180 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 
biting, but not for laughing or yawning. I once 
dabbed fifteen Mediums with a touch of white 
paint as they approached the nest, and within 
five minutes thirteen of them had emerged and 
started on the back track again. 
The leaf is taken in charge by another Me- 
dium, hosts of whom are everywhere. Once after 
a spadeful, I placed my eye as close as possible 
to a small heap of green leaves, and around one 
oblong bit were five Mediums, each with a cons 
siderable amount of chewed and mumbled tissue 
in front of him. This is the only time I have 
ever succeeded in finding these ants actually at 
this work. The leaves are chewed thoroughly 
and built up into the sponge gardens, being used 
neither for thatch nor for food, but as fertilizer. 
And not for any strange subterranean berry or 
kernel or fruit, but for a fungus or mushroom. 
The spores sprout and proliferate rapidly, the 
gray mycelia covering the garden, and at the 
end of each thread is a little knobbed body filled 
with liquid. This forms the sole food of the ants 
in the nest, but a drop of honey placed by a busy 
trail will draw a circle of workers at any time— 
both Mediums and Minims, who surround it and 
dzink their fill. 
