se who guard the honey-factory
wherein their daughters, the heiresses of the maternal establishment,
are at work, display wonderful vigilance. The more I see of them, the
more I admire them. In the cool hours of the early morning, when the
pollen-flour is not sufficiently ripened by the sun and while the
harvesters are still indoors, I see them at their posts, at the top of
the gallery. Here, motionless, their heads flush with the earth, they
bar the door to all invaders. If I look at them closely, they retreat a
little and, in the shadow, await the indiscreet observer's departure.

I return when the harvesting is in full swing, between eight o'clock
and twelve. There is now, as the Halicti go in or out, a succession
of prompt withdrawals to open the door and of ascents to close it. The
portress is in the full exercise of her functions.

In the afternoon, the heat is too great and the workers do not go to the
fields. Retiring to the bottom of the house, they varnish the new cells,
they make the round loaf that is to receive the egg. The grandmother is
still upstairs, stopping the door with her bald head. For her, there
is no siesta during the stifling hours: the safety of the household
requires her to forgo it.

I come back again at nightfall, or even later. By the light of a
lantern, I again behold the overseer, as zealous and assiduous as in the
day-time. The others are resting, but not she, for fear, apparently, of
nocturnal dangers known to herself alone. Does she nevertheless end
by descending to the quiet of the floor below? It seems probable, so
essential must rest be, after the fatigue of such a vigil!

It is evident that, guarded in this manner, the burrow is exempt from
calamities similar to those which, too often, depopulate it in May. Let
the Gnat come now, if she dare, to steal the Halictus' loaves! Let her
lie in wait as long as she will! Neither her audacity nor her slyness
will make her escape the lynx eyes of the sentinel, who will put her to
flight with a threatening gesture or, if she persist, crush her with
her nippers. She will not come; and we know the reason: until spring
returns, she is underground in the pupa state.

But, in her absence, there is no lack, among the Fly rabble, of other
batteners on the toil of their fellow insects. Whatever the job,
whatever the plunder, you will find parasites there. And yet, for all
my daily visits, I never catch one of these in the neighbourhood of the
s