A BEE-HUNTER 167 



plenty of distraction, owing to the busy movements of 

 the community. The mothers have scarcely entered the 

 nest before they are off again, returning quickly with 

 fresh prey, only to set out once more. The going and 

 coming is almost continuous until the storehouse is full. 



The burrows of the Philanthus know nothing of such 

 animation, even in a populous colony. In vain my vigils 

 prolonged themselves into whole mornings or afternoons, 

 and only very rarely does the mother who has entered 

 with a bee set forth upon a second expedition. Two 

 captures by the same huntress is the most that I have 

 seen in my long watches. Once the family is provided 

 with sufficient food for the moment the mother post- 

 pones further hunting trips until hunting becomes 

 necessary, and busies herself with digging and burrowing 

 in her underground dwelling. Little cells are excavated, 

 and I see the rubbish from them gradually pushed up to 

 the surface. With that exception there is no sign of 

 activity ; it is as though the burrow were deserted. 



To lay the nest bare is not easy. The burrow pene- 

 trates to a depth of about three feet in a compact soil ; 

 sometimes in a vertical, sometimes in a horizontal direc- 

 tion. The spade and pick, wielded by hands more 

 vigorous but less expert than my own, are indispensable ; 

 but the conduct of the excavation is anything but satis- 

 factory. At the extremity of the long gallery — it seems 

 as though the straw I use for sounding would never 

 reach the end — we finally discover the cells, egg-shaped 

 cavities with the longer axis horizontal. Their number 

 and their mutual disposition escape me. 



Some already contain the cocoon — slender and trans- 

 lucid, like that of the Cerceris, and, like it, recalling the 



