160 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 



sliced bit has had to be deserted because of the 

 configuration of the upper edge. On almost any 

 trail, an ant can be found with a two-inch stem 

 of grass, attempting to pass under a twig an inch 

 overhead. After five or ten minutes of pushing, 

 backing, and pulling, he may accidentally march 

 off to one side, or reach up and climb over; but 

 usually he drops his burden. His little works 

 have been wound up, and set at the mark 

 "home"; and though he has now dropped the 

 prize for which he walked a dozen ant-miles, yet 

 any idea of cutting another stem, or of picking 

 up a slice of leaf from those lying along the trail, 

 never occurs to him. He sets off homeward, and 

 if any emotion of sorrow, regret, disappointment, 

 or secret relief troubles his ganglia, no trace of 

 it appears in antennae, carriage, or speed. I can 

 very readily conceive of his trudging sturdily all 

 the way back to the nest, entering it, and going 

 to the place where he would have dumped his 

 load, having fulfilled his duty in the spirit at 

 least. Then, if there comes a click in his internal 

 time-clock, he may set out upon another quest 

 more cabined, cribbed, and confined than any 

 member of a Cook's tourist party. 



I once watched an ant with a piece of leaf 



