FABRE'S BOOK OF INSECTS 



willingly. But the new-comer is not really a partner: 

 he is a robber. To make one's own ball needs hard work 

 and patience; to steal one ready-made, or to invite one- 

 self to a neighbour's dinner, is much easier. Some thiev- 

 ing Beetles go to work craftily, others use violence. 



Sometimes a thief comes flying up, knocks over the 

 owner of the ball, and perches himself on top of it. 

 With his fore-legs crossed over his breast, ready to hit 

 out, he awaits events. If the owner raises himself to 

 seize his ball the robber gives him a blow that stretches 

 him on his back. Then the owner gets up and shakes 

 the ball till it begins rolling, and perhaps the thief falls 

 off. A wrestling-match follows. The two Beetles 

 grapple with one another: their legs lock and unlock, 

 their joints intertwine, their horny armour clashes and 

 grates with the rasping sound of metal under a file. The 

 one who is successful climbs to the top of the ball, and 

 after two or three attempts to dislodge him the defeated 

 Scarab goes off to make himself a new pellet. I have 

 sometimes seen a third Beetle appear, and rob the robber. 



But sometimes the thief bides his time and trusts to 

 cunning. He pretends to help the victim to roll the 

 food along, over sandy plains thick with thyme, over 

 cart-ruts and steep places, but he really does very little 

 of the work, preferring to sit on the ball and do nothing. 

 When a suitable place for a burrow is reached the right- 



