er beds, and the prattling brook that ran by
just at the foot of the garden, the green lawn as smooth as a table, and
the great spreading elm-tree in its centre, against which Uncle Ben
Mason was so fond of leaning his chair in the bright summer afternoons,
and where Harry and Willie Mason liked nothing better than to lie at his
feet on the greensward, and coax him to tell them about the wonderful
things he had seen and the marvellous things he had read.

It was only the afternoon succeeding that in which he had told them the
strange story of the honey ants, and they were at him again, anxious to
know something more about ant life.

"You know, Uncle Ben," pleaded Harry, coaxingly, "that you said there
were ever so many other queer things about them."

"And that they milked cows. And that some of them were just soldiers,"
broke in Willie, eagerly. "And--and--" The little fellow was quite at a
loss for words in his eagerness.

"Now, now, now!" cried Uncle Ben; "you don't want me to tell you all at
once, I hope?"

"Tell us sumfin, Uncle Ben--sumfin of just the queerest you knows,"
pleaded Willie; "cos I wants to know 'bout them ever so much."

"Very well. Suppose I describe the farmer ants."

"The farmer ants!" cried Harry, with interest.

"Yes, there is a species of ants in Texas that have farms of their own,
and gather the grain in when it is ripe, and store it away in their
granaries; and some people say that they plant the seed in the spring,
just like human farmers. But others think that this part of the story is
very doubtful."

"You don't believe that, do you, Uncle Ben?" asked Harry, doubtingly.
"Why, that would be making them folks at once."

"They are very much like folks without that," said his uncle, settling
himself back easily in his chair, and gazing down with his kindly glance
on his eager young nephews.

"If you could see one of their clearings," he continued. "But maybe you
don't care to hear about them?"

"Yes, we does," cried Willie, eagerly.

"I do, ever so much. I know that," chimed in Harry.

"Well, then, if you will keep just as quiet as two mice, I will tell you
the story of our little black farmers. They are, in some ways, the
strangest of all ants. You have seen little ant-hills thrown up in the
sand about an inch across; but these ants build great solid mounds,
surrounded by a level court-yard, sometimes as much as ten or twelve
feet in diameter. Here they do not suffer a blade