THE SACRED BEETLE 19 



Can it really be the Scarab's work ? Is there an egg 

 inside it, a grub ? The shepherd assures me that there 

 is. A similar pear, crushed by accident in the digging, 

 contained, he says, a white egg, the size of a grain of 

 wheat. I dare not believe it, so greatly does the object 

 which he has brought me differ from the ball which I 

 expected to see. 



To open the puzzhng " find " and ascertain its con- 

 tents would perhaps be imprudent : such an act of 

 violence might jeopardize the life of the germ enclosed, 

 always provided that the Scarab's egg be there, a matter 

 of which the shepherd seems convinced. And then, I 

 imagine, the pear-shape, opposed to every accepted idea, 

 is probably accidental. Who knows if chance has any- 

 thmg hke it in store for me in the future 1 It were 

 wise to keep the thing as it is, to await events ; above 

 all, it were wise to go in search of information on the 

 spot. 



The shepherd was at his post by daybreak the next 

 morning. I joined him on some slopes that had been 

 lately cleared of their trees, where the hot summer sun, 

 which strikes so powerfully on the neck, could not reach 

 us for two or three hours. In the cool air of morning, 

 with the flock browsing under the care of the sheep-dog, 

 we went in search together. 



Scarabaeus' burrow is soon found : it is recognizable by 

 the recent mole-hill that surmounts it. My companion 

 digs with a vigorous wrist. I have lent him my little 

 pocket-trowel, the light, but workmanlike tool which, 

 incorrigible earth-scraper that I am, I seldom omit to 

 take with me when I go out. I lie down, the better to 

 see the arrangement and furnishing of the hypogeum 

 in process of excavation ; and I am all eyes. The 



