XIII 



THE ANT-LION 



Sister Ellen, the Professor and I sat in the 

 shade after a warm morning's trip with the field 

 class. Idly we watched a small ant hurrying along, 

 now dragging, now pushing before her the dry 

 wing of a grasshopper. 



"Now how much nourishment does she expect 

 to get from a scrap like that?" asked Sister Ellen. 



" Oh, it may be something like a soup-bone, five 

 cents a pound if you deliver it yourself," said the 

 Professor, shifting from one elbow to the other, 

 the better to view the ant. 



"She has no time to gallivant, she has no tail to 

 wag" — I quoted, but stopped my nonsense seeing 

 the intent look on the Professor's face. Evidently 

 there was something worth looking at, and my eye 

 had learned to follow the direction taken by his, 

 when the signs were right. 



We were sitting under the bank which rose a 

 sheer fifty feet above and even hung out over our 

 heads, its projecting border of hemlock and pine 

 standing out clear against the summer sky. The 

 ground was dry and sandy where we sat, while Fall 

 Brook chattered scarce ten feet away. Following 

 the Professor's gaze, I realized that we had all but 

 sat down upon a prosperous village. That shift 

 from one elbow to another had brought the Pro- 



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