ably be destroyed by its own enemies, ene- 

 mies that are carried about on its own body. 

 If, however, the worm escapes that fate, it will 

 shut itself up in a silken shell, from which it 

 will issue one of the most beautiful little crea- 

 tures you ever saw, a sort of large fly of a gay 

 green color, with wings like a network of rich- 

 est lace, and eyes surpassing in brilliancy that 

 of precious stones. 



What movement is that down there in the 

 grass? Great numbers of little creatures are 

 moving in one direction. There is evidently 

 some well-understood end in view. Many of 

 them are carrying burdens. They are ants just 

 returning from battle and carrying home the 

 spoils. They are the fierce red ant species who 

 have just destroyed a colony of black ants, 

 and, much like human wars of a dark past, 

 these victors are bearing away to their own 

 retreats the eggs and larvae of the black ants, 

 where they are born and made the slaves of 

 the red ants. 



Let us look for the ant-hill, for it is prob- 

 ably close by. Yes, there it is. It is a little 

 subterranean city, constructed with much art. 

 [ 87 ] 



