each departure and at each arrival? It is an Halictus, who has become
the portress of the establishment. With her large head, she makes an
impassable barrier at the top of the entrance-hall. If any one belonging
to the house wants to go in or out, she 'pulls the cord,' that is to
say, she withdraws to a spot where the gallery becomes wider and leaves
room for two. The other passes. She then at once returns to the
orifice and blocks it with the top of her head. Motionless, ever on the
look-out, she does not leave her post save to drive away importunate
visitors.

Let us profit by her brief appearances outside to take a look at her. We
recognize in her an Halictus similar to the others, which are now busy
harvesting; but the top of her head is bald and her dress is dingy
and thread-bare. All the nap is gone; and one can hardly make out
the handsome stripes of red and brown which she used to have. These
tattered, work-worn garments make things clear to us.

This Bee who mounts guard and performs the office of a portress at the
entrance to the burrow is older than the others. She is the foundress of
the establishment, the mother of the actual workers, the grandmother of
the present grubs. In the springtime of her life, three months ago, she
wore herself out in solitary labours. Now that her ovaries are dried
up, she takes a well-earned rest. No, rest is hardly the word. She still
works, she assists the household to the best of her power. Incapable of
being a mother for a second time, she becomes a portress, opens the door
to the members of her family and makes strangers keep their distance.

The suspicious Kid (In La Fontaine's fable, "Le Loup, la Chevre et le
Chevreau."--Translator's Note.), looking through the chink, said to the
Wolf:

'Show me a white foot, or I shan't open the door.'

No less suspicious, the grandmother says to each comer:

'Show me the yellow foot of an Halictus, or you won't be let in.'

None is admitted to the dwelling unless she be recognized as a member of
the family.

See for yourselves. Near the burrow passes an Ant, an unscrupulous
adventuress, who would not be sorry to know the meaning of the honeyed
fragrance that rises from the bottom of the cellar.

"Be off, or you'll catch it!' says the portress, wagging her neck.

As a rule the threat suffices. The Ant decamps. Should she insist,
the watcher leaves her sentry-box, flings herself upon the saucy jade,
buffets her and drives her a