her, like the Leucospis, slowly explore the ground with her
antennae; I see her, like the Leucospis, bravely drive her dagger
into the stone wall. More taken up with her work, less conscious
perhaps of danger, she pays no heed to the man who is observing her
so closely. Where the Leucospis flies, she does not budge. So
great is her assurance that she comes right into my study, to my
work table, and disputes my ownership of the nests whose occupants
I am examining. She operates under my lens, she operates just
beside my forceps. What risk does she run? What can one do to a
thing so very small? She is so certain of her safety that I can
take the Mason's nest in my hand, move it, put it down and take it
up again without the insect's raising any objection: it continues
its work even when my magnifying glass is placed over it.

One of these heroines has come to inspect a nest of the
Chalicodoma of the Walls, most of whose cells are occupied by the
numerous cocoons of a parasite, the Stelis. The contents of these
cells, which have been partially ripped up to satisfy my
curiosity, are very much exposed to view. The windfall appears to
be appreciated, for I see the dwarf ferret about from cell to cell
for four days on end, see her choose her cocoon and insert her awl
in the most approved fashion. I thus learn that sight, although
an indispensable guide in searching, does not decide upon the
proper spot for the operation. Here is an insect exploring not
the stony exterior of the mason's dwelling, but the surface of
cocoons woven of silk. The explorer has never found herself
placed in such circumstances, nor has any of her race before her,
every cocoon, under normal conditions, being protected by a
surrounding wall. No matter: despite the profound difference in
the surfaces, the insect does not waver. Warned by a special