The Life of the Weevil 
with her rostrum driven into the pulp. As 
a rule, there is no movement on her part, 
nothing to betray any effort. 
From time to time a male visits her, 
climbs on her back, throws his legs around 
her and, himself swaying from side to side, 
rocks her very gently to and fro. Without 
permitting herself to be diverted from her 
serious labours, the female thus embraced 
passively yields to the rolling motion. 
Perhaps it is a means of whiling away the 
long hours needed for establishing an egg. 
To see more than this is very difficult. 
The rostrum does its work in the hidden 
seclusion of the pulp and, as the pit opens 
and widens, the digger covers it with the 
fore-part of her body. The hollow is ready. 
The mother withdraws and turns round. 
For a moment I catch a glimpse of the bare 
stone at the bottom of the crater, with a 
tiny cup in the centre of the denuded area. 
As soon as the egg is laid in this cup, the 
insect turns round again and nothing more 
is visible until the work is completed. 
How does the pregnant mother contrive 
to raise above the egg a protective heap, 
a cone, an obelisk somewhat irregular in 
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