[1] ·2 inch.—Translator’s Note. [↑]
CHAPTER XVI
THE HALICTI: THE PORTRESS
The home dug by the solitary Bee in early spring remains, when summer comes, the joint inheritance of the members of the family. There were ten cells, or thereabouts, underground. Now from these cells there have issued none but females. This is the rule among the three species of Halicti. They have two generations in each year. That of the spring consists of females only; that of the summer comprises both males and females, in almost equal numbers.
The household, therefore, if not reduced by accidents, especially by the famine-producing Gnat, would consist of half-a-score of sisters, nothing but sisters, all equally industrious and all capable of procreating without a nuptial partner. On the other hand, the maternal dwelling is no hovel; far from it: the entrance-gallery, the principal room of the house, will serve very well, after a few odds and ends of refuse have been swept away. This will be so much gained in time, ever precious to the Bee. The cells at the bottom, the clay cabins, are also nearly intact. To make use of them, it will be enough to freshen up the stucco with the polisher of the tongue.
Well, which of the survivors, all equally entitled to the succession, will inherit the house? There are six of [[211]]them, seven, or more, according to the chances of mortality. To whose share will the maternal dwelling fall?
There is no quarrel between the interested parties. The mansion is recognized as common property without dispute. The sister Bees come and go peacefully through the same door, attend to their business, pass and let the others pass. Down at the bottom of the pit, each has her little demesne, her group of cells dug at the cost of fresh toil, when the old ones, now insufficient in number, are occupied. In these recesses, the rights of individual property prevail: each mother works privately, jealous of her belongings and her isolation. Every elsewhere, traffic is free to all.
The exits and entrances in the working fortress provide a spectacle of the highest interest. A harvester arrives from the fields, the brushes of her legs dusted with pollen. If the door be open, the Bee at once dives underground. To tarry on the threshold would mean waste of time; and the business is urgent. Sometimes, several appear upon the scene almost at the same moment. The passage is too narrow for two, especially when they have to avoid any inopportune contact that would make the floury burden fall to the floor. The nearest to the opening enters quickly. The others, drawn up on the threshold in the order of their arrival, respectful of one another’s rights, await their turn. As soon as the first disappears, the second follows after her and is herself swiftly followed by the third and then the others, one by one.