hole is not seen; it is hidden by the honey trickling
through. The cause of that stream of honey is an unknown cause; and
to trace the loss of the liquid home to that cause, to the hole in the
receptacle, is too lofty a piece of reasoning for the insect.

A cell in the rudimentary cup-stage and containing no provisions has a
hole, three or four millimetres (.11 to.15 inch.--Translator's Note.)
wide, made in it at the bottom. A few moments later, this orifice is
stopped by the Mason. We have already witnessed a similar patching. The
insect, having finished, starts foraging. I reopen the hole at the same
place. The pollen runs through the aperture and falls to the ground
as the Bee is rubbing off her first load in the cell. The damage is
undoubtedly observed. When plunging her head into the cup to take stock
of what she has stored, the Bee puts her antennae into the artificial
hole: she sounds it, she explores it, she cannot fail to perceive it.

I see the two feelers quivering outside the hole. The insect notices the
breach in the wall: that is certain. It flies off. Will it bring back
mortar from its present journey to repair the injured jar as it did just
now?

Not at all. It returns with provisions, it disgorges its honey, it rubs
off its pollen, it mixes the material. The sticky and almost solid mass
fills up the opening and oozes through with difficulty. I roll a spill
of paper and free the hole, which remains open and shows daylight
distinctly in both directions. I sweep the place clear over and over
again, whenever this becomes necessary because new provisions are
brought; I clean the opening sometimes in the Bee's absence, sometimes
in her presence, while she is busy mixing her paste. The unusual
happenings in the warehouse plundered from below cannot escape her any
more than the ever-open breach at the bottom of the cell. Nevertheless,
for three consecutive hours, I witness this strange sight: the Bee, full
of active zeal for the task in hand, omits to plug this vessel of the
Danaides. She persists in trying to fill her cracked receptacle,
whence the provisions disappear as soon as stored away. She constantly
alternates between builder's and harvester's work; she raises the edges
of the cell with fresh rows of bricks; she brings provisions which I
continue to abstract, so as to leave the breach always visible. She
makes thirty-two journeys before my eyes, now for mortar, now for honey,
and not once does she be