The Mason-bees 



of the hall. How wise he was to scorn this 

 pebble-gazing! I would come in half-roasted, 

 as brown as a berry, to find my friend Bull 

 wedged Into a corner, his back to the wall, 

 sprawling on all fours, while, with heaving 

 sides, he panted forth the last sprays of steam 

 from his overheated interior. Yes, he was 

 much better-advised to return as fast as he 

 could to the shade of the house. Why does 

 man want to know things? Why is he not in- 

 different to them, with the lofty philosophy 

 of the animals? What interest can anything 

 have for us that does not fill our stomachs? 

 What is the use of learning? What is the 

 use of truth, when profit is all that matters? 

 Why am I — the descendant, so they tell me, 

 of some tertiary Baboon — afflicted with the 

 passion for knowledge from which Bull, my 

 friend and companion, is exempt? Why . . . 

 oh, were have I got to? I was going In, 

 wasn't I, with a splitting headache? Quick, 

 let us get back to our subject! 



It was in the first week in July that I saw 

 the inoculation begin on my Chalicodoma si- 

 cilia nests. The parasite Is at her task In the 

 hottest part of the day, close on three 

 o'clock In the afternoon; and work goes on 

 290 



