The Red Ants 



afternoons on end, often unsuccessfully, 

 meant taking up too much of my time. I 

 engaged an assistant whose hours were not 

 so much occupied as mine. It was my grand- 

 daughter Lucie, a little rogue who liked to 

 hear my stories of the Ants. She had been 

 present at the great battle between the reds 

 and blacks and was much impressed by the 

 rape of the long-clothes babies. Well-coached 

 in her exalted functions, very proud of al- 

 ready serving that august lady. Science, my 

 little Lucie would wander about the garden, 

 when the weather seemed propitious, and keep 

 an eye on the Red Ants, having been commis^ 

 sioned to reconnoitre carefully the road to the 

 pillaged Ant-hill. She had given proof of her 

 zeal; I could rely upon It. 



One day, while I was spinning out my daily 

 quota of prose, there came a banging at my 

 study-door: 



"It's I, Lucie! Come quick: the reds have 

 gone into the blacks' house. Come quick !" 



"And do you know the road they took?" 



"Yes, I marked it." 



"What! Marked It? And how?" 



"I did what Hop-o'-My-Thumb did: I 

 scattered little white stones along the road." 

 139 



