The Cricket: the Burrow 



with not a vestige of the white girdle of his 

 early days. He has no domicile. The 

 shelter of a dead leaf, the cover of a flat 

 stone are enough for him; they represent 

 the tents of a nomad who cares not where 

 he lays his head. 



This vagabond life continues until the 

 middle of autumn. It is then that the 

 Yellow-winged Sphex 1 hunts down the wan- 

 derers, an easy prey, and stores her bag of 

 Crickets underground. She decimates those 

 who have survived the Ants' devastating 

 raids. A settled dwelling, dug a few weeks 

 before the usual time, would save them from 

 the spoilers. The sorely-tried victims do 

 not think of it. The bitter experience of the 

 centuries has taught them nothing. Though 

 already strong enough to dig a protecting 

 burrow, they remain invincibly faithful to 

 their ancient customs and would go on roam- 

 ing though the Sphex stabbed the last of 

 their race. 



It is at the close of October, when the 

 first cold weather threatens, that the burrow 

 is taken in hand. The work is very simple, 

 judging by the little that my observation of 



1 Cf. The Hunting Wasps: chaps, iv to vii. Trans- 

 lator's Note. 



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