‘And I will tell you what I saw,’ said Phyllis; ‘I was picking up apples, and the wasps were flying all round, and there came a hornet.’
‘Vespa Crabro!’ cried Maurice; ‘oh, I must have one!’
‘Well, what of the hornet?’ said Mr. Mohun.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ resumed Phyllis, ‘he saw a wasp flying, and so he went up in the air, and pounced on the poor wasp as the hawk did on Jane’s bantam. So then he hung himself up to the branch of a tree by one of his legs, and held the wasp with the other five, and began to pack it up. First he bit off the yellow tail, then the legs, and threw them away, and then there was nothing left but the head, and so he flew away with it to his nest.’
‘Which way did he go?’ said Maurice.
‘To the Old Court,’ answered Phyllis; ‘I think the nest is in the roof of the old cow-house, for they were flying in and out there yesterday, and one was eating out the wood from the old rails.’
‘Well,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘you must show me a hornet hawking for wasps before the nest is taken, Phyllis; I suppose you have seen the wasps catching flies?’
‘Oh yes, papa! but they pack them up quite differently. They do not hang by one leg, but they sit down quite comfortably on a branch while they bite off the wings and legs.’
‘There, Maurice,’ said Mr. Mohun, ‘I had rather hear of one such well-observed fact than of a dozen of your hard names and impaled insects.’
Phyllis looked quite radiant with delight at his approbation.