FABRE'S BOOK OF INSECTS 



gether with their contents a silky, amber-yellow cocoon, 

 as delicate and transparent as the skin of an onion. Let 

 us split the dainty wrappers with the scissors, cell by cell, 

 one after another. If fortune be at all kind, as it always 

 is to the persevering, we shall end by finding cocoons 

 harbouring two larvae together, one more or less faded 

 in appearance, the other fresh and plump. We shall also 

 find some, no less plentiful, in which the withered larva 

 is accompanied by a family of little grubs wriggling un- 

 easily round it. 



It is easy to see that a tragedy is happening under the 

 cover of the cocoon. The flabby, faded larva is the 

 Mason-bee's. A month ago, in June, having finished 

 its ration of honey, it wove itself a silken sheath in which 

 to take the long sleep that precedes its transformation. 

 It was bulging with fat, and was a rich and a defenceless 

 morsel for any enemy that could reach it. And enemies 

 did reach it. In spite of obstacles that might well seem 

 insurmountable, the wall of mortar and dome-shaped 

 cover, the enemy grubs appeared in the secret retreat, and 

 began to eat the sleeper. Three different species take 

 part in this murderous work, often in the same nest, in 

 adjoining cells. We will concern ourselves only with 

 the Anthrax Fly. 



The grub, when it has eaten its victim and is left alone 

 in the Mason-bee's cocoon, is a naked worm, smooth, leg- 

 less, and blind. It is creamy-white, and each of its 



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