her rights, gives her unemployed
neighbour a cold reception. One sentry is enough; two would merely block
the narrow guard-room.

I am privileged at times to witness a fight between two grandmothers.
When the tramp in quest of employment appears outside the door, the
lawful occupant does not move from her post, does not withdraw into the
passage, as she would before an Halictus returning from the fields. Far
from making way, she threatens the intruder with her feet and mandibles.
The other retaliates and tries to force her way in notwithstanding.
Blows are exchanged. The fray ends by the defeat of the stranger, who
goes off to pick a quarrel elsewhere.

These little scenes afford us a glimpse of certain details of the
highest interest in the habits of the Zebra Halictus. The mother who
builds her nest in the spring no longer leaves her home, once her works
are finished. Shut up at the bottom of the burrow, busied with the
thousand cares of housekeeping, or else drowsing, she waits for her
daughters to come out. When, in the summer heats, the life of the
village recommences, having nought to do outside as a harvester, she
stands sentry at the entrance to the hall, so as to let none in save the
workers of the home, her own daughters. She wards off evilly-disposed
visitors. None can enter without the door-keeper's consent.

There is nothing to tell us that the watcher ever deserts her post. Not
once do I see her leave her house to go and seek some refreshment from
the flowers. Her age and her sedentary occupation, which involves no
great fatigue, perhaps relieve her of the need of nourishment. Perhaps,
also, the young ones returning from their plundering may from time to
time disgorge a drop of the contents of their crops for her benefit. Fed
or unfed, the old one no longer goes out.

But what she does need is the joys of an active family. Many are
deprived of these. The Gnat's burglary has destroyed the busy household.
The sorely-tried Bees abandon the deserted burrow. It is they who,
ragged and careworn, wander through the village. When they move, their
flight is only a short one; more often they remain motionless. It is
they who, soured in their tempers, attack their fellows and seek to
dislodge them. They grow rarer and more languid from day to day; then
they disappear for good. What has become of them? The little Grey Lizard
had his eye on them: they are easily snapped up.

Those settled in their own demesne, tho