CHAPTER XII 



THE VOLUCELLA 



T TNDERNEATH the brown-paper manor- 

 **^ house, let us once more say, the ground 

 is channelled into a sort of drain for the 

 refuse of the nest. Here are shot the dead 

 or weakly larvae which a continual inspection 

 roots out from the cells to make room for 

 fresh occupants; here, at the time of the 

 autumn massacre, are flung the backward 

 grubs; here, lastly, lies a good part of the 

 crowd killed by the first touch of winter. 

 During the rack and ruin of November and 

 December, this sewer becomes crammed with 

 animal matter. 



Such riches will not remain unemployed. 

 The world's great law which says that no- 

 thing edible shall be wasted provides for the 

 consumption of a mere ball of hair dis- 

 gorged by the Owl. How shall it be with 

 the vast stores of a ruined Wasps'-nest! If 

 they have not come yet, the consumers whose 

 task it is to salve this abundant wreckage for 

 nature's markets, they will not tarry in com- 

 ing and waiting for the manna that will soon 



