"WHAT AILS HIM?" 239 
sufficiently elaborated in the columns of the 
" Young People," and were now safely preserved 
between the covers of my book " Sharp Eyes." 
But what an array of items were still left from 
the winnowing, which had after all culled only a 
few of the best ! Indeed, it was hard to decide 
which should be selected as the subject for the 
morrow. Let's see; shall it be those travelling 
underground buds of the Clintoma, with all their 
leaves and flowers ready for next spring? No, I 
must wait a little for these a month later and 
they will be more mature, and I must make my 
drawing from nature. Then there is that queer 
blue oil beetle, with his queerer history; that 
slender- waisted wasp that digs its deep hole in 
the dirt, and those round holes in the path, with 
their mysterious hocus-pocus. 
Yes, it shall be these, the magic holes that dis- 
appear as you cautiously look at them, or sudden- 
ly start into view as you approach deep holes, 
the diameter of a slate - pencil, with apparently 
nothing in them, but which in reality have a good 
deal of mischief at the bottom of them or at the 
top of them, as it happens. " Ant holes," most 
people call them. Many an ant, doubtless, goes 
into them, but not because he wants to. " Yes," 
I thought, " my next chapter shall be devoted to 
these queer holes and their shy tenants, which so 
few people ever see or even dream of." 
