

THE SACRIFICE OF WINGS 



IF you would realise how the ground seethes with insect 

 life you should lie prone some hot summer day on a lawn cut 

 close, and yet not overmuch trodden. In congenial places 

 and times every foot of it is inhabited. You may even hear 

 the slight but sharp sounds made by many of the company. 

 Homeric battles are fought there. A yellow ant will drag a 

 black ant over towering heights and into abysmal depths. 

 Dead bodies will be rescued and carefully carried home. 

 The signs of catastrophic issues appear in the marks of the 

 green woodpecker's bill, which was busy there in the morning 

 among the whole tribe of ants. There are scores of other 

 inhabitants, but the ants come first in number by a wide 

 margin. And in August they challenge attention. At all 

 times of year, except when it is very cold in winter, ants are 

 creatures of abiding interest to the Hubers and those who 

 have time to watch them scientifically, microscopically, 

 experimentally. They have no seasons, one may say. The 

 eggs are always being laid and the grubs being hatched. 

 Throughout the better part of the year ants, which observe 

 the time of day as carefully as they disregard the almanac, 

 will be moving the grubs up or down for the sake of warmth 

 or coolness from an hour after dawn to an hour before sunset. 



