The Mason-bees 



out her nefarious designs without the slight- 

 est interference or protest from any of her 

 neighbours, though these must necessarily in- 

 clude the chief party interested. The Bee is 

 as forgetful of her cell of yesterday as she is 

 jealous of her actual cell. To her the present 

 is everything; the past means nothing; and 

 the future means no more. The people of 

 the tile therefore leave the breakers of doors 

 to do their business in peace; none hastens to 

 the defence of a home that might well be her 

 own. How differently things would happen 

 if the cell were still on the stocks! But it 

 dates back to yesterday, to the day before; 

 and no one gives it another thought. 



It's done: the lid is demolished, access is 

 free. For some time the Bee stands bending 

 over the cell, her head half-buried in it, as 

 though in contemplation. She goes away, 

 she returns undecidedly; at last she makes up 

 her mind. The egg is snapped up from the 

 surface of the honey and flung on the rubbish- 

 heap with no more ceremony than if the Bee 

 were ridding the house of a bit of dirt. I 

 have witnessed this hideous crime again and 

 yet again; I confess to having repeatedly pro- 

 voked it. In housing her egg, the Mason-bee 

 232 



