1 82 The Book of Bugs. 



of the stories of the South in the Reconstruction period. 

 They walked around, picked up the children in an awk- 

 ward way as if they knew something ought to be done, 

 they couldn't just remember what, and laid them down 

 again. There was honey over there that ought to be 

 served. You, Pomp! Whey is that black rascal at? 

 But there was no Pompey, and they fell to pining for 

 the days befo' the waw. They made them no dwelling. 

 Half of them died of starvation. Then Huber put in a 

 single black ant. Dinah, I think her name was, or Aunt 

 Debby, I won't be sure which, and she began to do about. 

 She built a house and attended to the children, helped the 

 young ants out of their cocoons and fed and groomed the 

 old ones till they were once more able to go about dis- 

 coursing on the eentellaictual eenfe'io'ity of the niggro, 

 sah. 



Ants have cemeteries, and it is characteristic of them 

 that the slaves are not buried with their masters, but in 

 another place, over by the back fence among the ragweeds 

 and burdocks. 



It must be confessed that F. fnsca is not very much on 

 defending its own hearth and home. Let F. sanguined or 

 P. Incidns hearken to the call of Duty and Destiny to the 

 strenuous life and its attendant necessity of extending 

 the blessings of civilization, and all F. fnsca can do is to 

 grab its children and run around like a hen with its head 

 off, screaming, "Oh, Lawdy, Lawdy ! Hyah come dem 

 ar Ku Kluckers ! ' while the superior race walk up to 

 them and slap them over with a " Here, you ! gimme that 

 baby. Give it to me or I'll- And then after the 



ruin is complete Fnsca sits and weeps over the wreck. 



But it is not always a Manila Bay for the invaders. 

 Some resist and put up a fight that would delight Senator 

 Hoar to witness. I do not know that I had better go into 



