The Burrow 117 



dislodged them, absolutely refuse to work ; and 

 they die, notwithstanding the abundance of 

 provisions. 



The first pursue the season's task. They 

 were digging when I caught them ; and, carried 

 away by the enthusiasm of their activity, they 

 go on digging inside my cages. Taken in by 

 my decoy-shaft, they deepen the imprint of the 

 pencil as though they were deepening their real 

 vestibule. They do not begin their labours 

 over again ; they continue them. 



The second, not having this inducement, 

 this semblance of a burrow mistaken for their 

 own work, forsake the idea of digging and allow 

 themselves to die, because they would have to 

 travel back along the chain of actions and to 

 resume the pick-strokes of the start. To begin 

 all over again requires reflection, a quality where- 

 with they are not endowed. 



To the insect — and we have seen this in many 

 earlier cases — what is done is done and cannot 

 be taken up again. The hands of a watch do 

 not move backwards. The insect behaves in 

 much the same way. Its activity urges it in 

 one direction, ever forwards, without allowing 



