86 INSECT BEHAVIOR 



Beside the entrance hole to the burrow, a second tunnel, about two 

 inches in length, is sometimes excavated, which serves as a sentry 

 box, in which the insect rests and guards the entrance to the main 

 nest. It is amusing to see a wasp from the colony lose its bearings 

 and attempt to enter the wrong nest, when the rightful owner rushes 

 from her sentry box and pounces upon the intruder. Then amid 

 loud buzzings, which are doubtless oaths of a fearful nature, the two 

 roll about until the intruder is driven off. 



But let us go back to the building of the burrow, which is a gigantic 

 task for so small a creature. She must be engineer, laborer, drill and 

 steam shovel if her race is to survive, and this is no small burden for 

 such delicate shoulders to bear. 



But in a wasp city there is never a complaint, never a strike for 

 higher wages, but always a superb spirit of altruism and a wealth of 

 strength that defends the race against extinction. In a way, instinct 

 triumphs over intelligence here. 



At the entrance, one finds a heap of dirt excavated from the bur- 

 row, which is carefully piled, in order that it will not run back 

 into the doorway and double the labor of the well-planned dwelling. 



On arriving at her tunnel, the miner alights at the far edge of the 

 sand heap. From here she moves rapidly forward, kicking the sand 

 back the while, thus forming a distinct trough leading to the hole. 

 This clever method of approach is to prevent sand from rolling into 

 the nest, which would be the case should she come blustering directly 

 into the entrance. 



To compare the weight of the sand heap with that of the wasp 

 will be interesting. For this purpose the diggings from an average 

 tunnel are scooped up and placed upon a delicate scale. It registers 

 about two ounces. Now we place the wasp, on the scales and find 

 that its weight in the same measure, is one four-hundredth part of one 

 ounce. 



