding at hub on bees Nos. 2 and 3 +introduced into cage yesterday afternoon. With her right second leg +she holds taut a line connected with bee No. 1. + +"10:25 A.M.; packet dropped to the bottom of the cage, the juices of +only one of the bees having been sucked out. The web is constructed +at an angle so that anything dropped from the center falls free of it. + +"5 P.M.; began feeding again on bee No. 1. + +"Nov. 23, 9:30 A.M.; another bee released in cage, caught in web and +enswathed approximately thirty turns by Argiope. + +"Nov. 25, 8:30 A.M.; the web has been destroyed during the night. + +"Nov. 26, Argiope has made an entirely new web. + +"Nov. 30, 2 P.M.; gave Argiope a bee with sting. It was wrapped +forty-seven times, but not so expeditiously as has been her wont. +Later another bee was liberated in the cage, caught and wrapped about +forty-five times. + +"Dec. 2, 11 A.M.; the body of a live bee was bathed in fluid from the +freshly crushed body of a box-elder bug [very malodorous], and the bee +liberated in Argiope's cage, and soon caught in the web. The bee was +not very lively and did not shake the web violently, but Argiope +rushed to it without hesitation, wrapped it with twenty-five turns of +silk and returned to the hub of the web. + +"Dec. 3; Argiope stayed all day in the upper part of the web, on +foundation lines, with head downward. + +"Dec. 5; yesterday Argiope moved down to her normal place on the hub. +To-day she is on the hub, but in reversed position [head up], and with +legs bent and limp, not straight out and stiffened as usual. + +"Dec. 6; Argiope hung all day from foundation lines of upper part of +web, in reversed position [head up], with legs limp and bent. + +"Dec. 7; Argiope hanging by first and second right legs, from upper +part of web; barely alive. + +"Dec. 8; Argiope dead." + +[Illustration: THE ORANGE-DWELLERS.] + + + + +THE ORANGE-DWELLERS + + +An entire colony of those strange little people, the Orange-dwellers, +were killed in our town yesterday morning. And not a newspaper +reporter found it out! Just one of the Orange-dwellers escaped, and as +Mary and I were the means of saving his life, and are taking care of +him as well as we can (Mary has him now on a small piece of +orange-rind in a pill box), he has told us the story of his life and +something about the other orange-dwelling people. Some of the +Orange-dwellers live in Mexico; some live in Florida, and some in +California; in fact they are to be found wherever oranges grow. Of +course, you have guessed already that the Orange-dwellers are not +human beings; they are not really people; they are insects. + +The name of the Orange-dweller we had saved, and with whom we became +very well acquainted, is so long and strange that I shall tell you +merely his nickname, which is Citrinus. The oranges on which Citrinus +and a great many of his brothers and sisters and cousins lived grew in +Mexico, and when these oranges were ripe, they were gathered and +packed into boxes and sent to our town. Imagine if you can the fearful +strangeness of it! To have one's world plucked from its place in +space, wrapped up in tissue-paper, and packed into a great box with a +lot of other worlds; then sent off through space to some other place +where enormous giants were waiting impatiently for breakfast! When +Citrinus's world reached our town, one of these giants, who is my +brother, took it up, and saying, "See, what a specked orange," +straightway began unwittingly to kill all of the Orange-dwellers on it +by vigorously rubbing and scraping it. For Citrinus and his +companions were the specks! That is all an Orange-dweller seems to be +when carelessly looked at; simply a little circular, scale-like, +blackish or reddish-brown speck on the shining surface of the orange, +his world. You can find the Orange-dwellers almost any morning at +breakfast. + +When my brother began to scrape off the specks, I hastily interfered, +but only in time to save one of the little people, Citrinus, whom, as +I have said, Mary has since faithfully cared for. He will soon die, +however, for he has lived already nearly three months, and that is a +ripe age for an Orange-dweller. But he has had time enough to tell me +a great deal about his life, and as it is such a curious story, and is +undoubtedly true, I venture to repeat it here to you. As a matter of +fact I must confess--still Mary says that _of course_ Citrinus can +talk, because he talks with other Orange-dwellers later in the story, +and so of course can talk to us now. + +Citrinus has lived for almost his whole life on the orange on which we +found him. His mother lived on one of the fragrant leaves of the tree +on which the orange grew. She was, as Citrinus is now, simply a +reddish-brown circular speck on the bright-green orange-leaf; and +because she couldn't walk, she had to get all her food in a peculiar +way. She had a long (that is, long for such a tiny creature), slender, +pointed hollow beak or sucking-tube, which she thrust right into the +tender orange-leaf, and through which she sucked up the rich sap or +juice which kept flowing into the leaf from the twig it hung on. She +had thus a constant supply of food always ready and convenient; +whenever she was hungry she simply sucked orange-sap into her mouth +until she was satisfied. This is the way all the Orange-dwellers get +their food, the very youngest of the family being able to take care of +itself from the day of its birth. They never taste any other kind of +food but the juice from the leaf or twig or golden orange on which +they live. + +Citrinus is one of a large number of brothers and sisters, more than +fifty indeed, who were hatched from tiny reddish eggs which the mother +laid under her own body. Before laying the eggs, Citrinus's mother had +built a thin shell or roof of wax over her back, and after the eggs +were laid she soon died and her body shriveled up, leaving the eggs +safely housed under the waxen roof. When the baby Orange-dwellers were +hatched, each had six legs and a delicate little sucking-beak +projecting from his small plump body. Citrinus and his brothers and +sisters scrambled out from under the wax shell and started out each +for himself to explore the world. First, however, each thrust his beak +into the leaf and took a good drink of sap. Then they were ready to +begin their journeying. But a terrible thing happened! + +Just as Citrinus was pulling his beak out of the soft leaf, he saw a +great six-legged beast, in shape like a turtle, with shining +red-and-black back and fearful snapping jaws. On each side of its +head, which it moved slowly from side to side, it had an immense eye, +which looked like a hemispherical window, with hundreds of panes of +glass in it. The beast's legs were large and powerful, and on each +foot there were two claws, each of them as long as the whole body of +Citrinus. Truly this was an appalling sight, and all of the little +Orange-dwellers ran as fast as they could, which, unfortunately, +wasn't very fast. The beast leisurely caught up in its great jaws one +after another of Citrinus's brothers and sisters, and crushed and tore +their tender bodies to pieces and ate them! + +Now this beast, which seemed so large to Citrinus, was what is to us a +very small and pretty insect, one of the lady-bird beetles. These +beetles care for no other food than plump Orange-dwellers and other +equally toothsome small insects; and instead of being sorry for its +victims, we are glad it eats them! This seems very cruel indeed, but +there are so many, many millions of the Orange-dwellers all sucking +the juice of orange-trees that although they are so small, and each +one drinks so little sap, yet altogether they do a great amount of +damage to the orange-trees, often killing all the trees in a large +orchard. So the lady-birds are a great help to the orange-growers. + +Little Citrinus escaped from the Beetle by crawling into a small, dark +hole in the surface of the leaf; but he was badly frightened. This was +his first experience with the terrible dangers of the world, with the +struggle for life, which is going on so bitterly among the people of +his kind, the insects. For although there would seem to be enough +plants and trees to serve as food for all of them, many insects find +it easier or prefer to eat other insects than to live on plant food. +Now because the insects which live on plant food do injury to our +fruit-trees and vegetables and grain crops by their eating, we call +them injurious insects; while we call the insect-eating kinds +beneficial insects, because they destroy the injurious insects. + +But little Citrinus didn't look at the matter at all in this light. He +thought the lady-bird beetle a very cruel and wicked being, and +resolved to warn every Orange-dweller he met in his travels to beware +of the cruel, turtle-shaped beast with the shining black-and-red back. +As he wandered on from leaf to leaf along the tender twigs in the top +of the tree, he met many other Orange-dwellers, whom he would have +told all about the Beetle, but he found that all of them had had +experiences as sad as his; in fact he soon learned that of all the +Orange-dwellers who are born, only a very, very few escape the Beetles +and other devouring beasts who pursue them. And he was highly +indignant when one shrewd Orange-dweller told him that it really was a +good thing for the race of Orange-dwellers that so many of them were +killed. For, the shrewd Orange-dweller said, if all of us who are born +should live and have families, and not die until old age came on, +there would soon be so many of us that we should eat all the +orange-trees in the world, and then we should all starve to death. And +this is quite true. + +Finally Citrinus came to a remarkable being, a very beautiful being +indeed. It had two long, slender, waving feelers on its head, four +large ball-shaped eyes, and, strangest of all, two delicate gauzy +wings. This beautiful creature greeted Citrinus kindly and asked him +where he was going. Citrinus, who was at first a little afraid of the +strange creature, was reassured by its kind greeting, and answered +simply, "I don't know. My brothers and sisters were all eaten by the +Beetle; my father and mother I have never seen; and no one has told me +where to go." + +The stranger smiled a little sadly and said, "That is the common story +among us Orange-dwellers. Our fathers and mothers always die before we +are born. It is a great pity. Yes, before my little Orange-dweller +children are born--" + +"What," cried Citrinus, "are you an Orange-dweller; you, who are so +different from me?" + +"Indeed I am," replied the gauzy-winged creature. "I am an old +Orange-dweller. Oh, I know it seems strange to you," he continued, +noticing the look of astonishment on Citrinus's face, "but some day +you will look just like me. You will have wings, and be able to fly; +and will have long feelers on your head to hear and to smell with, and +big eyes to see all around you with. You will have some strange +experiences, though, before you become like me." + +"But as I had started to say, we fathers, and the mothers too for that +matter, always die before you youngsters are hatched out of your eggs. +Now I shall probably die to-morrow or next day, because I have lived +three days already, and that is a long time to live without eating." + +Little Citrinus could hardly believe his senses. It was so wonderful. +"But why don't you eat," urged Citrinus, who felt very badly to think +of any one's going without food for three days. He always took a drink +of sap every few minutes. + +"Why, how absurd," replied the winged Orange-dweller, "don't you see I +have nothing to eat with? No sucking-beak, no mouth at all. When I get +my wings and my four eyes, I lose my mouth, and can't eat or drink any +more." + +This was incredible; but when Citrinus looked at the head of his +companion, he saw it was perfectly true. He had no mouth. Citrinus +gently waved his little sucking-beak, to be sure he still had it. +Suddenly he began to cry; a sad thought had come to him. "And did my +mother starve to death too?" he sobbed. + +"Not at all, little one," rather impatiently exclaimed the other. +Little Citrinus seemed to know so very little, indeed. "Your mother +was not at all like me. When she was full-grown she had no wings, no +legs, and no eyes, but she had a very long beak, and could suck up a +great deal of orange-sap. If you will listen and not interrupt, I will +tell you how we Orange-dwellers grow. When we are hatched from our +eggs we are all alike, brothers and sisters. We each have a plump +little body, six legs, two eyes, and a sucking-beak to get food with. +We walk about for a few days, and finally stop on some nice green leaf +or juicy orange, and stick our beaks far in and go to sleep, or do +something very like it. We never walk about any more. Indeed, if you +are a girl Orange-dweller you never leave this spot, but live all the +rest of your life and die here. However, I am getting too far along in +my story. While we are asleep we shed all of our skin, fold it up into +a little ball or cushion and put it on our backs, together with some +wax which comes out of small holes in our bodies. While shedding our +skin we make a great change in our bodies. We lose our legs! So we +simply remain where we went to sleep, with our beaks stuck into the +leaf, sucking the sap. After a few days we go to sleep again, and +again we shed our skins and fold them on our backs. But at this time +something even more wonderful than before happens to our bodies. That +is, to the bodies of the boy Orange-dwellers. For this time we lose +our sucking-beaks, but we regain our six legs, and in addition we get +a second pair of eyes, we find on our heads a pair of long, slender, +hairy feelers, and, most pleasing of all, we have been provided with a +pair of wings. Our wings are not yet full-grown or ready to fly with, +so we still remain quietly in our resting-place for a few days longer, +when we shed our skin once more, and then fly away, looking just as I +do now. Our sisters, though, when they shed their skins the second +time, make no change in their bodies, except to grow larger. They +remain with their sucking-beaks thrust into the leaf. They keep +increasing the size of the wax scale or shell over their backs, until +they are entirely covered by it. Now they look just as your mother +did. From above, all one can see is the flat circular wax scale with +two spots on it, where the folded-up cast skins are. Underneath the +scale lies the Orange-dweller, with its sucking-beak stuck into the +sap, but with no legs or wings or long, hairy feelers. After a while +she lays a lot of eggs under her body, and then dies. And soon the new +family is born. Now this is the way we grow, and all of the wonderful +things which have happened to me will happen to you,--if the Beetle +does not get you." + +With that the winged Orange-dweller flew away, and little Citrinus was +left alone, wondering over the strange story. After taking a drink of +sap from the leaf on which he was standing, he wandered aimlessly +about until he came to a large yellow ball hanging from the branch, +which gave out a delightful odor. Scrambling down the slender stem by +which it was suspended, he walked out on to the shining surface of the +orange; for, of course, that is what the yellow ball was. He tried a +drink of sap from the ball and found it delicious. He decided to stay +on the ball, the more readily as he was getting rather tired with his +long traveling, and a sort of sleepy feeling was coming over him. So +thrusting his beak far into the ball, he went to sleep. How long he +slept he doesn't know, but when he awoke he could hardly believe his +senses. He had no legs; and on his back there was a thin shell of wax +and a little packet. He realized, too, that he was bigger than he was +before he went to sleep. Then the strange story told him by the winged +Orange-dweller came back to him, and he knew that the stranger had +told the truth. The first great change had happened. He was delighted, +for he thought it would be very pleasant to have wings and fly about +wherever he wished, to see the world. + +Suddenly a great shock came: his World trembled, then shook violently, +and, with a quick wrench, started to move swiftly through space. Then +came a stop, a series of shocks and curious whirlings, and then a +filmy-white cloud settled down over it all, shutting out the sunlight +and the blue sky. Finally there came a few more shocks and wrenches, +and then total darkness and silence. Citrinus had held on to his world +all through this, because his beak was still thrust into the fragrant +surface, and now he felt thankful that he had come alive through these +series of world catastrophes and convulsions and still had all the +food he could possibly use. + +After a few days, when Citrinus's world all nicely wrapped in +tissue-paper and packed in a box with ninety-nine other similar worlds +had traveled a thousand miles, the sunlight came again, and soon after +came that greatest danger of all--that danger from which I saved him +by staying my brother's hand in its ruthless rubbing off of the specks +on his breakfast orange! Now Citrinus and Mary and I are all waiting +impatiently for the day when he shall get his beautiful wings and his +two pairs of eyes. + +[Illustration: THE DRAGON OF LAGUNITA] + + + + +THE DRAGON OF LAGUNITA + + +When Mary and I came to examine our ant-lion dragon the day after our +adventures among the Morrowbie Jukes pits, we found him dead in the +bottle of sand. Perhaps his haughty spirit of dragon could not stand +such ignominious bottling up, or perhaps there wasn't enough air. +Anyway, His Fierceness was dead. His cruel curved jaws would seize and +pierce no more foraging ants. His thirsty throat would never again be +laved by the fresh blood of victims. _Vale_ dragon! + +But there are more dragons than one in our world. Not only more +ant-lion dragons, but more other kinds of dragons. And this is one of +the great advantages that Mary and I enjoy in our looking about in +the fields and woods for interesting things. If we were looking for +the dragons of fairy stories, we could only expect to find one +kind--if, indeed, we could expect to find any kind at all in these +days when so few fairies are left. If we _could_ find it, however, it +would be a monstrous beast in a forest cavern, with scaled body and +clawed feet and great ugly head that breathed fire and smoke from its +gaping mouth. That would be an interesting sort of dragon to see, we +confess, more interesting than the great one, a hundred yards long, +that we saw in a Chinese procession in Oakland, with two excited +Chinamen jumping about in front of its head and jabbing at its eyes +with spears. And more interesting than the one that roars and spits at +Siegfried on the stage while the big orchestra goes off into wild +clamors of O-see-the-dragon music. But we do not expect ever to find a +real fairy-story dragon any more, and so we content ourselves with +trying to find as many different kinds of real dragons as we can in +our world of little folk on the campus. These dragons are rather +small, but they are unusually fierce and voracious, to make up for +their lack of size. And so they serve very well to interest us. + +To make up for the death of the ant-lion dragon of the sand-pits, I +promised to take Mary to see the Dragon of Lagunita. Or rather the +dragons, for there are many in Lagunita, and indeed many in several +other places on the campus. Have I explained that Lagunita is a pretty +Spanish word for "little lake," and that our Lagunita is just what its +name means, and besides is as pretty as its name? There is only one +trouble about it. And that is, that every year, in the long, rainless, +sun-filled summer, it dries up to nothing but a shallow, parched +hollow in the ground, and all the dragons have to move. But this +moving is a remarkable performance. For while during the spring the +Lagunita dragons live rather inactively in their lairs under the +water, when summer comes they all transform themselves into great +flying dragons of the air, and swoop and swirl about in a manner very +terrifying to see. + +The morning we were to make our journey to Lagunita, I came to Mary's +house with a rake over my shoulder. + +"But what are you going to do with the rake?" said Mary. + +"One doesn't go to seek a dragon without weapons," I replied with +dignity. "And a rake is a much more formidable weapon in the hands of +a man who knows how to rake than a gun in the hands of a man who +doesn't know how to shoot." I am something of an amateur gardener, but +not at all the holder of a record at clay pigeons nor king of a +_Schuetzen-verein_. So I carried my rake. + +"Then what weapon shall I carry?" asks Mary. + +I ponder seriously. + +"A tin lunch-pail," I finally reply. + +"With luncheon in?" asks Mary. + +"Empty," I say. + +So we start. + +I have already said that Lagunita is a pretty little lake. It lies +just under the first of the foothills that rise ridge after ridge into +the forested mountains that separate us from the ocean. Indeed, it is +on the first low step up from the valley floor, and from its enclosing +bank or shore one gets a good view of the level, reaching valley +thickly set with live-oak trees and houses and fields. Around the +little lake have grown up pines, willows and other beautiful trees, +and at one side a tiny stream comes in during the wet season. There is +no regular outlet, but the water which usually begins to come in about +November keeps filling the shallow bowl of the lake higher and higher +until by spring it is nearly bank full and may even overflow. Then as +the long dry summer season sets in, the level of the water grows +lower and lower until in August or September there is only left a +small muddy puddle crammed with surprised and despairing little fishes +and salamanders and water-beetles and the like, who are not at all +accustomed to such behavior on the part of a lake. And then a few days +later they are all gasping their last breaths there together on the +scum-covered, waterless bottom. + +But when Lagunita is really a lake, it is a very pretty one, and Mary +and I love to go there and sit on the bank under the willows near the +horse paddocks and watch the college boys rowing about in their +graceful, narrow, long-oared shells. These swift-darting boats look +like great water-skaters, only white instead of black. You know the +long-legged, active water-skaters or water-striders that skim about +over the surface of ponds or quiet backwater pools in streams in +summer time? + +So Mary and I went to Lagunita with our rake and tin lunch-pail to +hunt for dragons. No shining armor; no great two-handed sword; no cap +of invisibility. Just a rake and a tin lunch-pail. + +"Where, Mary, do you think is the likeliest place for the dragon?" I +ask. + +Mary answers promptly, "There at the foot of the steep stony bank +where the big willow-tree hangs over." + +We go there. I grasp my rake firmly with both hands. I reach far out +over the shallow water. Then I beat the rake suddenly down through the +water to the bottom, and with a quick strong pull I drag it out, +raking out with it a great mass of oozy mud and matted leaves. I drag +this well up on shore, and both Mary and I flop down on our knees and +begin pawing about in it. Suddenly Mary calls out, "I've got one," and +holds up in her fingers an extraordinary, kicking, twisting creature +with six legs, a big head, and a thick, ugly body on which seem to be +the beginnings of several fins or wings. It has, this creature, two +great staring eyes, and stout, sharp-pointed spines stick out from +various parts of the body. + +"Put him in the lunch-pail," I shout. I had already filled it +half-full of water from the lake. + +Then I found one; then Mary another, and then I still another. It was +truly great sport, this dragon-hunting. + +We put them all into the lunch-pail where they lay sullenly on the +bottom, glaring at each other, but not offering to fight, as we rather +hoped they would. + +Then, what to do? These dragons in their regular lairs at the bottom +of Lagunita might do a lot of most interesting things, but dredged up +in this summary way and deposited in a strange tin pail in the glaring +light of day, they seemed wholly indisposed to carry on any +performances of dragon for our benefit. So we decided to take them +home, and try to fix up for them a still smaller lakelet than +Lagunita; one, say, in a tub! Then, perhaps, they would feel more at +home and ease, and might do something for us. + +So we took them home. And we fixed a tub with sand in the bottom, +water over that, and over the top of the tub a screen of netting that +would let air and sunlight in, but not dragons out. Then we collected +some miscellaneous small water-beasties and a few water-plants, and +put them in, and so really had a very comfortable and home-like place +for the dragons. They seemed to take to it all right; we called our +new lakelet Monday Pond, because of some relation between the tub and +washday, I suppose, and we had very good fun with our dragons for +several weeks. Think of the advantage of having your dragon right at +home! If it is a bad day, or we are lazy, or there may be visitors who +stay too long so there is only a little time for ourselves, how +convenient it is to have a dragon--or indeed a whole brood of +dragons--right in your study. Much better, of course, than to have to +sail to a distant island and tramp through leagues of forest or thorny +bushes or over burning desert or among spouting volcanoes to find your +dragon, as most princes in fairy stories have to do. + +I can't, of course, venture to tell you of all the interesting things +that Mary and I saw our dragons do. Two or three will have to do. Or +my publisher will cry, "Cut it short; cut it short, I say." And that +will hurt me, for he is really a most forbearing publisher, and quite +in the way of a friend. The three things shall be, one, eating, and +what with; two, getting a new skin, and why; and third, changing from +an under-water, crawling, squirmy, ugly dragon into an aerial, +whizzing, flashing, dashing, beautiful-winged dragon, and when. Of +course one of the most important things about any dragon is what and +how he eats; and the other most important thing about Mary's and my +special kind of dragon is his remarkable change. This was to us much +more remarkable than having three heads or even getting a new head +every time an old one is cut off, which seems to be rather a usual +habit of fairy-book dragons. + +The dragons lay rather quietly on the sand at the bottom of Monday +Pond most of the time. Sometimes one would be up a little way on the +shore, that is, the side of the tub, or clinging to one of the +plant-stems. When poked with a pencil,--and we were fearless about +poking them, if the pencil were a long one,--they would half-walk, +half-swim away. But mostly they lay pretty well concealed, waiting for +something to happen. What would happen occasionally was this: a young +May-fly or a water-beetle would come swimming or walking along; if it +passed an inch away from the dragon, all right; but if its path +brought it closer, an extraordinary "catcher," rather like a pair of +long nippers or tongs, would shoot out like a flash from the head of +the dragon and seize on the unfortunate beastie. Then the "catcher" +would fold up in such a way as to bring the victim against the +dragon's mouth, which is provided with powerful, sharp-toothed jaws. +These jaws then had their turn. And that was the end of the May-fly. + +Mary was rather shocked when she saw the dragon first use its +"catcher." She wanted to rescue the poor May-fly. But after all she +has got pretty well used to seeing tragedies in insect life. They seem +to be necessary and normal. Many insects depend upon other animals for +food, just as we do. Only fortunately we don't have to catch and kill +our own steer or pig or lamb or chicken. We turn the bloody business +over to men who like--well, at least, who do it for us. But in the +world of lower animals each one is usually his own butcher. + +Mary soon wanted to see the dragon's "catcher," and so we dredged one +out of Monday Pond, and put him on the study-table. As he faced us +with his big eyes glaring from his broad heavy head, he looked very +fierce. But curiously enough, he didn't seem to have any jaws; nor +even a mouth. The whole front of his face was smooth and covered over +by a sort of mask, so that his terrible jaws and catching nippers were +invisible. However, we soon understood this. The mask was the +folded-up "catcher" so disposed that it served, when not in use, +actually to hide its own iniquity as well as that of the yawning mouth +behind. Only when some small insect, all unsuspecting this smooth +masked face, comes close, do the long tongs unfold, shoot out, and +reveal the waiting jaws and thirsty throat. A veritable dragon indeed; +sly and cruel and ever hungry for living prey. + +One day when we were looking into Monday Pond, Mary saw a curious +object that looked more like a hollow dragon than anything else. It +had all the shape and size of one of the dragons; the legs and eyes +and masked face, the pads on the back that looked like half-fledged +wings. But there was a transparency and emptiness about it that was +uncanny and ghost-like. Then, too, when we looked more closely there +was a great rent down the back. And that made the mystery plain. The +real dragon, the flesh and blood and breathing live dragon, had come +out of that long tear, leaving his skin behind! It was his complete +skin, too, back and sides and belly, out to the tips of his feelers +and down to his toes and claws. + +"But why should he shed his skin? Hasn't he any skin now?" asked Mary. + +"Of course he must have a skin. How could he keep his blood in, and +what would his muscles be fastened to, for he is a boneless dragon, +and his skeleton is his outside shell, with his muscles fastened to +it? So how could he live at all without a skin? He must have a new +skin." + +And, of course, that was exactly it. He had cast his old skin, as a +snake does, and had got a brand-new one. Why shouldn't a dragon change +his skin if a snake can? + +But Mary is persistent about her "whys," and I was quite ready for her +next question, which came after a moment of musing. + +"Why should he shed his old skin and get a new one? Is the new one +different; a different color or shape or something?" + +"No; not a different color or different shape especially, but a +different size. The dragon is growing up. He is like a boy who keeps +on wearing age-nine clothes until they are too short in the sleeves, +too tight in the back, and too high-water in the legs. Then one day +he sheds his age-nine suit and gets an age-eleven one. See?" + +"What a funny professor you are! Is that the way you lecture to your +classes?" + +"Gracious, no, Mary! This is the way: As the immature dragon grows +older, his constant assimilation of food tends to create a natural +increase in size. But the comparative inelasticity of his chitinized +cuticula prevents the actual expansion, to any considerable degree, of +his body mass. Thus all the cells of the body become turgid, and +altogether a great pressure is exerted outwards against the enclosing +cuticular wall. This wall then suddenly splits along the longimesial +line of the dorsum, and through this rent the dragon extricates itself +in soft and defenceless condition, but of markedly larger size. The +new cuticula, which is pale, elastic and thin at first, soon becomes +thicker, strongly chitinized and dark. The old cuticle, or exuvia, +which has been moulted, is curiously complete, and is a hollow or +shell-like replica of the external appearance of the dragon even to +the finest details. How is that, Mary?" + +"Very instruct--instructing"--with an effort--"indeed," replies Mary, +with grave face. "But I guess I understand the change from age-nine to +age-eleven clothes better." + +And then we saw the third wonderful happening in our dragon's life +that I said we should tell about. We saw one of the dragons getting +wings! That is, changing from an ugly, blackish, squat, crawling +creature into a glorious long-bodied, rainbow-tinted, flying dragon. +Another dragon had crawled up above the water on a plant-stem and was +also "moulting its chitinized cuticula." But it was coming out from +the old skin in very different shape and color. I had forgotten, when +I told Mary that they only changed in size after casting the skin, +about the last moulting. Each dragon casts its skin several times in +its life, but the last time it does it, it makes the wonderful change +I've already spoken about, from crawling to flying dragon. And it was +one of these last skin-castings that was going on now under our very +eyes. + +I can't describe all that happened. You must see it for yourself some +time. How, out of the great rent in the old skin along the back, the +soft damp body of the dragon squeezes slowly out, with its constant +revelation of delicate changing color and its graceful new shape; how +out of the odd shapeless pads on the back come four, long, narrow, +shining, transparent wings, with complex framework of fine little +veins, or ribs, and thin flexible glassy membrane stretched over them; +how the new head looks with its enormous, sparkling, iridescent eyes +making nearly two-thirds of it and so cleverly fitted on the body that +it can turn nearly entirely around on the neck. And then how the body +fills out and takes shape, and the wings get larger and larger, and +everything more and more beautifully colored! All this you will have +to see for yourself some time when you have a Monday Pond in your own +study, with a brood of dragons in. + +"It _is_ wonderful, isn't it, Mary? How would you like to see twenty, +thirty, forty, oh, a hundred dragons doing this all at once. We can if +we want to. All we have to do is to go over to Lagunita some morning +early, very early, just a little after sunrise--for that is their +favorite time--and we shall see scores of dragons crawling up out of +the water on stones, plants, sticks, anything convenient, and +sloughing off their dirty, dark, old skins and coming out in their +beautiful iridescent green and violet and purple new skins, with their +long slender body and great flashing wings. They sit quietly on the +stones and plant-stems until the warm rising sun dries them and their +new skins get firm and all nicely fitted, and then they begin their +new life,--wheeling and dashing over the lake and among the hills and +bushes and above the grasses and grain along the banks. Like eagles +and hawks they are seeking their prey. Watch that little gnat buzzing +there in the air. A flying dragon swoops by and there is no gnat there +any longer. It has been caught in the curious basket-like trap which +the dragon makes with its spiny legs all held together, and it is +being crushed and chewed by the great jaws. Still a dragon, you see, +for all of its new beauty!" + +Mary muses. "Not all beautiful things in the world are good, are +they?" she murmurs. + +"Mary, you are a philosopher," I say. + + * * * * * + +As I read this over I realize quite as keenly, I hope, as you do, my +reader, how little there is in this story. And yet finding out this +little was real pleasure to Mary and me. Now we must perforce +estimate the pleasures and pains, the likes and dislikes, of other +people by our own. And however untrue this estimate may be for any one +other person, it must be fairly true for any considerable number of +persons. Therefore--and this is the reason for putting down our simple +experiences with the insects for other people to read and perhaps to +be stirred by to see and do similar things--therefore, I say, other +people, some other people, also must be able to get pleasure from what +we do. + +Now if there is any way and any means of getting clean pleasure into +the crowded days of our living, then that way and means should be +suggested and opened to as many as possible. Mary and I, you see, have +the real proselyting spirit; we are missionaries of the religion of +the unroofed temples. And we want all to be saved! So we give +testimony willingly of our own experiences, and of the saving grace of +our belief. We have no names for our idols, nor any formulation of +our creed. But in various voice and word we do gladly confess over and +over again the reality of the happiness that comes to us from our +hours with the lowly world that we are coming to know better and +better. And any one of these happy hours may contain no more than the +little that has been told in this story of the "Dragon of Lagunita," +and yet be really and truly a happy hour. + +[Illustration: A SUMMER INVASION] + + + + +A SUMMER INVASION + + +"Are you comfortable, Mary?" I ask, "and shall I begin?" + +"Yes; in just a minute," Mary replies; "I want to sit so that I can +see both ways, Lagunita that way and the brown field with the +tarantula holes that way," and she sweeps half the horizon with a +chubby hand. + +We are half-sitting, half-lying, in the shade at the base of a +live-oak on a little knoll back of the campus, whence we can look down +on the red-tiled roofs and warm buffy walls of the Quadrangle, and on +beyond to the Arboretum with its great eucalyptuses sticking out above +the other trees. We can catch glimpses of the bay, too, and of the +white houses of the caretakers of the oyster-beds perched on piles +above the water like ancient Swiss lake-dwellers. + +Strolling about over the brown field of the tarantula holes and +carrying bundles of sticks, and stooping down now and then to strike +at the ground with one of the sticks, are several young men, +Sophomores by their hats, and one of them with a red jacket on: + + "Gowfin' a' the day, + Daein' nae wark ava'; + Rinnin' aboot wi' a peck o' sticks + Efter a wee bit ba'!" + +Mary recites this in a pretty singsong. + +"Why, Mary, where did you learn that?" I ask in surprise. + +"From the Scotch lady that I take of." + +"Take of! What is it you take of her? I hope not measles or smallpox, +or--" + +"Why no, of course not. Music. That's what all young ladies take." + +"Oh, I see! It _is_ catching, isn't it? I have seen some bad cases, +especially in small towns. Every young lady, even just girls"--I +glance sidewise at Mary--"down with it. But is that what those boys +over there are doing? I hope they won't interfere with the tarantulas. +They probably don't know what lively times there are at nights in that +field. Scores of big black tarantulas racing about, hunting, and +hundreds of beetles and things racing about, trying to keep from being +eaten. Well, I'd better begin, because we have to get back by luncheon +time. I have a most profound lecture to give on Orthogenesis and +Heterogenesis to that unfortunate Evolution class at two o'clock." + +"I'm all ready," said Mary, looking up at me with confidence. _She_ +appreciates the kind of lectures I give outdoors, even if the +lunch-gorged students don't appreciate my efforts _ex cathedra_. + +"Well this summer invasion that I promised to tell you about happened +when I was a boy in a little town in Kansas. It was in Centennial +year; the one-hundredth anniversary of the freedom of the United +States, and the summer of the Centennial Exposition at Philadelphia. + +"I was going down town one day in July to buy some meat for dinner. I +was going because my mother had sent me. Naturally this promised to be +a very uninteresting excursion. But you never can tell. + +"When I had got fairly down to Commercial Street, I saw that all the +people were greatly excited. Some were talking loudly, but most were +staring up toward the sun, shading their eyes with their hands. Then I +heard old Mr. Beasley say: 'That's surely them all right; doggon, +they'll eat us up.' + +"My heart jumped. Who could be coming from the sun to eat us up? I +burst into excited questions. 'Who are coming, Mr. Beasley? I can't +see anybody.' + +"'Hoppers is coming boy; see that sort o' shiny thin cloud up there +jest off the edge o' the sun? Well, them's hoppers.' + +"'But how'll they eat us up, Mr. Beasley? No grasshopper can eat me +up.' + +"'They'll eat us up with their doggoned terbaccy-spittin' mouths; +thet's how. And they'll eat _you_ up by eatin' everything you want to +eat; thet's how, too. Havin' nothin' to eat is jest about the same as +bein' et, accordin' to the way I looks at things.' + +"It is evident that Mr. Beasley was a philosopher and a pessimist; +that is, a man who sees the disagreeable sides of things, who doesn't +see the silvery lining to the dark clouds. In fact, in this particular +case Mr. Beasley was seeing a very dark lining to that silvery cloud +'jest off the edge o' the sun.' + +"I stared at the thin shining cloud for a long time, wondering if it +were really true that it was grasshoppers. People said the silvery +shimmer was made by the reflection of the sunlight from the gauzy +wings of the hosts of flying insects. It occurred to me that if the +hoppers were just off the edge of the sun, they would all be burned +up, or at least have their wings so scorched that they would fall to +the ground. However, as the sun is 90,000,000 miles away from the +earth, it would take a very long time for the scorched grasshoppers to +fall all the way. I guessed that we might have a rain of dead and +crippled hoppers about Christmas-time. Anyway there were no +grasshoppers now, dead or alive, in the street. And I decided, rather +disappointedly, that we probably shouldn't get to see any of the live +hoppers at all. Then I asked Mr. Beasley where they came from. + +"'Rocky Mountains,' he answered, shortly. + +"This seemed a bit steep, for the nearest of the Rocky Mountains are +nearly a thousand miles west of Kansas. And to think of grasshoppers +flying a thousand miles! A bit too much, that was. Still I thought I +ought to go home and tell the folks. But mother interrupted me in my +picturesque tale with a dry request for the meat. Oh, yes. Oh--well, I +had forgotten. So the first disagreeable result for me from the +grasshopper invasion of Kansas in the summer of 1876 was a painful +domestic incident. + +"But Mr. Beasley was right. The grasshoppers had come. Next morning +all the boys were out, each with a folded newspaper for flapper and a +cigar-box with lid tacked on and a small hole just large enough to +push a hopper through cut in one end. The rumor was we were to be paid +five cents for every hundred hoppers, dead or alive, that we brought +in. As a matter of fact nobody paid us, but we worked hard for nearly +half a day; that is as long as it was fun and novelty. By noon the +grasshoppers were an old story to us. And besides there were too many +of them. Hundreds, thousands, millions,--oh, billions and trillions I +suppose. And all eating, eating, eating! + +"First all the softer fresher green things. The vegetables in the +little backyard gardens; the sweet corn and green peas and tomato-and +potato-vines. Then the flowers and the grasses of the front yards. +Then the leaves of the dooryard trees. Then the fresh green twigs of +the trees! Then the bark on the younger branches!! + +"And you could hear them eat! Nipping and crunching, tearing and +chewing. It got to be terrible, and everybody so downcast and gloomy. +And the most awful stories of what was going on out in the great +corn-fields and meadows and pastures. Ruin, ruin, ruin was what the +hoppers were mumbling as they chewed. + +"And then the reports from the other states in the great Mississippi +Valley corn-belt came in by telegraph and letter. Over thousands and +thousands of square miles of the great granary of the land were +spread the hordes of hoppers. Farmers and stockmen were being ruined. +Then the storekeepers and bankers that sell things and lend money to +the farmers. Then the lawyers and doctors that depend on the farmers' +troubles to earn a living. Then the millers and stock-brokers and +capitalists of the great cities that make their fortunes out of +handling and buying and selling the grain the farmers send in long +trains to the centers of population. Everybody, the whole country, was +aghast and appalled at the havoc of the hopper. + +"What to do? How long will they keep up this devastation? Have they +come to settle and stay in Kansas and Nebraska and Iowa? What will the +country do in the future for corn and wheat and pigs and fat cattle? + +"Well, it would be too long a story to tell of how all the +entomologists went to work studying the grasshoppers and their ways: +their outsides and insides, their hopping and their flying, their +egg-laying and the growth and development of the little hoppers; how +the birds, and what kinds, stuffed on them, and the robber-flies and +the tachina flies and the red mites and the tiny braconids and +chalcids attacked them and laid eggs on them, and their grubs burrowed +into them; and everything else about them. But all the time the +hoppers kept right on eating; at least they did where there was +anything left to eat. Stories were told of their following roots of +plants and trees down into the ground to eat them; of how they +stripped great trees of bark and branches; of how they massed on the +warm rails of railroads at nights and stopped trains; of how +enterprising towns by offering rewards to farmers collected and killed +with kerosene great winrows and mounds composed of innumerable bushels +and tons of grasshoppers. + +"Some people of active mind and fertile imagination suggested that if +the grasshoppers were going to eat up all our usual food, we should +learn to eat _them_! And they got chemists to figure out how much +proteids and carbohydrates and hydrocarbons and ash, etc., there was +in every little hopper's body. And there was a remarkable dinner given +in St. Louis by a famous entomologist to some prominent men of that +city, in which grasshoppers were served in several different ways: +hopper _saute_, hopper _au gratin_, hopper _escalloppe_, hopper +_souffle_, and so on. The decision of the guests--those who lasted +through the dinner--was that 'the dry and chippy character of the +tibiae was a serious objection to grasshoppers as food for man.' + +"But you want to know the end of it Mary, don't you? Well, it was a +very simple end. Simply, indeed, that the hoppers went back! Yes, +actually, when autumn came they all--that is, all that hadn't been +eaten by birds and toads and lizards, or collected by farmers and +burned, or hadn't got walked on by horses and people, or hadn't got +studied to death by entomologists--flew up into the air and sailed +back to the Rocky Mountains. Or at least they started that way. I +never heard if any of them really got all the thousand of miles back. +But whereas in the summer they had all been flying southeast, in the +fall they all began flying northwest. + +"But some of them had laid eggs in the ground in little +cornucopia-like packets before dying or flying away. And much alarm +was caused by predictions that millions of new hoppers would come out +of the ground in the coming spring and eat all the crops while young, +even if the old ones or more like them didn't come again in the summer +and eat the mature crops. But these predictions were only partly +fulfilled. Not many hatched out in the spring, and those that did +seemed to be more anxious to get back to the Rocky Mountains where +their brethren were than to eat the Kansas crops. Indeed as soon as +the young hoppers got their wings--and that takes several weeks after +they come from the egg--they began flying northwest. + +"So this remarkable and terrible invasion was over. And all the poor +farmers, and the bankrupt or about to be bankrupt storekeepers and +bankers and the idle lawyers and doctors and the terrified capitalists +and the hard-studying entomologists drew a long breath of relief +together." + +"But have the hoppers come back any time since 1876?" asks Mary. + +"No, that was the last invasion. There had been earlier ones, though, +one or two of them just as bad as the Centennial-year one. Indeed +Kansas was called the Grasshopper State on account of these terrible +summer invasions. There was a bad one in 1866 and another in 1874. The +invasions of 1874 and 1876 cost the farmers of the Mississippi Valley +at least fifty millions of dollars in crops eaten up." + +"But what made them come to Kansas? Why didn't they stay in the Rocky +Mountains? It's much more beautiful and interesting there than in +Kansas, isn't it?" + +"Much, Mary. But it probably wasn't a matter of scenery with these +tourist hoppers. Much more likely a matter of food. In those days +there were no farmers with irrigated fields on the great plateaus +along the eastern base of the Rocky Mountains in Colorado and Wyoming. +Nothing much but sage-brush and not overmuch of that grew there. And +probably there simply wasn't enough food for all the hoppers. So in +seasons when there were too many hoppers or too little food--and if +there was one, there was also the other--they flew up into the air, +spread their broad wings and sailed away on the winds from the +northwest for a thousand miles to Nebraska and Kansas and Texas. And +that made an invasion." + +"But, then, why didn't they stay there, where there were corn-fields +and wheatfields and vegetables?" persisted Mary. + +"Mary, I can only tell you what the hard-studying entomologists +decided about this, and published along with all the other things they +found out, or thought they did, in several big volumes devoted to the +grasshoppers. They found out that the hoppers tried to go back because +they couldn't stay! That is, odd as it may seem, either the climate or +the low altitude or something else uncomfortable about Kansas and +Missouri disagrees with the Rocky-Mountain hoppers and they can't live +there permanently. They can't raise a family there successfully; at +least it doesn't last for more than one generation. They have to live +on the high plateaus of the northern Rockies, but they can get on very +well for a single summer away from home. Then they must get back if +they can. And so it was that the hoppers that came to Kansas solved +the weighty problem and relieved the great anxiety of the farmers and +the whole country in general as to what was to become of the great +grain-fields of the Middle West, by going back home again. + +"And will they ever evade Kansas again?" + +"That, Mary, is not a question for a stick-to-what-is-known scientific +person like me to answer. But as ever since farms and grain-fields and +vegetable gardens have been established on the Rocky Mountain plateaus +by the farmers who keep moving west, the hoppers haven't come back to +Kansas, and as this is probably because they have enough food at home +in these Colorado and Wyoming fields, I should be very much surprised +if they ever come back to Kansas again." + +"Yes, but weren't you surprised that first time you saw them in the +Sentinel year?" + +"Mary, you are a quibbler. Well, then, I'll say that I don't think +they'll ever make another foreign invasion. There!" + +It is time for us to stroll home for luncheon. As we get up from under +the live-oak, a stumpy-bodied little grasshopper whirs away in front +of us. + +"To think that such a little thing could make a summer evasion one +thousand miles away from here," said Mary. + +"Much littler things have done much bigger things," I reply, with my +serious manner of lecturer-after-luncheon. + +[Illustration: A CLEVER LITTLE BROWN ANT] + + + + +A CLEVER LITTLE BROWN ANT + + +We were sitting in the warm sun on the very tip-top of Bungalow Hill. +This is a gentle crest that rises three hundred and fifty feet above +the campus level, and gives one a wonderful view far up and down the +beautiful valley and across the blue bay to the lifting mountains of +the Coast Range. Square-shouldered old Mt. Diablo standing as giant +warder just inside the Golden Gate, the ocean entrance to California, +looms massive and threatening directly to our east, while to its south +stretches the long brown range with its series of peaks, Mission, Mt. +Hamilton, Isabella, and so on, way down to the twin Pachecos that +guard the pass over into the desert. In the north rises Mt. Tamalpais, +the wonderful fog mountain that looks down on the busy life at its +feet of San Francisco, and its clustering child cities growing up +rapidly these days, while the mother is lying ill of her wounds by +earthquake and conflagration. To the south stretch the long orchard +leagues of the Santa Clara Valley, with the little white spots of +towns peeping out from the massed trees so jealous of every foot of +fertile ground. And to the west--ah, that is the view that Mary and I +lie hours long to look at and drink in and feel,--"our view," we call +it. + +We think we see things there that other people cannot. We see these +things especially well when we half-close our eyes, and describe what +we see in a sort of low, drowsy, monotone murmur. Then the fringe of +towering spiry redwoods along the crest of the mountain range that +lies between us and the great ocean and lifts its forested flanks full +two thousand feet above us, becomes a long row of giants' spears +sticking up above the battlements of a mighty castle. And the +shadow-filled somber slashes and tunnel-like holes of the dropping +canons are the great entrances and doors to this castle. At our feet +the broad shallow canada that stretches all along the foot of the +mountains and was made ages ago by some tremendous earthquake seems, +seen through our half-closed eyes, to be full of water and to be +really a broad moat shutting off all access to the castle. + +The giants themselves we have never yet seen. But some day when the +light is just right, and they are stirring themselves to look out at +the world, we probably shall. Perhaps if we had been up here that day +not long ago when the last earthquake came, we should have seen the +giants looking out to see who was knocking at their gates. For it will +take an earthquake's knocking ever to be felt in the heart of that +mountain castle where the giants keep themselves. + +The air was so clear this day that it seemed as if we could see each +individual great redwood, each red-trunked, glossy-leaved madrono, +each thicket of crooked manzanita and purpling Ceanothus, on the whole +mountain side. Straight across through the clear blue-tinged +atmosphere above the canada to the shoulders and canons, the forests +and clear spaces and chaparral of the mountain flanks, we look. And it +rests our eyes that are so tired of reading. It is good to be +a-stretch on sunbathed Bungalow Hill this afternoon in October. The +rains will be coming in a few weeks and then we can't be out so much. +Or at any rate we can't lie close to the warm, brown, dry earth as we +can now. But the rains will bring the fresh, green grasses and the +flowers. If they come early enough the manzanitas will have on their +little trembling pink-white lily-of-the-valley bells by Christmas-day, +and the wild currants will be all green-and-rose color, with little +leaves and a myriad fragrant blossoms. + +But Mary has found something. She had turned over a little flattish +stone and under it was--life! Living things disturbed in their work, +their play, their laying up of riches, their care of their children; +little animate creatures revealed in all the intimacies of their +housekeeping and daily life. + +But they didn't lose their presence of mind, these active, knowing +little ants, when the Catastrophe came. There was work to be done at +once and wisely. First, the saving of the children; and so in the +moment that passed between Mary's overturning of the stone and our +immediate shifting into comfortable position on our stomachs, head in +hands, for watching, half of the racing workers had each a little +white parcel in its jaws and was speeding with it along the galleries +toward the underground chambers. + +"Ants' eggs," said Mary. + +"No," said I. "That's a popular delusion. These little white things +are not ants' eggs, but ants' babies. They are the already hatched and +partly grown young ants, the larvae and pupae, which are so well looked +after by the nurse ants. For these young ants are quite helpless, like +young bees in the brood-cells in a honey-bee hive. And they have to be +fed chewed food, and as they have no legs and so can't walk, they have +to be carried from the cool dark nurseries up into the warmer lighter +chambers for air and heat every day almost, and then carried back down +again. See how gently the nurse ant holds this baby in its jaws; jaws +that are sharp and strong and that can bite fiercely and hold on +grimly in battle." + +And I hand Mary my little pocket-lens through which she tries to look +with both eyes at once. She could, of course, if she would keep her +blessed eyes far enough away, but as she persists in holding the +glass at the tip of her nose as she has seen me do, and as she cannot +shut one eye and keep the other open, as I can, and have done now so +many years that I have wrinkles all round the shut-up eye, why, she +makes bad work of it. So she hands back the lens with a polite "thank +you," and sticks to her own keen unaided eyes. And sees more than I +do! + +For in the next breath she cries, with a little note of triumph in her +voice: "But some of the ant babies _are_ walking. See there! And you +said they have no legs. I can see them; little stumpy blackish legs +sticking out from their soft white body! And some of the ants are +carrying these babies with legs; I can see them!" + +I squirm around nearer Mary. True enough there are some little white +chubby creatures walking slowly around in the narrow runways. But I +_know_ they cannot be ant larvae. For ant larvae have no legs and +simply can't walk. What are they? I get out the little pocket-lens. +And the mystery is solved. They are the "ant-cattle," the curious +little mealy-bugs that many kinds of ants bring into their nests and +take care of for the sake of getting from them a constant supply of +"honey-dew." This "honey-dew" which the mealy-bugs make and give off +from their bodies is a sweetish syrupy fluid of which almost all ants, +even those most fiercely carnivorous, are very fond. And as the +mealy-bugs and plant-lice that make the honey-dew are quite +defenceless, soft-bodied, mostly wingless and rather sedentary +insects, the bright-witted ants establish colonies, or "herds," of +them in their nests, or visit and protect colonies of them living on +plants near the ant-nest. Some kinds of ants even build earthen +"sheds," or tents, over groups of honey-dew insects on plant-stems. +The mealy-bugs are white because they cover their soft little bodies +with delicate threads or flakes of glistening white wax which they +make in their bodies and pour out through tiny openings in the skin. + +We watch the busy, excited ants until they have carried all their +babies and cattle down into the underground nursery chambers, out of +harm's way. Then we put the stone carefully back in place, and roll +back again to where we can watch the wonderful mountains in the west. +The redwood-fringed crest stands so sharply out against the sky-line +that we really can distinguish every tree that lifts its head above +the crest, although they are several miles away from us. These great +trees, which are the giants' jagged spears, are one hundred and fifty +feet high, some of them, and as big around at the base as one of the +massive columns in the Cologne Cathedral. + +Finally I say, rather lazily, "Mary, shall I tell you about the +special way the clever little brown ant of the Illinois corn-fields +takes care of its cattle?" + +"Yes, please, if it isn't too long," says Mary. + +Mary and I are on perfectly frank terms. We are polite, but also +inclined to be honest. And Mary is not going to be an unresisting +victim of a garrulous old professor. But Mary need not be afraid that +I sha'n't know when I am boring her. We have wireless communication, +Mary and I. That's one, probably the principal, reason why we are such +good companions. No true companionship can possibly persist without +wireless and wordless communication. + +"All right," I answer, "here goes, Mary. Say when!" + +"I forget how many millions of bushels of corn were raised in the +state of Illinois last year, but they were very many. And that means +thousands and thousands of acres of corn-fields. Now in all these +corn-fields there live certain tiny soft-bodied insects called +corn-root aphids. Their food is the sap of the growing corn-plants +which they suck from the roots. Although each corn-root aphid is only +about one-twentieth of an inch long and one-twenty-fifth of an inch +wide and has a sucking-beak simply microscopic in size, yet there are +so many millions of these little insects all with their microscopic +little beaks stuck into the corn-roots and all the time drinking, +drinking the sap which is the life-blood of the corn-plants that they +do a great deal of injury to the corn-fields of Illinois and cause a +great loss in money to the farmers. + +"So the wise men have studied the ways and life of these little aphids +to see if some way can be devised to keep them in check. The aphids +live only two or three weeks, but each one before it dies gives birth +to about twelve young aphids. Now this is a very rapid rate of +increase. If all the young which are born live their allotted two or +three weeks and produce in their turn twelve new aphids, we should +have about ten trillion descendants in a year from a single mother +aphid. Ten trillion corn-root aphids, tiny as they are, would make a +strip or belt ten feet wide and two hundred and thirty miles long! + +"Some other kinds of aphids multiply themselves even more rapidly. An +English naturalist has figured out that a single-stem mother of the +common aphis, or 'greenfly' of the rose, would give origin, at its +regular rate of multiplication and provided each individual born lived +out its natural life, which is only a few days at best, to over +thirty-three quintrillions of rose aphids in a single season, equal in +weight to more than a billion and a half of men. Of course such a +thing never happens, because so many of the young aphids get eaten by +lady-bird beetles and flower-fly larvae and other enemies before they +come to be old enough to produce young. + +"However, besides this rapid increase of the corn-root aphids, there +is something else that helps them to be so formidable a pest. And this +is that they find very good and zealous friends in the millions of +little brown ants that also live in the Illinois corn-fields. These +swift, strong, brave little ants make their runways and nests all +through the corn-fields, and are very devoted helpers of the +soft-bodied helpless aphids. For the aphids pay for this help by +acting as 'cattle' for the ants. + +"This is what Professor Forbes, a very careful and a very honest +naturalist, found out about the ants and the aphids. The eggs of the +aphids, hosts of shining black, round, little seed-like eggs, are laid +late in the autumn. These eggs are gathered by the ants and heaped up +in piles in the galleries of their nests, or sometimes in special +chambers made by widening the runways here and there. All through the +winter these eggs are cared for by the ants, being carried down into +the deeper and warmer chambers in the coldest weather, and brought up +nearer the surface when it is warm. When the sunny days of spring +begin to come, the eggs are even brought up above ground and scattered +about in the sunshine, then carried down again at night. The little +ants may be seen sometimes turning the eggs over and over and +carefully licking them as if to clean them of dust-particles. + +"In the late spring the aphid eggs hatch, and the young must have sap +to drink right away. Their little beaks are thirsty for the +plant-juices that are their only food. But there are no tender +corn-roots ready for them in the fields because the corn has not yet +been planted. What, then, shall the hungering baby aphids and their +foster-mothers, the little brown ants, do? + +"This is what happens. Although it is too early yet for the corn to be +growing, there are various kinds of weeds that begin to sprout with +the coming on of spring, and two of these, especially, the smart-weed +and the pigeon-grass, abundant and wide-spread in all the Mississippi +Valley, are sure to be growing in the fields. While the aphids much +prefer corn-roots to live on, they will get along very well on the +roots of smart-weed or pigeon-grass. So the clever little brown ants +put the almost helpless baby aphids on the tender roots of these +weeds, and there their tiny beaks begin to be satisfied. Don't you +call that clever, Mary?" + +"Clever! Gracious!" says Mary. "Do you know Professor Forbes? Is he +really--does he always tell the--" + +I interrupt. I am sensitive about such questions. I answer rather +sharply. "Yes, I _do_ know him; and yes, he always tells the truth. +Don't interrupt any more, please, for there is still more of the +story." Mary is silent. + +"Well, the aphids stay on the smart-weed roots until the corn is +planted, which is in about ten days, and the kernels begin to +germinate and to send down the tender juice-filled roots. And then the +little brown ants take the aphids, now getting larger and stronger, of +course, but still too helpless or stupid to do much for themselves +except to suck sap, and carry them from the smart-weed roots to the +corn-roots--What's that, Mary?" + +But Mary had said nothing; just drawn in her breath with a little +sound. Still I think it best to remind her that I _do_ know Professor +Forbes and that he really _does_ always tell the truth. In fact, I +quote to Mary this honest professor's exact words about this transfer +of the aphids from the weed-roots to the corn-roots. This is what he +writes in his intensely interesting account of the whole life of these +little insects: "In many cases in the field, we have found the young +root aphis on sprouting weeds (especially pigeon-grass) which have +been sought out by the ants before the leaves had shown above the +ground; and, similarly, when the field is planted to corn, these +ardent explorers will frequently discover the sprouting kernel in the +earth, and mine along the starting stem and place the plant aphids +upon it." + +"And the little brown ants do all this so as to get honey-dew from the +aphids?" asks Mary. + +"Exactly," I reply. "The ants take such good care of the aphids not +because they pity their helplessness or just want to be good, but +because they know, by some instinct or reason, that these are the +insects that, when they grow up, make honey-dew, which is the kind of +food that ants seem to like better than any other. Indeed not only the +little brown ants alone take care of the corn-root aphids to get +honey-dew, but at least six other kinds of ants that live in the +Illinois corn-fields do it. But the little brown ants are the most +abundant and seem to give the aphids the best care." + +"It is exactly like keeping cows, isn't it," says Mary. "But they +don't have to milk them." + +"Well," I reply, "I don't know what you would call it, but some other +ants that take care of some other kinds of honey-dew insects seem to +have to carry on a sort of milking performance to make them pour out +their sweet liquid. The ants have to pat or rub them with their hairy +little feelers; sort of tickle them to get them to squeeze out a +little drop of honey-dew. The truth is, Mary, if I should tell you the +really amazing things that ants do, you simply wouldn't believe me at +all. But the next time we go out, I'll take you to see for yourself an +ant community right on the campus that does some remarkable things. +I'd much rather have you see the things yourself than tell you about +them." + +"I'd rather, too," says Mary, which isn't exactly the nicest thing +she could say, but I know what she means. It's that seeing is better +than being told by anybody. + +And then the up-and-down "ding, dang, dong, ding," of the clock-bells +begins its little song in four verses that means the end of an hour. +And then come the six slow deep calls of the biggest bell that tell +what hour it is. It is the hour for us to go home. + +[Illustration: AN HOUR OF LIVING OR THE DANCE OF DEATH] + + + + +AN HOUR OF LIVING; OR, THE DANCE OF DEATH + + +"But why didn't he go back if he liked France so much better; and if +he had plenty of money?" asked Mary. + +"Ah, well, even having plenty of money doesn't always make it possible +to do just what we prefer," I say. "The truth is,--if it is the truth, +and not just malicious gossip,--it was exactly because he had plenty +of money that he couldn't go back. He is supposed to have got that +money in some wrong way. Anyway, he didn't seem to care to go back to +_la belle France_, but preferred to live solitarily here, and to plant +lines of trees and lay out little lakes and build rockwork towers and +make terraces and driveways and paths, all in very formal lines, as in +the parks at Versailles and St. Cloud, which were the playgrounds of +French kings and the pride of all France." + +Mary and I were seated on a curious little cement-and-stone imitation +tower-ruin that stuck up out of Frenchman's Pond, which is near the +campus, and is a good place for seeing things and getting away from +the classroom bells. A long row of scraggly Lombardy poplars stretches +away from the pond along an old terraced roadway with a cave opening +on it. Around two sides of the little lake is a rockwork wall, and +across one end, where the pond narrows, is a picturesque stone bridge +of single span. Everything is neglected, and altogether Frenchman's +Pond and its surroundings are a good imitation of something old and +foreign in this glaringly new and extremely Californian bit of the +world. It is a favorite place for us to come when I want to tell Mary +stories of the castles on the Rhine. We get a proper atmosphere. + +It was so sunny and warm this morning that we had given up chatting +and were simply sitting or sprawling as comfortably as we could on the +irregular top of our _Aussichtsthurm_. A few flying dragons, some in +bronze-red mail, some in greenish blue, were wheeling about over the +pond, and a meadow-lark kept up a most cheerful singing in the pasture +nearby. It was really just the sort of day and place and feeling that +Mary and I like best. We knew we ought, as persevering Nature +students, to get down and poke around in the weeds and ooze of the +edges of the pond so as to see things. But we didn't want to do it, +and so we didn't. That is one perfectly beautiful thing about the way +Mary and I study Nature. We don't when we don't want to. + +But if we didn't climb down to the live things this day at Frenchman's +Pond, they came up to us. One of the flying dragons actually swooped +so close to our heads that we could hear its shining brittle wings +crackle, and only a few minutes after, a curious delicate little +creature with four gauzy wings, a pair of projecting eyes with a fixed +stare, and three long hair-like tails on its body, lit on Mary's hand +and walked slowly and rather totteringly up her bare wrist and fore +arm. Then without any fluttering or struggling, it slowly fell over on +one side and lay quite still. It was dead! + +This rather took our breath away. We are only too well accustomed, +unfortunately, to seeing death come to our little companions; they do +not live long, at best, and then so many of them get killed and eaten. +But they usually make some protest when Death approaches. They do not +surrender their brief joy of living in such utterly unresisting way as +this little creature did. But when I had got my spectacles properly +adjusted, I saw what it was that had died so quietly and suddenly. +The little gauzy-winged creature was a May-fly, or ephemera, and life +with the May-flies is such a truly ephemeral thing, and death comes +regularly so soon and so swiftly, and without any apparent illness or +injury intervening between health and dissolution, that we naturalists +have ceased to wonder at it. Although this is not because we +understand it at all. Far from it. Indeed the death of any creature, +except from obvious accident or wasting illness, is one of the +mysteries of life. Which sounds rather Irish, but is just what I mean. + +But Mary was looking thoughtfully at this dead little May-fly in her +hand. It was so soft and delicate of body, had such frail and filmy +wings, that it seemed that it must have been very ill-fitted to cope +with the hard conditions of insect living, to escape the numerous +insect-feeding creatures and to find food and shelter for itself, to +be successful, in a word, in the "struggle for existence"! And in a +way, this is quite true. But, in another way, it is not true. For the +May-flies, in their flying stage, make up for their frailness and +feebleness, their inability to feed--they have really no mouth-parts +and do not eat at all in their few hours or days of flying life--by +existing in enormous numbers, and millions may be killed, or may die +from very feebleness, and yet there are enough left to lay the eggs +necessary for a new generation, and that is success in life for them. +Nothing else is necessary; their whole aim and achievement in life +seems to be to lay eggs and start a new generation of May-flies. + +I settled back into a still more comfortable position and said: "Did I +ever tell you, Mary, of the May-flies' dance of death I saw in Lucerne +once, not far from the old bridge across the Reuss with its famous +pictures of our own dance of death? Well, then, we'll just about have +time before the tower-clock calls us home. Do you want to hear +about it?" + +"Yes, please," said Mary. + +"Well, I had been studying in a great university in an old German town +all the spring and early summer and had come to Switzerland for my +vacation. You know there are splendid mountains there--" + +"The Alps," interrupted Mary. "The highest is Mt. Blanc, 15,730 feet +above the sea." + +How Mary does know her geography! + +"And beautiful lakes," I continue. "And the roads are good for +tramping, and the hotels cheap. Anyway, the ones the students go to. I +had come to Lucerne from Zurich--" + +"Noted for its silks and university where women can go," Mary broke in +again. + +Bless me, what's the use of going to Europe anyway, if you learn +everything about everywhere in the grades? + +"And had gone straight to the _Muehlenbruecke_," I go on,--"that's the +old bridge all covered with a roof that crosses the Reuss only a few +rods from where it flows out of the lake; the lake of Lucerne, you +know." + +"Of course," said Mary. + +"For it is on the ceiling of that bridge," I persist, "that these +curious old Dance of Death pictures are painted, and I had heard a +great deal about them. They show how everybody is dancing through life +to his grave. Not very pleasant pictures, Mary." + +"Very unpleasant, I should think," says Mary, positively. "I hope you +didn't look at them long." + +"No, because, for one reason, it was getting too dark to see them. The +sun had set behind the Gutsch--that's a pretty hill just west of +Lucerne--and the electric lights were already flashing along the +lake-shore promenade. You know what a wonderfully beautiful lake +Lucerne is, of course, Mary?" + +"Yes; it is unsurpassed in Switzerland, perhaps in Europe, for +magnificence of scenery," replies Mary, in level voice. + +I resolve to cut geographic information out of any further stories I +tell Mary. Do they commit Baedeker to memory nowadays in the schools? + +"Exactly," I manage to reply without betraying too much astonishment +at this revelation of the American educational method. + +"Well, along the shore of this unsurpassed lake at the town of Lucerne +there is a broad promenade with trees and benches and electric lights. +Behind it are the big hotels all in a curving row, and after dinner +all the people come out and stroll about while the band plays. It is a +fine sight." + +Mary seemed to be getting a little less than interested. She squirmed +into a new position on the rough rockwork and then, looking out over +the little pond with its hawking dragons whizzing back and forth, she +asked: "What about the May-flies, please?" + +I really believe she knew all about the hotels and promenade and the +band. What wonderful schools! + +"I was coming--I have just come to them," I reply with dignity. + +I am a professor and have a certain stock supply of dignity to draw on +when necessary. It isn't often necessary with Mary. + +"Well, as I came from the covered _Muehlenbruecke_ and out on to the +lake-shore promenade, I saw a little crowd of people gathered under +and about a brilliant arclight hanging in an open place in front of +the great Schweizerhof Hotel. The light seemed to me curiously hazy, +and even before I got near the crowd I had made a guess at what was +going on. My guess that it was a May-fly dance of death was quite +right. Perhaps it would really be better to call it a 'dance of life,' +for it really was sort of a great wedding dance. But it was a dance of +death, too, for the dancers were falling dead or dying out of the +dizzying whirly circles by thousands. How many hundreds or thousands +or millions of May-flies there were in the dense circling cloud about +the light, I have no idea. But the air for twenty feet every way from +the light was full of them, and the ground for a circle of thirty or +forty feet underneath was not merely covered with the delicate dead +creatures, but was covered for from one to two inches deep! + +"The crowd of promenaders looked on in gaping wonder. Not one seemed +to know what kind of creature this was, nor of course anything about +what was really going on; that this was all of the few hours of +feverish life which these May-flies enjoyed in their winged state, and +that they gave it all up to the business of mating and egg-laying; +where they came from, how they had lived before, why they should be +here to-night and no other in the whole year, all these things which +it seems to me the onlookers ought to have wanted to know, nobody +seemed to know, nor anybody seemed particularly to care to. + +"But there are places in the world where the people do want to know +these things, and a great many more, about the May-flies. One such +place is the Thousand Islands in the St. Lawrence River. One day I was +sailing down this river among the Thousand Islands, and the +acquaintanceship of a small and unusually delicate kind of May-fly was +forced on me by the hundreds of them that persisted in alighting on my +clothes, my hat, and my hair. They kept walking unsteadily about over +my face and hands and the open pages of the book I was trying to read. +And they kept dying, dying, all around. One would light on the outer +edge of the page, and before it had walked across to the beginning of +a sentence, it would die and its body would slide gently down into the +back of the book and--be a bookmarker!" + +"That's not a very nice way to talk about the poor little dead +May-flies," said Mary, rather seriously. + +"It isn't, Mary, I know," said I. "But we've got to relieve the gloom +of this tale someway, don't you think? There is too much wholesale +death in it to suit my publisher! And so I am trying to introduce a +little jocularity into it, don't you see, Mary?" + +"People are not supposed to be very funny at funerals," said Mary, +severely. "Where did the little Thousand Islands May-flies come from, +and why do the people there want to know about them?" + +"Because there are so many May-flies that they are a great pest. Not +by eating crops--for there aren't any, I suppose, and the May-flies +don't eat anything anyway--nor by carrying malaria, but just by living +and dying all over; everywhere in one's summer cottage, down on the +river-bank where you are watching the sunset, under the trees when you +are lying in your hammock and trying to read, in your rowboat when you +are paddling about to visit your neighbors on other islands. To be +walked on and died on by hundreds and hundreds of little flies, and +all the time, grows to be very uncomfortable. So the May-flies or +river-flies or lake-flies as they are variously called are cordially +hated by all the Thousand-Islanders and the St. Lawrence-Riverers. And +the people want to know about where they come from, and how they live, +and all about them, indeed, so as to try to find some way to be rid of +them." + +"And do you know where they come from, and how they live, and all +about them," asks Mary, with a slightly roguish manner, I fear. + +"Well, I know something. In the first place, after the dance of death, +the few that don't die fly out over the lake or river or pond and drop +a lot of little eggs into it. Then they die happy--if May-flies can be +happy. Mind you, I don't say they can. We are the only animals that we +know can be happy. And we mostly aren't. From the eggs hatch young +May-flies without wings or long thread-like tails, but just little, +flat, under-water creatures with gills along the sides so they can +breathe without coming up to the surface. Some kinds burrow into the +mud at the bottom, some kinds make little tubes or cases in which to +live, while others stay mostly on the under side of stones. They eat +little water-plants or broken-up stuff they find in the water, +although some eat other little live animals, even other young +May-flies. And many of them get eaten themselves. They are favorite +food of the under-water dragons. You remember, don't you, Mary, how +our dragons of Lagunita would snap up the young May-flies in Monday +Pond? + +"Well, these young May-flies--the ones that don't get eaten by +dragons, stone-flies, water-tigers, and other May-flies--grow larger +slowly, and wing-pads begin to grow on their backs. In a year, maybe, +or two years for some kinds, they are ready for their great change. +And this comes very suddenly. Some late afternoon or early evening +thousands of young May-flies of the same kind, living in the same lake +or river, swim up to the surface of the water, and, after resting +there a few moments, suddenly split their skin along the back of the +head and perhaps a little way farther along the back, and like a flash +squirm out of this old skin, spread out their gauzy wings and fly +away. They do this so quickly that your eye can hardly follow the +performance." + +"And then they all fly to the light and begin their dance of death," +breaks in Mary. + +"No, wait; they are not yet quite ready for that. First, they do a +very unusual thing; something that no other kinds of insects have ever +been seen to do. This is it: They fly away to a plant or bush or tree +at the water's edge, and there they cling for a little while and then +cast their skin again." + +"The new skin they have just got, with the wings and everything?" asks +Mary. + +"Exactly; the new skin. It comes off of the wings, off of the long +tails and the short feelers, and all the rest of the body. No other +kind of insect but the May-fly casts its skin once its wings are +outspread. But now the May-fly is ready for its dizzy dance. And as it +has only a few hours to do it in, it usually starts as soon as there +are any lights to dance about. Think of it, to come up from under the +water, get your wings and be a real May-fly, not just a crawling thing +on the bottom of a pond, and have only one evening to live in! +Probably to dance the whole evening through is about the best thing to +do under such circumstances." + +"Don't any of the poor May-flies live for more than one evening?" asks +Mary. "It does seem a shame to put in so long a time, one year, two +years for some, getting ready to fly and then have only one evening or +night for flying." + +"Well, yes, some do, Mary. That is, there are many different kinds of +May-flies; some large ones, some small ones, some kinds with four +wings, some kinds with only two, and the length of the flying time is +not the same for all these kinds. Some live a day, some two, some +perhaps even three or four. But there are several kinds whose flying +life is just a few hours; they are born, that is, as flying +creatures, after sundown and they die before the next sunrise. The +first kind of May-fly whose life was ever carefully studied--this was +nearly two hundred and fifty years ago, by a famous naturalist of +Holland--lives only five hours after it comes from the water. But +remember what a fine long time they have being young! If we could be +young--but there, that's foolish. Mary, the chimes in the tower-clock +are sounding. Listen!" + +And we sit perfectly still and hear the beautiful Haydn changes on the +four bells, and then count twelve clear strokes of the big clock-bell +that come all the way from the Quadrangle to us, softened and mellowed +by the distance. We must go home to luncheon. And after luncheon I +must go and lecture--Ugh! How sad!--sad for the students and sad for +me. But that's the way we do it, and until we find the real way, we +must all continue to suffer together. + +"Come, Mary, we're off. How would you like to be a May-fly?" + +"And have only one day to live when I'm all grown up?" + +"You might be saved some troubles, Mary." + +[Illustration: IN FUZZY'S GLASS HOUSE] + + + + +IN FUZZY'S GLASS HOUSE + + +Fuzzy was distinguished from most of her brothers and sisters, when we +first became acquainted with her, by the fine head of hair which she +had. It has been several weeks now since we first saw her, and there +are bald places already--so strenuous has been her life. To be sure +that we should be able to recognize her even after she became worn and +bald, like the others, we dabbed a spot of white paint on her back +between the shoulders, and although old age and its attendant ills, +including the loss of much of her hair, have come on rapidly, the +white spot is still there, and we know Fuzzy whenever we see her. + +We were watching what was going on in Fuzzy's glass house at the very +time that Fuzzy first came out of her six-sided little private +nursery room. In this she had spent all of her three weeks of getting +hatched from an egg--we had seen her own very egg laid by the queen +mother!--then of living as a helpless baby bee without wings or feet +or eyes or feelers, and having to be fed bee-jelly and bee-bread by +the nurses, and then as a slowly maturing young bee with legs and +wings and eyes and feelers all forming and growing. Part of this time +she had been shut up in her room by having the door sealed with wax, +and she had had no food at all. But she had been fed enough at first +to last her through the days when she had no food. + +It was the twentieth or twenty-first day since she had been born, that +is, had hatched from the little, long, white, seed-like egg that the +queen bee had laid in this six-sided waxen room or cell. And Fuzzy was +all ready to come out into the world. So she tried her strong new +trowel-like jaws on the thin waxen door of her room, and found no +trouble at all in biting a hole through it large enough to let her +wriggle out. Which she did right under our very eyes. + +Indeed we had planned Fuzzy's glass house and had had it built in the +way you see it in Sekko's picture just so we could see plainly and +certainly what goes on in the house of a bee family. Everybody has +watched bees outside gather pollen and drink nectar and hang in great +swarms, and do the various other things they do in their outdoor life. +But not everybody has seen what goes on indoors. Many people have seen +the inside of a hive every now and then. But it is always when the +bees are greatly excited and often when the people are too. And so +besides seeing that the honey and pollen are in such and such combs +and cells and the young bees in others, some of them in open and some +in closed cells, and perhaps a few other things, one doesn't learn +much by peering into a hive through a mass of smoke-dazed bees while +dodging a few extra-lively and energetic ones! + +Mary and I had watched bees outside and we had looked into lots of +hives and, of course, had learned a little about indoor bee ways. But +ever since we got Fuzzy's glass-sided house built and a community of +pretty amber-bodied gentle Italians living in it, we have never got +over being sorry for ourselves in the old days and sorry for other +people all the time. For it is so easy and sure, so vastly +entertaining and utterly fascinating to sit quietly and comfortably in +chairs (one of us on each side) for hours together and see all the +many things that go on in the bee's house. The bees are not disturbed +in the slightest by our having the black cloth jacket off of the hive +and by the light shining in through the great window-like sides of +the house, nor by Mary's bright eyes and my round spectacles staring +ever so hard at them. + +We have seen the queen lay her eggs, the little bees hatch out, the +nurse bees feed them, the foragers come in and dance their whirling +dervish dance and unload their baskets of pollen and sacs of honey, +the wax-makers hang in heavy festoons and make wax, the carrying bees +carry the wax to the comb-builders, and the comb-builders build comb +of it, the house-cleaners and the ventilators clean house and +ventilate, and the guards stopping intruders at the door. We have +heard the piping of the new queens in their big thimble-like cells, +and seen them come out, and the terrible excitement and sometimes +awful tragedy that follows; we have seen the wild ecstasy that comes +before swarming out, and the swarming itself begin in the house; we +have looked in at night and found some of the bees resting, but others +working, and always some on guard; we have seen the lazy drones loaf +all the morning and then swing out on their midday flight and come +back and fall to drinking honey again; we have seen a great battle +when our gentle Italians fought like demons and repulsed a fierce +attack of foraging black Germans, and again a nomad band of +yellow-jackets; and we have seen the provident workers kill the drones +and even drag young worker bees from their cells when the first cold +weather comes on. We have seen, in truth, a very great deal of all the +wonderful life that these wise and versatile little creatures live in +their nearly perfect cooperative community. But above all we have +followed with special interest and affectionate pride the education +and experiences of Fuzzy, our most particular friend in all the +thousands of our gentle Italian family. + +Fuzzy must have been very glad to get out finally from her tight, +dark, little cell and into the airy, light hive, with all of her +sisters and brothers moving around so lively and busily. And she must +have been especially delighted when she went to the open door of the +house for a peek out--for she wasn't allowed really to go outdoors for +exactly eight days--and saw the beautiful arcades of the outer +Quadrangle underneath her and the red-tiled roof on a level with her, +and then the great eucalyptus trees and the beautiful live-oaks in the +field beyond, and far off on the horizon the crest of the distant +mountains, with the giant redwoods standing up against the sky-line. +You have a glimpse in Sekko's picture of all this that Fuzzy saw that +day. That is, if she could see so much. I am afraid she couldn't. + +"But what are those other bees doing to her," cried Mary in some +alarm, as two or three workers crowded around Fuzzy just as she came +from her cell. "Are they trying to bite her?" + +"Not the least in the world," I hasten to answer reassuringly. "Just +look sharp and you will see." And Mary did look sharp and did see. And +she clapped her hands with glee. "Why, they are licking her with their +long tongues; cleaning her, just as a cat does her little kittens," +sang Mary. Which was exactly so. For a bee just out from its nursery +cell is a very mussed-up looking, and, I expect, rather dirty little +creature. And it needs cleaning. + +It was soon after Fuzzy had got cleaned and had her hair brushed and +had begun to wander around in an aimless way in the glass-sided house +that we got hold of her and dabbed the spot of white paint on her +back. We did it this way. She had walked up to just under the roof of +the house near where you see (in Sekko's picture) one of the +cork-stoppers sticking up like a little chimney-pot. These corks stop +up two round holes in the roof which we had made for the express +purpose of putting things,--other insects, say,--into the hive to see +what the bees would do with them, and also to take out a bee when we +wanted to experiment with it. When Fuzzy got up just under one of the +holes, we took the cork-stopper out gently and thus let her come +walking slowly up and out on top of the roof. Then we caught and held +her very gently with a pair of flat-bladed tweezers, and put the white +paint on. Then we dropped her back through the hole and put the cork +in its hole. + +We watched Fuzzy for a long time after she came out of her cell that +day, and although she walked about a great deal, she only once +ventured near the real door or entrance-slit of the hive through which +the foraging bees were constantly coming and going. And next day we +watched many hours and looked often between regular watching times, +always finding Fuzzy in the house. And so for eight days. And then +she made her first excursion outside. + +It was interesting to watch her on this eighth day. She would fly a +little way out, then turn around and come in. Then she would fly out +farther, turn around, hover a little in front of the window, and +finally come in again. A lot of other young bees were doing the same +thing. They seemed to be getting acquainted with things around the +door of the house so they would know how to find it when they came +back from a long trip. On the ninth day Fuzzy brought in her first +loads of pollen, two great masses of dull rose-red pollen held +securely in the pollen-baskets on her hind legs. And after that she +brought many other loads of pollen and later sacs of honey. + +But you must not imagine that Fuzzy was idle during all those eight +days before she went outside of the glass house. Not a bit of it. No +bees are idle. But yes, the drones. Big, blunt-bodied, hairy, +blundersome creatures that move slowly about over the combs. Not over +the nursery combs where there is work to be done, feeding and caring +for the young bees. Dear me, no. But over the pantry combs. They keep +close to the honey-pots and bread-jars. But even they have their work. +Each day from spring into late summer they all, or nearly all, fly out +about eleven o'clock and circle and traverse the air for long +distances in search of queens. Then in the early afternoon they come +back and fall to sipping honey again. + +However, to return to Fuzzy and her work in those first eight days +spent all inside the house. One day Mary saw Fuzzy stretching her head +down into one open cell after another in the brood-comb. At the bottom +of each of these cells was a little white grub; a very young bee, of +course, only one or two or three or four days out from the egg. +Several days before (it takes only three days for a bee's egg to +hatch) we had seen the beautiful long slender-bodied queen moving +slowly about over these cells, with her little circle of attendants +all moving with her with their heads always facing toward her. She +would thrust her long hind body down into one of these empty cells and +stand there quietly for two or three minutes. Then draw her body out +and go on to another. And in the cell she had just left we could see +plainly a tiny seed-like white speck stuck to the bottom of the cell. +It was an egg of course. That is nearly all the queen does; she simply +goes about all through the spring and summer laying eggs, one at a +time, in the nursery or brood-cells. There is one other thing she +does, or really several things, at the time of the appearance or the +birth of a new queen. But that will come later. + +We do seem to have trouble keeping to Fuzzy and her life, don't we? +Well, when Mary saw Fuzzy sticking her head down into the cells with +the bee-grubs in, she knew at once what Fuzzy was doing. For it was +plain that the young bees had to have something to eat and it was +plain, too, that they couldn't get it for themselves, for they have no +legs, and can't even crawl out of their cells. Fuzzy was feeding them. +She would drink a lot of honey from a honey-cell, and eat a lot of +pollen from a pollen-filled cell, and then make in her mouth or front +stomach (for bees have two stomachs, one in front of the other), or in +certain glands in her head (it doesn't seem to be exactly known +which), a very rich sort of food called bee-jelly. Then she sticks the +tip of her long tongue into the mouth of the helpless, soft-bodied +little white bee-grub and pours the food into it. After the bee-grub +is two or three days old, the nurse bees--and that is what Fuzzy +could be called now--feed the babies some honey and pollen in addition +to this made-up bee-jelly, unless the baby is to be a queen bee, and +then it gets only the rich bee-jelly all the time. + +Mary thought Fuzzy should have a neat cap and white apron on and drew +a clever little picture of Fuzzy as a nurse. But we are being very +careful in this book not to fool anybody, and if we should print the +picture Mary drew, some people would be stupid enough to think that we +meant them to believe that the nurse bees wear uniforms! We say right +now that they don't, and that you can't tell them from the other bees +except that most of them are the younger or newly issued bees and +hence haven't lost any of their hair, and so look "fuzzier" than the +other bees in the hive. For just as with Fuzzy, so with the other +younger bees; they stay in the hive for a week or more and act as +nurses. + +When they once are allowed to go out, and begin bringing in pollen and +honey, however, then the new bees are ready to do any of the many +other things that have to be done inside the hive. One day Mary saw +Fuzzy standing quite still on the floor of the house, with her head +pointed away from the door and held rather low, while her body was +tilted up at an angle. She just stood there immovable and apparently +doing nothing at all. Suddenly Mary called out: "Why, what has +happened to Fuzzy? Her wings are gone!" I hurried to look. And it did +seem, for a minute, as if Mary were right. Which would have been a +most surprising and also a most terrible thing. But my eyes seemed to +see a sort of blur or haze just over Fuzzy's back, and I bade Mary +look close at this blur with her sharp eyes. And Mary solved the +mystery. + +"She is fanning her wings so fast that you can't see them," cried +Mary. "And here is another bee about two inches in front of Fuzzy +doing the same thing; and another," called out Mary, who was greatly +excited. And it rather did seem as if these bees had gone crazy, or +were having a very strange game, or something. Until I made Mary +remember what would happen to us if not just three or four or five or +six of us, but many thousand--indeed in Fuzzy's house there are more +than ten thousand--were shut up in one house with but a single small +opening to let fresh air in and bad air out. For bees breathe just as +we do, that is, take fresh air into their bodies and give out +poisonous air. And then Mary understood. Fuzzy and the other bees +fanning their wings so fast and steadily were ventilating the house! +They were making air-currents that would carry the poisonous air, +laden with carbonic-acid gas, out of the door, and then fresh air +would come in to replace it. + +And another time Fuzzy kept Mary guessing a little while about what +she was doing. We had looked all through the crowds of nurses and +wax-makers and comb-builders and house-cleaners without finding Fuzzy. +And we decided she was out on a foraging trip, when Mary caught sight +of our white-spotted chum loafing about in the little glass-covered +runway that leads from the outer opening into the house proper, a sort +of little glass-roofed entry we have arranged so that we can see the +foragers as they alight and come in, and the various other things that +go on by the door. Fuzzy seemed to be loafing, but both Mary and I +have seen so much of the feverish activity and the constant work of +bees in the hive, and out of it for that matter, that we never expect +to find a worker honey-bee really loafing. They literally work +themselves to death, dying sometimes at the very door of the hive, +with the heavy baskets of pollen on their thighs, the gathering and +carrying of which has been the killing of them. Only the bees that +over-winter in the hive must have some spare moments on their hands. +And here in California even these are few, for a certain amount of +foraging goes on practically all the year round. + +But Fuzzy did seem to be loafing there in the entry. Until Mary's +sharp eyes discovered her important business. She was one of the +warders at the gate, a guard or sentinel told off, with one or two +others, to test each arrival at the entrance. As a forager would +alight and start to walk in through the entry, Fuzzy would trot up to +it and feel it with her sensitive antennae. If the newcomer were a +member of the community, all right; it was passed in. But if not,--if +it were one of the vicious black Germans from the other observation +hive that stands close by, opening out of the same window +indeed,--there would be an instant alarm and a quick attack. Two or +three Italians would pounce on the intruder, who would either hurry +away or, if bold enough to fight, would get stung to death and pitched +unceremoniously out of the entry. Or if it were a stray yellow-jacket +attracted by the alluring odor of honey from the hive, one of the same +things would happen. One day not a single German came, but an army, a +guerrilla band intent on pillage and murder. And then there was a +grand battle--but we must wait a minute for that. + +There were also other enemies of Fuzzy's glass house besides German +bees and yellow wasps. There is a delicate little moth, bee-moth it is +called, that slips into the hive at night all noiselessly and without +betraying its presence to any of the bees if it can help it. And it +lays, very quickly indeed, a lot of tiny round eggs in a crack +somewhere. It doesn't seem to try to get out. At any rate it rarely +does get out. For it almost always gets found out and stung to death +and pulled and torn into small pieces by the enraged bees, who seem +to go almost frantic whenever they discover one of these +innocent-seeming little gray-and-brown moths in the house. And well +they may, for death and destruction of the community follow in the +train of the bee-moth. From the eggs hatch little sixteen-footed grubs +that keep well hidden in the cracks, only venturing out to feed on the +wax of the comb nearest them. As they grow they need more and more +wax, but they protect themselves while getting it by spinning a silken +web which prevents the bees from getting at them. Wherever they go +they spin silken lines and little webs until, if several bee-moths +have managed to lay their eggs in the hive and several hundred of +their voracious wax-eating grubs are spinning tough silken lines and +webs through all the corridors and rooms of the bees' house, the +household duties get so difficult to carry on that the bee community +begins to dwindle; the unfed young die in their cells, the indoor +workers starve, and the breakdown of the whole hive occurs. Such a +thing happened in this very glass house of Fuzzy's a year before we +got acquainted with Fuzzy herself. And we had to get a new family of +bees to come and live in the house after we had cleaned out and washed +and sterilized all the cracks and corners so that no live eggs of the +terrible bee-moth remained. + +Some days we found Fuzzy at work with several companions on more +prosaic and commonplace things about the house; chores they might be +called. She had to help clean house occasionally. For the bees are +extremely cleanly housekeepers, with a keen eye for all fallen bits of +wax, or bodies of dead bees, or any kind of dirt that might come from +the housekeeping of so large a family. Every day the hive is +thoroughly cleaned. If there comes a day when it is not, that is a bad +sign. There is something wrong with the bee community. They haven't +enough food, or they are getting sick, or something else irregular and +distressing is happening. + +Also the house has to be "calked" occasionally to keep out draughts +and more particularly creeping enemies of the hive, like bee-moths and +bee-lice. The cracks are pasted over with propolis, which is made from +resin or gum brought in from certain trees. If something gets into the +hive that can't be carried out, then the bees cover it up with +propolis. If they find a bee-moth grub in a crack where they can't get +to it to sting it to death, they wall it up, a living prisoner, with +propolis. Once our bees kept coming in with a curious new kind of +propolis; a greenish oily-looking stuff that stuck to their legs and +got on their faces and bodies and wouldn't clean off. We discovered +that they were trying to unpaint a near-by house as fast as it was +being freshly painted! + +Fuzzy took her turn at all these odd jobs, and though she was +beginning to show here and there a few places where her luxuriant hair +was rubbed off a little, she was still as lively and willing and +industrious as ever. Every day we liked her more and more and wished, +how many times, that we could talk with her and tell her how much we +liked her, and have her tell us how she enjoyed life in the glass +house. But we could only watch her and keep acquainted with all her +manifold duties and hope that nothing would happen to her on her long +foraging trips for pollen and nectar and propolis. Whenever Mary and I +came to the glass house and couldn't find Fuzzy, we were in a sort of +fever of excitement and apprehension until she came in with her great +loads of white or yellow or red pollen and went to shaking and dancing +and whirling about in the extraordinary way that she and her mates +have while hunting for a suitable pantry cell in which to unload her +pollen-baskets. Sometimes she would walk and dance and whirl over +almost all of the pollen-cells in the house before she would finally +decide on one. Then she would stand over it and pry with the strong +sharp spines on her middle legs at the solidly packed pollen loads on +her hind legs, trying to loosen them so they would fall into the cell. +Sometimes she simply couldn't get the pollen loads loose, and then a +companion would help her. And after they were loosened and had fallen +into the cell, she or a companion would ram her head down into the +cell and pack and tamp the soft sticky pollen loads down into one even +mass. And then how industriously she would clean herself, drawing her +antennae through the neat little antennae combs on her front legs, and +licking herself with her long flexible tongue, or getting licked by +her mates all over. + +Perhaps as she was washing herself after a hard foraging trip, the +stately and graceful queen of the house would come walking slowly by, +looking for empty cells in which to lay eggs. Then Fuzzy would turn +around, head toward the queen, and form part of the little circle of +honor that always kept forming and re-forming around the queen mother. +For the honey-bee queen is the mother of all the great family, and her +relation to the community is really the mother relation rather than +that of a reigning queen. She does not order the bees; indeed, the +worker bees seem to order her. They determine what cells she may have +to lay eggs in and when she shall be superseded by a new queen. And +when they decide for a new queen, they immediately set to work in a +very interesting way to make one. + +This is the way, as Mary and I saw it through the glass sides of +Fuzzy's house. First, a little group of workers went to work tearing +down, apparently, some comb already made; that is, they began on the +lower edge of a brood-comb, in the cells of which the old queen had +just laid eggs, to tear out the partitions between two or three of the +cells. What became of the eggs we couldn't tell, for they are very +small, and the bees were so crowded together that we could see only +the general results of their activity. Soon it was evident that they +were building as well as tearing down, and a new cell, much larger +than the usual kind and quite different in shape, began to take form. +It was like a thimble, only longer and slenderer, and it had the wide +end closed and the narrower tapering end open. They worked excitedly +and rapidly, and the new cell steadily grew in length. Never was it +left alone for a minute. Always there were bees coming and going and +always some clustered about. It was a constant center of interest and +excitement. + +Mary and I knew of course that this was a queen cell, and that at its +base there was one of the eggs laid by the old queen in a worker cell. +This egg hatched, we knew, in a few days, although we could not see +the little grub, but nurse bees were about constantly besides the +cell-builders, and all the bees that came to the wonderful new cell +seemed to realize that a very important, if at present rather grubby +and wholly helpless, personage was in it. The cell finally got to be +more than an inch long, and at the end of five days it was capped. A +lot of milky bee-jelly had been stored in it before capping. After +this nothing happened for seven days. + +Mary was in the room where the glass bee-houses are, and I was in an +adjoining room, with the door between the two open. As I sat peering +through my big microscope, I seemed to hear a curious unusual sound +from the bee-room, a sort of piping rather high-pitched but muffled. +Perhaps it was Mary trying a new song. She has a good assortment of +noises. But now came another sound; lower-pitched but louder than the +other; a trumpet-call, only of course not as loud as the soldiers' +trumpets or the ones on the stage when the King is about to come in. +Then the shrill piping again; and again the trumpet answer. And +finally a third and new sound, but this last unmistakably a Mary +sound. And with it came the dear girl herself, with her hair standing +on--well, no, I cannot truthfully say standing on end, but trying to. +And her eyes shooting sparks and her mouth open and her hands up. + +"The bees," she gasped, "the bees are doing it!" + +There was no doubt of what "it" meant. It was this sounding of pipes +and trumpets; these battle calls. + +I leaped to my feet; that is, if an elderly professor, who has certain +twinges in his joints occasionally, can really leap. Anyway I knocked +over my chair--and precious near my microscope--in getting up, and +started for the bees. And that shows the high degree of my excitement. +But never before in all the years I had played with bees had I heard +the trumpet challenges of queen bees to the death duel. Inside the +cell was the new queen shut up in darkness, but ready and eager to +come out, and piping her challenge. And outside, brave and fearless, +if old and worn, was the mother queen trumpeting back her defiance. It +was the spirit of the Amazons. + +And _what_ excitement in the hive! Simply frantic were the thousands +of workers. We watched them racing about wildly; up, down, across, +back; but mostly clustering in the bottom near the queen cell. And +working industriously at the cell itself, a group of builders, +strengthening and thickening the cell's walls especially at the closed +lower end. They seemed to be, yes, they were, preventing the new queen +inside from coming out. She was probably gnawing away with her +trowel-like jaws at the soft wax from the inside, while they were +putting on more wax and keeping her a prisoner. + +This went on for two or three days. The piping and trumpeting kept up +intermittently, and the thickening of the cell constantly. Until the +time came! + +And now I am going to disappoint you dreadfully. But much less than +Mary and I were disappointed. We were not there when the time came! + +The bees were excited, I have said. Mary and I were excited, I have +said. The bees put in _all_ their time being excited and watching the +queen cell. We put in _most_ of ours. But we had to eat and we had to +sleep. The bees didn't seem to. And so we missed the coming out. What +a pity! How unfair to us! And to you. + +As there is by immemorial honey-bee tradition but one queen in a +community at one time, when new queens issue from the great cells, +something has to happen. This may be one of three things: either the +old and new queens battle to death, and it is believed that in such +battles only does a queen bee ever use her sting, or the workers +interfere and kill either the old or new queen by "balling" her +(gathering in a tight suffocating mass about her), or either the old +(usually old) or new queen leaves the hive with a swarm, and a new +community is founded. In Fuzzy's community this last thing happened +when the new queen came out. + +Mary and I were on hand very early the morning of the third day after +the piping and trumpeting had begun. As we jerked the black cloth +jacket off the hive to see how things were, we were astonished at the +new excitement that was apparent in the hive; the bees seemed to be in +a perfect frenzy and had suspended all other operations except racing +about in apparent utter dementia. We could find neither the old queen +nor the new queen in the seething mass, nor could we even see whether +the queen cell was open or still sealed up. + +Another curious thing was that the taking off of the black cloth +jacket seemed to affect the bees very strongly. They had suddenly +become very sensitive to light, and while, when the jacket was on, +they all seemed to be making towards the bottom and especially towards +the exit corner, which was the lower corner next to the window, as +soon as we lifted off the jacket they seemed all to rush up to the top +where the light was strongest. So nearly simultaneous and uniform were +the turning and rushing up that the whole mass of bees seemed to flow +like some thick mottled liquid. + +It was evident that all this was the excitement and frenzy of +swarming. And it was also evident that the bees, in their great +excitement, were finding their way to the outlet by the light that +came in through it. And when we removed the cloth jacket we confused +them because the light now came into the hive from both sides and was +especially strong at the top, which was nearest the greatest expanse +of the outer window. So we finally let the jacket stay on, and after a +considerable time of violent exertion, the bees began to issue +pell-mell from the door of the house. The first comers waited for the +others, and there was pretty soon formed a great mass of excited bees +around the doorway, and clustered on the stone window-sill just +outside. Then suddenly the whole mass took wing and flew away +together. And pretty soon all was quiet in the hive. + +Mary and I had been nearly as excited as the bees, and we were glad to +sit and rest a little and get breath again. Soon it was luncheon time +and we went off to Mary's house without looking into the hive. We had +had just about all the bee observing we needed for one forenoon. But +almost the first thing that Mary did at the table was to straighten up +suddenly and cry out, "I wonder if Fuzzy swarmed!" And thereafter that +was all we thought of, and we made a very hasty meal of it. And the +moment we got up we hurried back to Fuzzy's home and jerked off the +black jacket. + +How quiet everything was inside. And how lessened the number of bees. +Fully one-third of the community must have gone out. We set to work +looking carefully at all the remaining bees. It was only a minute or +two before Mary clapped her hands and cried, "She's here!" "She" was +Fuzzy, of course. And we were both very glad that Fuzzy had not +deserted the glass house--and us. + +Some one came in and said that a "lot of your bees are out here +hanging on to a bush." But we had seen "swarms" before, and were much +more interested in finding out what the bees do inside after a swarm +has gone off than in watching the swarm outside. We knew that "scouts" +would fly away soon from the great hanging bunch or swarm to look for +a suitable new home; a hollow tree, a deserted hive, a box in hedge +corner, any place protected and dark, and when they had found one, +they would come back, and soon the whole swarm would fly off to the +new house. Once one of our swarms started down a chimney of a +neighbor's house, and immensely surprised the good people by coming +out, with a great buzzing, into the fireplace! And another swarm, not +finding a suitable indoors place, simply began to build new combs +hanging down from the branch of a cypress-tree in the Arboretum, and +really made an outdoor home there, carrying on all the work of a +bee-community for months. But usually a bee-swarm gets found by some +bee-keeper and put into an empty hive. And that is what happened to +our deserters. + +After Mary had found Fuzzy, who seemed to have lost considerable hair +and to have got pretty well rubbed in the grand melee, she continued +to peer carefully through the glass side of the hive. And I looked +carefully too. Of course we wanted to find out about the queens. Was +there any queen left in our hive? We knew there must be a queen with +the swarm; bees don't go off without a queen. So if the old and new +queen had fought and one had been killed, or if the workers had +"balled" the new queen when she came out, there could be no queen left +in the hive. Of course this would not be very serious. For there were +many eggs and also many just-hatched bee-grubs in the brood-combs, and +the workers could easily make a new queen. But this wasn't necessary, +for we soon found a graceful, slender-bodied bee, but so fresh and +brightly colored and clean that we knew her to be the new queen and +not the old. + +Things were perfectly normal and quiet. Some foragers were coming and +going; house-cleaners were busily at work on the floor of the house, +and nurses were moving about over the brood-cells. Not a trace of the +wild frenzy of the forenoon. What a puzzling thing it is to see all +the signs of tremendous mental excitement in other animals and yet not +to be able to understand in the least their real condition! They may +seem to do things for reasons and impulses that lead us to do things, +but we can't be at all sure that their mental or nervous processes, +their impulses and stimuli, are those which control us. We can't +possibly put ourselves in their places. For we are made differently. +And therefore it is plainly foolish to try to interpret the behavior +of the lower animals on a basis of our understanding of our own +behavior. Insects may see colors we cannot see; may hear sounds we +cannot hear; smell odors too delicate for us to smell. In fact, from +our observations and experiments, we are sure they do all these +things. The world to them, then, is different from the world to us. +And their behavior is based on their appreciation by their senses in +their own way of this different world. + +What determines which queen shall leave the hive with the swarm? What +determines which five thousand out of fifteen thousand worker bees, +all apparently similarly stimulated and excited, shall swarm out, and +which ten thousand shall stay in? These are questions too hard for us +to answer. We may take refuge in Maeterlinck's poetical conception of +the "spirit of the hive." Let us say that the "spirit of the hive" +decides these things. As well as what workers shall forage and what +ones clean house; what bees shall ventilate and what make wax and +build comb. Which is simply to say that we don't know what decides +all these things. + +The reduction in numbers of the inmates of Fuzzy's house made it much +easier to follow closely the behavior of any one bee, or any special +group of bees doing some one thing. And both Mary and I had long +wanted to see as clearly as possible just what goes on when the bees +are making wax and building comb. We had often examined, on the bodies +of dead bees, the four pairs of five-sided wax-plates on the under +side of the hind body. We knew that the wax comes out of skin-glands +under these plates as a liquid, and oozes through the pores of the +plates, spreading out and hardening in thin sheets on the outside of +the plates. To produce the wax certain workers eat a large amount of +honey, and then mass together in a curtain or festoon hanging down +from the ceiling of the hive or frame. Here they increase the +temperature of their bodies by some strong internal exertion; and +after several hours or sometimes two or three days, the fine +glistening wax-sheets appear on the wax-plates. These sheets get +larger and larger until they project beyond the edges of the body, +when they either fall off or are plucked off by other workers. + +It was only two or three days after the excitement of the swarming out +that Mary and I saw one of these curtains or hanging festoons of bees +making wax, and you may be sure we tried to watch it closely. The bees +hung to each other by their legs and kept quite still. The curtain +hung down fully six inches from the ceiling of the house, and the +first or upper row of bees had therefore to sustain the hanging weight +of all those below. And there were certainly several hundred bees in +the curtain. The wax-scales began to appear on the second day. And +many of them fell off and down to the floor of the house. Some of the +scales were plucked off by other workers and carried in their mouths +to where a new comb had been started before the swarming, and either +used by themselves to help in the comb-building or given to +comb-builders already at work. Some of the scales were plucked off by +the wax-making workers themselves, who then left the curtain and +carried the wax-scales to the seat of the comb-building operations. +Various other workers picked up from the floor the fallen scales and +carried them to the comb-builders. These building bees would chew up +pieces of wax in their mouths, mixing it with saliva, and then would +press and mould it with their little trowel-like jaws against the +comb, so as to build up steadily the familiar six-sided cells. + +Each layer of comb is composed of a double tier or layer of these +cells, a common partition or base serving as bottom of each tier. The +cells to be used for brood are of two sizes, smaller ones for workers +to be reared in, and larger ones for the drones. Sometimes the queen +lays drone eggs in worker cells and then the cells have to be built up +higher when the drone-grub gets too large for its cell. Sometimes, +too, the worker bees lay eggs--this happens often in a hive bereft by +some accident of its queen--but these eggs can only hatch into drones. +Occasionally the workers make a mistake and build a queen cell around +a drone egg. This happened once in our hive when there were no +queen-laid eggs in the brood-cells, and some workers had laid eggs. +The workers tried to make a new queen out of one of these eggs, but of +course only a worthless drone came out of the queen cell. In building +comb and cells for storing honey, new wax is almost exclusively used, +but for brood-comb old wax and wax mixed with pollen may be used. Any +comb or part of a comb not needed may be torn down and the wax used to +build new comb or to cap cells with. + +I have said that the nearest neighbors of Fuzzy's family are a lot of +black German bees, housed in a larger house than Fuzzy's, but one also +with glass sides so that we can see what goes on inside. The door of +the house opens through the same large window as that of Fuzzy's +house, but the foragers coming back from their long trips rarely make +a mistake in the doors, the Germans coming to their door and the +Italians to theirs. The German community is much the larger, there +being probably thirty or forty thousand workers in it, although of +course only one queen, and only a few hundred drones. Sometimes the +foragers, both Germans and Italians, make the mistake of coming to the +wrong window of the room in which their houses are. There are five +large windows all alike in the west wall of this room, and often we +find our bees bumping against the other windows, especially the ones +just next to the right one. They can't, of course, see in through +these windows because the room is much darker than outside, and so all +that the home-coming bees can see as they approach the building is a +row of similar windows separated from each other by similar spaces of +buffy stone. And keen as our bees are in finding their way straight to +their hives from distant flower-fields, this repetition of similar +windows seems to confuse some of them. + +But what I started to tell about is something that happened between +the neighboring bee-houses quite different from the troubles of the +bees finding their way home. It was something that gave Mary and me +the principal excitement that we had in all our many days of watching +bees. + +Mary and I do not want to say that the German bees knew that a third +of Fuzzy's community had swarmed out and gone away. Though how they +could help knowing it really seems more a puzzle, for there was +excitement and buzzing and window-sill covered and air full of bees +enough to have told everybody within a rod of what was going on in the +Italian house. But it was true that Fuzzy's community had never been +troubled at all seriously by the belligerent Germans, until after it +had been much reduced in strength by the loss of one-third of its +members. And then this trouble did come, and came soon. So it looks as +if the Germans realized the weakness of their neighbors. But perhaps +not. + +Just as our other exciting time beginning with the piping of the new +queen and lasting until the subsequent swarming was a discovery of +Mary's, so with this new time of high excitement; high excitement I +may say both on our part and the bees'. Mary was in the room where the +bees are, although not at the moment watching them, when she heard a +sound of violent buzzing and humming. It grew quickly louder and +shriller, and in a moment both communities were in an uproar. + +It was a battle, a great battle. On the one hand, a struggle by brutal +invaders intent on sacking the home and pillaging the stores of a +community given to ways of peace and just now reduced in numbers by a +migration or exodus from home of a large group of restless spirits; on +the other hand, a struggle for home and property and the lives of +hundreds of babies by this weak and presumably timid and unwarlike +people. A great band of Germans were at the door of Fuzzy's house +trying to get in! They buzzed and pushed and ran their stings in and +out of their bodies, and crowded the entryway full. But the Italian +workers and guards had roused their community, and pouring out from +the hive into the narrow entry was a stream of angry and brave amber +bees, ready to fight to the death for their home. + +It was really a terrific struggle. The Italians, few in numbers as a +community, were yet enough to oppose on fairly equal terms the band of +Germans, for by no means all the Germans had come from their house. +And the Italians had the great advantage of being defenders. They had +only to keep out the black column trying to force its way in through +the narrow door and entry. And they were no laggards in battle. They +fought with perfect courage and great energy. Often a small group of +Italians would force its way out of the door and into the very midst +of the Germans outside on the window-sill. These brave bees were all +killed, overwhelmed by the superior numbers of the enemy. But not +until they had left many dying Germans on the stone window-ledge were +their own paralyzed and dying bodies hustled out of the way. + +In many cases the combat took on the character of duels between single +pairs of combatants. A German and an Italian would clasp each other +with jaws and legs, and thus interlocked and whirling over and over +with violent beating of their wings would stab at each other until one +or both were mortally wounded. All the time the frenzied ball would be +rolling nearer and nearer the outer edge of the treacherous sloping +window-ledge, until finally over it would go, whirling in the air +through the thirty feet of fall to the ground below. Here the struggle +would go on, if the fighters were not too stunned by the fall, until +one or both bees were dead or paralyzed. + +It is really too painful to tell of this fight. And it was painful to +watch. But the end came soon. And it was a glorious victory for Fuzzy +and her companions. The German robbers flew back, what were left of +them, to their own hive. Mary and I tried all through the fight to +watch Fuzzy. But we saw her only once; she was in the entry then and +nearly in the front row of fighters. We were glad to see her so +brave, but fearful for her fate. After the fight we looked anxiously +through the hive for our little white-spotted friend. We didn't see +her, and were ready to mourn her for lost, when Mary happened to look +out on the window-ledge where a few Italians were pushing the +remaining paralyzed or dead Germans off. There was Fuzzy dragging, +with much effort, a dead, black bee along the rough stone. + +We were very happy, then, and wanted more than ever to be able to talk +to our brave little champion and rejoice with her over the splendid +victory. But we could only do as Fuzzy seemed to be doing. That is, +take up again the work that lay at our hands. My work was to go into +the lecture-room and talk to a class about the absence of intelligence +and mind and spirit in the lower animals and the dependence of their +behavior upon physics and chemistry and mechanics! Mary's work was to +go out into the poppy-field and talk with the little grass people whom +she never sees or hears, but knows are there. + +[Illustration: THE ANIMATED HONEY-JARS] + + + + +ANIMATED HONEY-JARS + + +It was one evening not long after our afternoon on Bungalow Hill, +where Mary had found the mealy-bugs in the runways of an ant's nest +under a stone, and I had told her about the clever little brown ants +and their aphid cattle in the Illinois corn-fields. Ever since that +afternoon Mary had been asking questions about ants, and so this +evening I was translating bits to her from a new German book about +ants. It told about the cruel forays of the hordes of the great +fighting and robbing Ecitons of the Amazons; of the extraordinary +mutually helpful relations between the Aztec ants and the Imbauba tree +of South America, which result in the ants getting a comfortable home +and special food from the tree, while the tree gets protection +through the Aztecs from the leaf-stealing Ecodomas. It told of the +ants that live in the hollow leaves of the Dischidia plants in the +Philippine Islands, and the way the plants get even by sending slender +aerial rootlets into the leaves to feed on the dead bodies of the ants +that die in the nests. It told of the ants in this country that build +sheds of wood-pulp over colonies of honey-dew insects or ant-cattle on +the stems of plants; of the fungus-garden ants of South America and +Mexico and Texas that bite off little pieces of green leaves and make +beds of them in special chambers in their underground nests, so that +certain moulds grow on these leaf-beds and provide a special kind of +food for the ant-gardeners. It told of the ants that make slaves of +other ants, and get to depend so much on these slaves that they can't +even care for their own children, and it told about the honey-ants of +the Garden of the Gods that make some of the workers in each +nest--but that's what this story is going to tell about, so we had +better wait. + +But it was all a veritable fairy-story book, as any good book about +the ways and life of ants must be. And Mary listened eagerly. She +liked it. When going-home time came she had, however, one insistent +question to ask. "What can I _see_?" she demanded. "What can I see +right away; to-morrow?" + +"Mary you can--see--to-morrow,"--and I think rapidly,--"you can +see--to-morrow,"--still thinking,--"ah, yes--yes you _can_; you can +see them to-morrow." + +"But _what_ can I see to-morrow?" + +"Why the animated honey-jars; didn't I say what? No? Well, to-morrow +we can go to see them; in the Arboretum at the foot of the big +Monterey pine. I think I remember the exact place." + +"But I thought the honey-ants were only in Mexico and New Mexico and +Colorado," says Mary. "Didn't the book say that?" + +"Yes, that kind; but we have a kind of our own here in California. The +sort that McCook found in the Garden of the Gods and studied all that +summer twenty-five years ago is found only there and in the Southwest, +but there are two or three other kinds of honey-ants known, and one of +them that has never been told about in the books at all is right here +on the campus. There are several of the nests here, or were a few +years ago, and we'll go to-morrow and try to find one. It will be +fine, won't it?" + +"Fine," said Mary. "Good-night." + +And so the next morning we went. The Arboretum is a place where once +were planted almost all the kinds of trees that grow wild in +California, besides many other kinds from Australia and Japan and New +Zealand and Peru and Chili and several of the other Pacific Ocean +countries. But the big, swift-growing eucalyptuses and Monterey pines +have crowded out many of the other more tender and less-pushing kinds. +However, it is still a wonderful place of trees. Many birds live +there; swift troops of the beautiful plumed California quails; +crimson-throated Anna humming-birds, crestless California jays, +fidgeting finches and juncos, spunky sparrows and wrens, chattering +chickadees and titmice, fierce little fly-catchers and kinglets. There +are winding paths and little-used roads in it, and altogether it is a +fine place to go when one has only a short hour for walking and seeing +things. + +And so Mary and I came with a garden-trowel and a glass fruit-jar to +the foot of the big Monterey pine near the _toyon_. A _toyon_, if you +are an Easterner and need telling, is the tree that bears the red +berries for Christmas for us Pacific-Coasters. It is our holly, as the +Ceanothus is our lilac, and the poison-oak is our autumn-red sumac. + +At the foot of the Monterey pine we began our search for the +honey-ants. We didn't, of course, expect to find them walking about +with their swollen bodies full of amber honey, for the honey-bearers +are supposed not to walk around, but to stay inside the nest, in a +special chamber made for them. We looked rather for the +honey-gatherers, the worker foragers. + +Pretty soon Mary found a swift little black ant. But, no, it was an +_Aphaenogaster_ that-- + +"A feeno-gasser?" asks Mary. "What is that?" + +"That has the curious, flat-bodied dwarf crickets living with it in +its nests," I continue. "_Myrmecophila_, the ant-lover, they call this +little cricket which has lost its wings and its voice and is +altogether an insignificant and meek little guest unbidden but +tolerated at the ant's table. And here, here is a big black-and-brown +carpenter-ant going home with a seed in its mouth." + +"Where is its home? Does it build a house out of wood? Let's follow +it," Mary bursts in. + +"No, we are after honey-ants, remember. We mustn't let ourselves get +distracted by all these others. The carpenter-ants do make themselves +a home of wood, but they do it by gnawing out galleries and chambers +in a dead tree trunk or stump or in a neglected timber. That isn't +exactly building, but it is at least a kind of carpentering, a sort +of--" + +"Is this one?" interrupts Mary, poking violently at an angry +red-headed little slave-maker ant that seemed anxious to get off to +its home where its slaves, which are other ants captured when still +young and unacquainted with their rightful family, do all the work of +food-getting and cleaning and taking care of the babies. + +And then I recognized a _Prenolepis_, that is,--and I _do_ beg +pardon,--one of our campus honey-ants. Of course I suppose they are +elsewhere in California and perhaps north in Oregon and east in Nevada +and Arizona, but I have only seen them here, and hence always think of +them as belonging exclusively with us campus-dwellers. It was a little +brown ant with black hind body and paler under side. It isn't +particularly impressive, for it is only about one-eighth of an inch +long, and its colors and appearance are much like those of many other +ants, but there is something about it sufficiently distinctive to let +one recognize it at sight. + +The thing to do now, of course, was to find its nest. There are +various ways of finding the nest of any particular ant you may happen +to discover running about loose over the country, but not one of them +am I going to tell you. They are good things to work out for yourself. +Mary and I know how, and so we had little trouble and didn't +have to spend much time in finding the home of our wandering +_Prenolepis_,--there it is again,--campus honey-ant I mean. And that +is a fair name for it, for McCook who found the famous honey-ants of +the Garden of the Gods in Colorado named his kind _Myrmecocystus +melliger hortusdeorum_, which is straight Latin and Greek for the +"honey-pot ant of the Garden of the Gods." But _what_ a name for a +little ant one-eighth of an inch long to carry! + +It would take too many words and I am afraid would be too trivial a +story for even this very happy-go-lucky little book to tell how Mary +and I dug and dug in the ground near the foot of the tree, and how +carefully we worked with our garden-trowel and mostly with our +fingers! And how we traced out runway after runway and opened chamber +after chamber of the honey-ant's nest until we found the honey-pantry +with its strange jars of sweetness all hanging from the roof. The +picture that Mary carefully sketched in, and that Sekko Shimada +painted for us with his dainty Japanese brushes and little saucers of +costly Japanese ink, shows very well part of the nest, that part that +had one of the honey-rooms in. You won't see the base of the Monterey +pine-tree in the picture, nor any of the other trees that were all +around, because Mary didn't put them into her sketch, and we forgot to +tell Sekko where the nest was. But the galleries and honey-chamber and +the ants themselves are all right in Sekko's picture. + +In some of the galleries we had found ants with considerably swollen +hind bodies, which evidently had the stomach or crop well filled with +some nearly transparent, pale yellowish-brown liquid. But it was not +until we discovered the honey-pantry that we saw the extraordinary +fully laden real live honey-jars, which were, of course, nothing but +some of the worker ants hanging by their feet from the roof of the +chamber, with their hind bodies enormously swollen by the great +quantity of honey held in the crop. In opening the chamber we +dislodged two or three of the honey-jars that fell to the floor and +could hardly turn over or walk at all, so helpless were they. And one +of them broke and the honey came out in a big drop, and I tasted it on +the tip of my little finger, and it was sweet. So it was surely honey. +And you should have seen how eagerly two or three other workers in the +chamber, without swollen bodies, lapped up this sweet drop that came +out of the body of the poor, broken honey-jar! + +As we had broken into the home of the honey-ants and had pretty nearly +wrecked it, it seemed only fair that we should try to help our +honey-ants begin another home under as kindly conditions as possible. +So we put as many of them as we could find, foraging workers, +honey-holders, and the queen whom we found in a special queen room, +into our glass fruit-jar with some soil, and brought them all home and +put them into a formicary. Which is simply an artificial ants' nest, +or house already arranged for ants to live in. It has a place to hold +food and has dark rooms and sunny rooms, cool rooms and warm ones, all +nicely fixed with runways connecting them, and food is put in as often +as necessary and always in one place, which the ants learn to know +very soon, indeed. This makes housekeeping easy and pleasant for the +ants, and lets us see a great deal of how it is carried on, because +there are glass sides and top to the house, so that by lifting little +pieces of black cardboard or cloth we can look in and watch the ants +at work. + +The honey-ants' colony seemed to live very contentedly in our +formicary, for they went ahead with all their usual business of laying +eggs and rearing babies and feeding them, and finding honey and +getting the honey-jars loaded with it and hung by their feet from the +ceiling of their room, and all the other things that go on regularly +in a honey-ant's house. + +The principal thing we wanted to do, however, was to learn how the +honey-jars got filled and also how they got emptied again! And this +was not at all hard to find out, although we never found out certainly +where the worker foragers got their honey in the Arboretum. McCook +found that his foragers in the Garden of the Gods gathered a sweet +honey-dew liquid that oozed out in little drops from certain live +oak-galls near the nest. But our ants seemed to be getting their honey +from somewhere up in the pine-tree, for there was a constant stream of +them going up and down the trunk. Besides, many of those coming down +had swollen bodies partially filled with honey, while none of those +going up did. Now the only honey supply in the pine-tree that we know +is the honey-dew given off liberally by a brown roundish scale insect +that lives on the pine-needles. So we _think_ our honey-ants gathered +their honey material from these honey-dew scale insects. But we have +seen them collect honey stuff from various aphids and also from the +growing twigs of live-oak trees. They seem to be willing to take it +wherever they can find it. + +Of course we had to provide a supply of honey for our indoor colony, +and this supply was eagerly and constantly visited by the foraging +workers. They would lap it up and then go into the nest and feed the +live honey-pots! That is, a well-fed forager would go into the +honey-pantry and force the honey out from its own crop through its +mouth into the mouth of one of the live honey-jars. Undoubtedly the +honey-bee honey we furnished them was considerably changed while in +the body of the foraging worker. + +But all the time the nurses and workers inside the nest needed honey +for food. And this they got by going to the honey-pantry, and by some +gentle means inducing the live honey-pots to give up some of their +store. Mouth to mouth the feeder and the filled honey-ant would stand +or cling for some minutes. And there was no doubt of what was going +on. The honey-pot was this time forcing honey out of its own +over-filled crop and into the mouth of the nurse. + +Thus all the time there went on a constant emptying and replenishing +of the strange honey-pots. What an extraordinary kind of life! Nothing +to do but to drink and disgorge honey; to cling motionless to the +ceiling of a little room, or lie helpless, or feebly dragging about on +the floor and be pumped into and pumped out of! To have one's body +swollen to several times its natural size by an overloaded stomach, +and to be likely to burst from a fall or deep scratch! + +But there is simply no telling beforehand what remarkable condition of +things you may find in an ant's nest. There is an ardent naturalist +student of ants in the great museum of natural history in New York, +who keeps publishing short accounts of the new things he is all the +time discovering about the habits and life of ants. And if I didn't +know him to be not only a perfectly truthful man but a trained and +rigorously careful observer and scientific scholar, I should simply +put his stories aside as preposterous. But on the contrary, as I do +know them to be true, I am more and more coming to be able to believe +anything anybody says or guesses about ants! Which is, of course, not +a good attitude for a professor! + +Dr. Wheeler, this New York student of ants, is putting a great deal of +what he knows about ants into a large book which, when published, will +make a whole shelfful of green, red, blue, and yellow fairy books +hide their faded colors in shame. For tellers of fairy tales cannot +even think of things as extraordinary and strange as the things that +ants actually do! + +But what a prosaic lecture this story of the animated honey-jars has +come to be. Mary is long ago asleep, curled up in a big leather +arm-chair in my study, and I sit here in the falling dusk, straining +my bespectacled eyes to write what will, I am afraid, only put other +little girls to sleep. Which is not at all my idea in writing this +book. It is, indeed, just the opposite. It is to make anybody who +reads it open his eyes. But, "_Schluss_," as my old Leipzig professor +used to say at the end of his long dreary lecture. So _Schluss_ it is! + +[Illustration: HOUSES OF OAK] + + + + +HOUSES OF OAK + + +There are eight different kinds of oak-trees growing on or near the +campus where Mary and I live. And each kind of oak-tree has several +kinds of houses peculiar and special to it. Which makes altogether a +great many styles and sizes of houses of oak for Mary and me to get +acquainted with. For we have made up our minds to know them all, and +something about the creatures that live in them. This is a large +undertaking, we are finding, but an intensely interesting and +delightful one. Some of it is quite scientific, too, which makes us +proud and serious. We are keeping notes, as we did about Argiope and +the way it handled flies and bees, and some day we shall print these +notes in the proceedings of a learned society, and make a real +sensation in the scientific world. Anyway we think we shall. Just now, +however, we shall only tell the very simplest things about these +houses of oak and their inhabitants, for we suppose you wouldn't be +interested in the harder things; perhaps, indeed, not even understand +them all. + +Although, as I have already said, there are eight different kinds of +oak-trees growing in our valley and mountains, two of these kinds, the +live-oaks and the white oaks, are by far the most common and numerous. +As one stands upon the mountain tops or foothills and looks down and +over the broad valley, all still and drowsy under the warm afternoon +sun, it seems as if you were looking at a single great orchard with +the trees in it in close-set regular lines and plots in some places, +and irregularly scattered and farther apart in other places. Where +they are regular and close together, they really are orchard trees; +where they are irregular and widely spaced and larger, they are the +beautiful live-oaks and white oaks that grow in all the grain-fields +and meadows and pastures of our valley. The live-oaks have small +leaves, dark green and close together, and the head of the tree is +dense and like a great ball; the white oaks have larger, less thickly +set leaves of lighter green, and the branches are more irregular and +straying and they often send down delicate pendent lines that swing +and dance in the wind like long tassels. The live-oaks have leaves on +all the year through; the white oaks lose theirs in November. + +In both of these kinds of trees the oak houses can be found, but +especially in the white oaks. And there are, as I have said, many +kinds of the houses. Mary and I have found little round ones, big +bean-shaped ones, little star-shaped ones, slender cornucopia-like +ones, green, whitish, red-striped, pink-spotted, smooth, hairy, +rough-coated, spiny ones, and still other kinds. Some of the houses +are on the leaves, some on the leaf-stems, some on the little twigs, +and some on the branches. Some of the houses stay in the trees all +through the year, but most of them drop off in the autumn, especially +in the white-oak trees, just as the leaves do. + +We go out and hunt for the houses in the trees and among the fallen +leaves on the ground under the trees. They are sometimes, especially +the little ones, hard to find, for their colors and shapes often seem +to fit in with their surroundings, so as to make them very hard to +see. But others, like the big ball-shaped white ones shown in Sekko +Shimada's picture, are, on the contrary, very conspicuous. If the +houses are on the ground, or even if they are still on the tree and we +think they are all through being made--and there are various ways of +knowing about this, but the most important is the time of year--Mary +and I bring them home with us and put them in little bags of fine +cloth netting, tarlatan usually, the houses that are alike and from +one place being put together in a single bag. Then we tie a string +around the mouth of the bag and wait for the dwellers in the houses to +come out. + +For one has to be careful about trying to see the oak-house dwellers +before they are ready to come out. It is much better to await their +own sweet pleasure in this matter, than to go digging or prying in, +for the houses have no doors or windows until just at the time the +dwellers come out! In fact they make the doors as they come out. You +will see, after we tell you a little more, that this arrangement is a +very good one. Even as it is, various unwelcome intruders find their +way into the house much to the annoyance and even to the fatal +disaster of the inmates. + +So we wait until the dwellers are ready to come out. Or if +occasionally we really think we ought to see how things are going on +inside, we chop a house or two open and see what we can see. What this +is, usually, is a house's insides very unusual and curious, for the +rooms occupy so little space and the walls so much. Sometimes there is +only one room and that right in the middle, all the rest of the house +being just a dense or sometimes loose and spongy wall all around it. +In the single room, or in each of the several rooms, we find a +curled-up little shining white grub without legs, and of course +without wings, and with a head that doesn't seem much like a head, for +it has no eyes nor feelers, and most of the time is drawn back into +the body of the grub so that it is hardly visible at all. But there is +a mouth on this silly sort of head, and the grub eats. What it eats is +part of its own house! + +The houses, or galls, as the entomologists call them, are of course +not actually made by the insects that live in them; they are made by +the oak-tree on which they are. But they are only made at the demand, +so to speak, of the insects. That is, the oak-galls are formed only +where a gall-insect has pricked a live leaf or stem or twig with her +sharp, sting-like little egg-layer, and has left an egg in the +plant-tissue. Nor does the gall begin to form even yet. It begins only +after the young gall-insect is hatched from the egg, or at least +begins to develop inside the egg. Then the gall grows rapidly. The +tree sends an extra supply of sap to this spot, and the plant-cells +multiply, and the house begins to form around the little white grub. +Now this house or gall not only encloses and protects the insect, but +it provides it with food in the form of plant-sap and a special mass +or layer of soft nutritious plant-tissue lying right around the grub. +So the gall-insect not only lives in the house, but eats it! + +After it is full-grown, the grub stops eating. Then the house, or +gall, stops growing and becomes harder and changes from greenish to +some other color, and, in most cases, pretty soon drops off the tree +to the ground. The gall-insect is still alive inside, of course, but +is perfectly quiet and is simply waiting. It is at this time in the +life of the houses and their dwellers that Mary and I collect them and +bring them home and put them into little tarlatan bags. This is +autumn, the time that the trees in the East turn yellow and red, but +in California do not. They just stay green, but get quiet or turn +brown or simply drop off their leaves and stand bare. + +All through the autumn and winter the gall-insects do nothing inside +their houses. Indeed we can take them out and keep them in little +vials, and most of them get on very well. They require no food; they +simply want to be let alone. But in early spring--and spring in +California comes very early; indeed, it comes in winter!--they wake +up and in a short time change into stout-bodied little real +insect-looking insects with six legs, four wings, a round head with +feelers and eyes and whatever else an insect's head ought to have. +Especially sharp jaws. For each gall-dweller has now to get out of its +house. And as there are no doors, it has to make them. Which it does +with its sharp jaws, gnawing a tunnel from the center of the house +right out through the thick hard wall to the outside. + +When it gets out it flies around in lively manner for a few days, +finally settling on a sprouting oak-leaf or bud or green stem or twig, +and laying a few eggs, or several, or many, according to the habits of +its special kind, and then it dies. And when the tiny white grubs +hatch from these eggs, new houses begin to be made around them by the +oak-trees, and a new generation of gall-insects is fairly started. + +But not all the dwellers in the houses of oak have such a smooth and +easy life as I have described. There will often come out of one of the +galls that Mary and I have in a tarlatan bag, not one kind of insect, +but several kinds, and only one of these kinds is the regular proper +house-owner. The others are interlopers. Some of them may be only +uninvited but not especially harmful guests, just other kinds of +gall-insects that seem to have given up the habit--if they ever had +it--of starting houses of their own, and have adopted the cuckoo-like +way of laying their eggs in the just-starting houses of other +gall-insects. The grubs, or young of these messmate gall-insects, live +in, and feed on, the same house, with the rightful dwellers, but as +the oak-tree has plenty of sap and the gall-house is usually large +enough for all, there is generally no harm done by these cuckoo +intruders. + +But some of the intruding insects that come from our galls are not so +harmless. They are the ones called parasites. They live in the houses +not for the sake of the protection or the food furnished by the house, +but in order to eat the actual dwellers in the house. Often and often +not a single real gall-insect would come out in the spring from many +of our collected houses, but only a little swarm, or sometimes just +two or three or even one, of these insect-devouring parasites that has +eaten up the rightful owners of the houses. + +There are other enemies, too, of the oak-house dwellers. Birds like to +peck into the soft, growing galls to get at the tidbits inside. And +predaceous beetles and other strong-jawed insects with a fondness for +helpless, soft-bodied, juicy grubs would like to gnaw into the houses. +So the houses have to protect the dwellers inside, and they do this in +various ways. Some are extra thick-walled or have an extra-hard outer +shell. Some are covered with spines or hairs. Some have a viscous +gluey excretion, some have a very bad odor, some are so colored and +patterned that they are very hard to distinguish from the foliage or +from the fallen leaves around them, and, finally, some secrete a +sweetish honey-dew which attracts ants, and these fierce visitors, who +are content with the honey-dew, probably drive away many visiting +parasites and predaceous insects. + +But it would be tiresome to go on and tell you all the things we are +finding out about the houses of oak and the insects that live in them. +Of how we have got them to lay their eggs right before our eyes on +little fresh branches that we bring into the house. Of how the houses +begin to form under the bark or leaf surface as mere little swellings +and then break through and get larger and larger and take on their +characteristic form and color. Of how we have to study the +gall-dwellers with a microscope, for the largest that we have found +yet--the ones that make the big galls shown in Sekko's picture--are +only one-fifth of an inch long, while others are not more than +one-twenty-fifth of an inch long. Of how some kinds have to lay their +eggs always on the same kind of oak-tree, while others prick different +kinds of oaks. + +Nor can we tell of the questions and problems that we are trying to +answer. As why it is that two galls made by two different kinds of +gall-insects, but in the same parts, as leaves, of the same oak-tree, +should be so different, or why the galls in different kinds of trees, +though made by the same kind of insect, should be alike, as they +usually are. And why with some kinds of the house-dwellers the +children grow up to be different from the mother, but their own +children grow up like the grandmother, and different from themselves. +Or how they know not to lay too many eggs in one place, the ones +making little galls often laying several to many eggs in one leaf, +but the ones making large galls being careful to lay only one egg in a +leaf. And a lot of other things that they do that need explaining. + +Perhaps we shall find out the reason for some of these things. But +naturalists have known the houses of oak-insects for two hundred years +now, and if they haven't found the answers to some of these questions +yet, perhaps no one ever can. But that isn't a good way to look at +Nature. And so Mary and I don't. We think we may make a great +discovery any day. We are like prospectors in the gold mountains. We +never give up; we always keep prying and peering. The worst of it is, +I suppose you think, that we always keep talking too. Well, this is +the last sentence of this dose of talking; or next to last. For this +is the + + END + +of this rambling, talky, little book. + + + * * * * * + + + BY THE SAME AUTHOR + + ELEMENTARY ZOOLOGY + Pp. xv+492, 172 figs., 12mo, 1901, $1.20 + + FIRST LESSONS IN ZOOLOGY + Pp. x+363, 257 figs., 12mo, 1903, $1.15 + + AMERICAN INSECTS + Pp. vii+671, 812 figs., 11 colored + plates, 8vo, 1905 (_American Nature + Series, Group I_), $5.00. Students' + edition, $4.00 + + DARWINISM TO-DAY + Pp. xii+403, 8vo, 1907, $2.00 + + HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY + PUBLISHERS NEW YORK + + + * * * * * + + + THE AMERICAN NATURE SERIES + + In the hope of doing something toward furnishing a series where + the nature-lover can surely find a readable book of high + authority, the publishers of the American Science Series have + begun the publication of the American Nature Series. 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They meet + President Diaz, learn Mexican habits and customs, particularly + those of the mass of the population, take part in the Fourth of + July celebration of the American colony in the City of Mexico, + visit the ruins of Mitla, learn some very interesting Mexican + history, and spend much time comparing things Mexican with + things American. + + Many minor responsibilities of travel are in the children's + hands, and they learn much of traveling customs and etiquette. + The spirit of travel permeates the book. + + "Will be welcome to many readers of mature years as well as to + the juveniles for whom it is primarily written.... Embodies very + much that is of interest respecting Mexican history, manners and + customs as well as descriptions of scenery. It deserves the + widest circulation in this country, and no public library can + afford to be without it."--_Boston Transcript._ + + "Most pleasing style.... The book is an accurate travel guide in + its main points, and should be particularly helpful to teachers + and school children.... Experiences of interest even to + adults."--_Chicago Evening Post._ + + "Very bright and accurate.... All the novel sights of this + tropical land come before the vision of these children like a + moving-picture show. They visit eight cities, and what they + don't see is not worth telling about.... Pictures are good and + really illustrate."--_Mexican Herald_ (City of Mexico). + + + A BOOK OF VERSES FOR CHILDREN + + Compiled by EDWARD V. LUCAS. Over 200 poems from eighty authors. + Revised Edition, $2.00 net + + _Popular Edition_ + + "We know of no other anthology for children so complete and well + arranged."--_The Critic._ + + "It contains much that is charming, much that is admirably in + tune with the spirit of childhood."--_New York Tribune._ + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Insect Stories, by Vernon L. 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