194 
NATURE’S CRAFTSMEN 
“ Crawfish Town! You stopped at Crawfish 
Town,” cried Tommy. “ Gee! I do wish I had 
been along. I don’t see why something couldn’t 
have busted the day Uncle John and I went up! 
We saw the town, but we whizzed right through. 
The citizens all work on the night shift, Uncle 
John says; that’s why there was no one around. 
But I should think they would have had senti¬ 
nels.” 
“You wouldn’t if you got a close-up view of 
their chimneys, which of course you know are in 
reality their doors,” Alice returned. “ It would 
take a burglar with a very complete set of tools 
to get into their houses. Evidently they are well 
aware of this, and so go sensibly to bed and get 
a good rest in preparation for the night’s hunt, 
when, under cover of darkness, their own move¬ 
ments are not apt to be questioned, and their 
prey is the more easily approached unwarily. 
“ The crawfish’s house is all underground. 
Here he tunnels his rooms and galleries mole- 
fashion, bringing up his dirt to use in building 
his queer, chimney-style entrances. He has but 
one set of quarry tools—his pincer-like hands; 
hence he likes a particular kind of nice pliable 
clay to build with. Neither you nor I could cut 
a neater circle with a compass than the crawfish 
makes for his doorway. His chimney is in truth 
a little protecting wall about this entrance, and 
