by my decoy-shaft, they deepen the
imprint of the pencil as though they were deepening their real vestibule.
They do not begin their labours over again; they continue them.

The second, not having this inducement, this semblance of a burrow
mistaken for their own work, forsake the idea of digging and allow
themselves to die, because they would have to travel back along the chain
of actions and to resume the pick-strokes of the start. To begin all
over again requires reflection, a quality wherewith they are not endowed.

To the insect--and we have seen this in many earlier cases--what is done
is done and cannot be taken up again. The hands of a watch do not move
backwards. The insect behaves in much the same way. Its activity urges
it in one direction, ever forwards, without allowing it to retrace its
steps, even when an accident makes this necessary.

What the Mason-bees and the others taught us erewhile the Lycosa now
confirms in her manner. Incapable of taking fresh pains to build herself
a second dwelling, when the first is done for, she will go on the tramp,
she will break into a neighbour's house, she will run the risk of being
eaten should she not prove the stronger, but she will never think of
making herself a home by starting afresh.

What a strange intellect is that of the animal, a mixture of mechanical
routine and subtle brain-power! Does it contain gleams that contrive,
wishes that pursue a definite object? Following in the wake of so many
others, the Lycosa warrants us in entertaining a doubt.

CHAPTER V: THE NARBONNE LYCOSA: THE FAMILY

For three weeks and more, the Lycosa trails the bag of eggs hanging to
her spinnerets. The reader will remember the experiments described in
the third chapter of this volume, particularly those with the cork ball
and the thread pellet which the Spider so foolishly accepts in exchange
for the real pill. Well, this exceedingly dull-witted mother, satisfied
with aught that knocks against her heels, is about to make us wonder at
her devotion.

Whether she come up from her shaft to lean upon the kerb and bask in the
sun, whether she suddenly retire underground in the face of danger, or
whether she be roaming the country before settling down, never does she
let go her precious bag, that very cumbrous burden in walking, climbing
or leaping. If, by some accident, it become detached from the fastening
to which it is hung, she flings herself madly on her treas