80 ANTS AND CHILDREN OF THE GARDEN 



KENNETH. When about to start from home from the 

 harvest field, you grasp a seed tight in your jaws and let 

 the sharp end run back between your front legs so the 

 long tail that sticks out in front won't wabble as you walk. 



ANT. Yes, and we hold onto the hard ground with our 

 claws so the heavy tail in front won't tip us up. I spread 

 my legs apart so the hard seed coats won't wear the mus- 

 cles out. 



CECIL. But sometimes the ants drag their loads instead 

 of carrying them. 



KENNETH. I see your forelegs have the largest mus- 

 cles, the hind pair next, and the middle pair the smallest. 



ALBERT. I haven't but two legs. What do you want 

 with six? 



ANT. Man has four legs, or used to have. His arms are 

 really legs. You might as well ask me why some animals 

 have a hundred. I never heard of an animal with too 

 many for its own use. I can pull with my front legs and 

 push with my two hind pairs. I can stand upright on my 

 two hind pairs and use my two front legs as you do your 

 arms. Like you, if a leg is injured, I limp. 



ALBERT. Well, I'm not a four-legged animal, and I'm 

 glad of it or I might be eating out of a trough. 



KENNETH. I made a nice smooth trail for you through 

 a pile of stones that your ants were climbing over, but they 

 wouldn't use it. 



ANT. Would you send an army up a canyon road if 

 the hills and caves were full of the enemy? 



KENNETH. Then I thought I would teach you to use 

 my road. So I scattered one hundred and thirty cracked 

 muskmelon seeds in it. Within half an hour the ants had 

 entered my canyon and carried one hundred of the seeds 



