THE SPANISH COPRIS 71 



a mass could not have been rolled into a cavity of which 

 it fills almost the whole space. Besides, the strength of 

 the insect would be unequal to moving so great a load. 



Questioned from time to time, the jar repeats the 

 same conclusion for our benefit. I see the mother, 

 hoisted atop the piece, feeling here, feeling there, bestow- 

 ing little taps, smoothing away the projecting points, 

 perfecting the thing ; never do I catch her looking as 

 though she wanted to turn the block. It is as clear as 

 daylight : rolling has nothing whatever to do with the 

 matter. 



The dough-maker's assiduity, her patient cares make 

 me suspect a delay in the manufacture whereof I was far 

 from dreaming. Why so many after-touches to the block, 

 why so long a wait before employing it ? A week and 

 more passes, in fact, before the insect, ever pressing 

 and polishing, decides to use its hoard. 



The baker, when he has kneaded his dough to the 

 desired extent, collects it into a single heap in a corner 

 of the kneading-trough. The heat of the panary fer- 

 mentation smoulders better in the heart of the volu- 

 minous mass. The Copris knows this secret of the bake- 

 house. She collects the sum total of her harvests into a 

 single lump ; she carefully kneads the whole into a pro- 

 visional loaf which she gives time to improve by means 

 of an inner labour that makes the paste more palatable 

 and gives it a degree of consistency favourable to sub- 

 sequent manipulations. As long as the chemical work 

 remains unfinished, both the journeyman-baker and the 

 Copris wait. To the insect this means a long spell, a 

 week at least. 



It is done. The baker's man divides his lump into 

 smaller lumps, each of which will become a loaf. The 



