THE HALICTI 213 



striped belts, alternately brown and ruddy-brown, have 

 almost vanished from her half-stripped back. Her old, 

 tattered clothes, well-worn with work, explain the 

 matter clearly. 



The Bee who mounts guard and performs the office of 

 a portress at the entrance to the burrow is older than 

 the others. She is the foundress of the establishment, the 

 mother of the actual workers, the grandmother of the 

 present grubs. In the spring-time of her life, three 

 months ago, she wore herself out in solitary works. 

 Now that her ovaries are dried up, she takes a well-earned 

 rest. No, rest is hardly the word. She still works, she 

 assists the household to the best of her power. Incapable 

 of being a mother for the second time, she becomes a 

 portress, opens the door to the members of her family 

 and makes strangers keep their distance. 



The suspicious kid, looking through the chink, said to 

 the wolf : 



" Show me a white foot, or I shan't open the door." 



No less suspicious, the grandmother says to each 

 comer : 



" Show me the yellow foot of an Halictus, or you won't 

 be let in." 



None is admitted to the dwelling unless she be recog- 

 nized as a member of the family. 



See for yourself. Near the burrow passes an Ant, an 

 unscrupulous adventuress, who would not be sorry to 

 know the meaning of the honeyed fragrance that rises 

 from the bottom of the cellar. 



" Be off, or mind yourself !" says the portress, with a 

 movement of her neck. 



As a rule, the threat suffices. The Ant decamps. 

 Should she insist, the watcher leaves her sentry-box, 



