CHAPTER XI 



THE BUMBLE-BEE FLY 



T TNDERNEATH the Wasp's brown-paper 

 ^^ manor-house, the ground is channelled 

 into a sort of drain for the refuse of the nest. 

 Here are shot the dead or wealcly larvze which 

 a continual inspection roots out from the cells 

 to make room for fresh occupants; here, at the 

 time of the autumn massacre, are flung the 

 backward grubs; here, lastly, lies a good part 

 of the crowd killed by the first touch of winter. 

 During the rack and ruin of November and 

 December, this sewer becomes crammed with 

 animal matter. 



Such riches will not remain unemployed. 

 The world's great law which says that nothing 

 edible shall be wasted provides for the con- 

 sumption of a mere ball of hair disgorged by 

 the Owl. How shall it be with the vast stores 

 of a ruined Wasps' nest! If they have not 

 come yet, the consumers whose task it is to 

 salve this abundant wreckage for nature's mar- 

 kets, they will not tarry in coming and wait- 

 ing for the manna that will soon descend from 

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