174 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 



around me teemed with interesting happenings 

 and distracting sights and sounds. The very last 

 time I visited the nest and became absorbed in 

 a line of incoming ants, I heard the shrill squeak- 

 ing of an angry hummingbird overhead. I 

 looked up, and there, ten feet above, was a furry 

 tamandua anteater slowly climbing a straight 

 purpleheart trunk, while around and around his 

 head buzzed and swore the little fury a pinch 

 of cinnamon feathers, ablaze with rage. The 

 curved claws of the unheeding anteater fitted 

 around the trunk and the strong prehensile tail 

 flattened against the bark, so that the creature 

 seemed to put forth no more exertion than if 

 walking along a fallen log. Now and then it 

 stopped and daintily picked at a bit of termite 

 nest. 



With such side-shows it was sometimes diffi- 

 cult to concentrate on the Attas. Yet they of- 

 fered problems for years of study. The glade 

 was a little world in itself, with visitors and ten- 

 ants, comedy and tragedy, sounds and silences. 

 It was an ant-made glade, with all new growths 

 either choked by upflung, earthen hillocks, or 

 leaves bitten off as soon as they appeared. The 

 casual vistors were the most conspicuous, an oc- 



