THE SACRED BEETLE 



ful owner begins to dig with his sharp-edged forehead 

 and toothed legs, flinging armfuls of sand behind him, 

 while the thief clings to the ball, shamming dead. The 

 cave grows deeper and deeper, and the working Scarab 

 disappears from view. Whenever he comes to the sur- 

 face he glances at the ball, on which the other lies, de- 

 mure and motionless, inspiring confidence. But as the 

 absences of the owner become longer the thief seizes his 

 chance, and hurriedly makes off with the ball, which he 

 pushes behind him with the speed of a pickpocket afraid 

 of being caught. If the owner catches him, as some- 

 times happens, he quickly changes his position, and seems 

 to plead as an excuse that the pellet rolled down the 

 slope, and he was only trying to stop it! And the two 

 bring the ball back as though nothing had happened. 



If the thief has managed to get safely away, however, 

 the owner can only resign himself to his loss, which he 

 does with admirable fortitude. He rubs his cheeks, 

 sniffs the air, flies off, and begins his work all over again. 

 I admire and envy his character. 



At last his provisions are safely stored. His burrow 

 is a shallow hole about the size of a man's fist, dug in 

 soft earth or sand, with a short passage to the surface, 

 just wide enough to admit the ball. As soon as his food 

 is rolled into this burrow the Scarab shuts himself in 

 by stopping up the entrance with rubbish. The ball 



[15] 



