76 MY STUDIO NEIGHBORS 



icier, as I find no mention of it by the wasp- 

 historians. 



At the exact centre of my circle, in place of a 

 cavity, I now found a tiny pile of stones, sup- 

 ported upon a small stick and fragment of leaf, 

 which had been first drawn across the opening. 



This was evidently a mere temporary protec- 

 tion of the burrow, I reasoned, while the digger 

 had departed in search of prey, and my surmise 

 was soon proved to be correct, as I observed the 

 wasp, with bobbing abdomen and flipping wings, 

 zigzagging about the vicinity. Presently disap- 

 pearing beneath a small plantain leaf, she quickly 

 emerged, drawing behind her not a spicier, as in 

 the case of her smaller predecessor, but a big 

 green caterpillar, nearly double her own length, 

 and as large around as a slate-pencil — a pecul- 

 iar, pungent, waspy - scented species of " puss- 

 moth " larva, which is found on the elm, and with 

 which I chanced to be familiar. 



The victim being now ready for burial, the 

 wasp sexton proceeded to open the tomb. Seiz- 

 ing one stone after another in her widely opened 

 jaws, they were scattered right and left, when, with 

 apparent ease and prompt despatch, the listless 

 larva was drawn towards the burrow, into whose 

 depths he soon disappeared. Then, after a short 



