More Beetles 



hand, the gallant fellow redoubles his ar- 

 dour; he wishes before he dies to leave his 

 family abundantly provided for. With a 

 not always well-timed enthusiasm, the prod- 

 igal heaps pellet upon pellet, to the pitch of 

 encumbering the burrow and making the 

 mother's business difficult to carry on. Ex- 

 cessive wealth is an incubus. The thought- 

 less Beetle recognizes the fact at last and 

 ejects the superfluous food from the shaft. 



On the first day of June, in one of my ap- 

 pliances, the sum of pellets sent down 

 amounts to 239, a number that speaks well 

 for the trident-bearer's industry. My rec- 

 ord of the droppings, kept as strictly as a 

 banker's account, confirms the enormous re- 

 sult. I am overjoyed by the treasure of the 

 Minotaurs' ; but, a few days later, an unex- 

 pected issue alarms me. One morning I 

 find the mother dead. She has come up to 

 breathe her last on the surface. It appears 

 to be the rule that neither of the pair shall 

 die in the children's home. It is at a dis- 

 tance, in the open air, that the father and 

 mother meet their end. 



This reversal of the normal order of de- 

 cease, the mother dying before the father, 

 calls for enquiry. I inspect the inside of the 



