See for yourself. Near the burrow passes an Ant, an unscrupulous adventuress, who would not be sorry to know the meaning of the honeyed fragrance that rises from the bottom of the cellar.
“Be off, or mind yourself!” says the portress, with a movement of her neck.
As a rule, the threat suffices. The Ant decamps. Should she insist, the watcher leaves her sentry-box, [[214]]flings herself upon the saucy jade, buffets her and drives her away. The moment the punishment has been administered, she returns on guard and resumes her sentry-go.
Next comes the turn of a Leaf-cutter (Megachile Albocincta, Pérez), who, unskilled in the art of burrowing, utilizes, after the manner of her kind, the old galleries dug by others. Those of Halictus Zebrus suit her very well, when the terrible Gnat of spring has left them vacant for lack of heirs. Seeking for a home wherein to stack her robinia-leaf honey-pots, she often makes a flying inspection of my colonies of Halicti. A burrow seems to take her fancy; but, before she sets foot on earth, her buzzing is noticed by the watchwoman, who suddenly darts out and makes a few gestures on the threshold of her door. That is all. The Leaf-cutter has understood. She removes herself.
Sometimes, the Megachile has time to alight and insert her head into the mouth of the pit. In a moment, the portress is there, comes a little higher and bars the way. Follows a not very serious contest. The stranger quickly recognizes the rights of the first occupant and, without insisting, goes to seek an abode elsewhere.
A consummate marauder (Cælioxys Caudata, Spinola), a parasite of the Megachile, receives a sound drubbing under my eyes. She thought, the scatter-brain, that she was entering the Leaf-cutter’s establishment! She soon finds out her error; she meets the portress Halictus, who administers a severe correction. She makes off at full speed. And so with the others who, by mistake or ambition, seek to enter the burrow.
The same intolerance exists among grandmothers. About the middle of July, when the animation of the [[215]]colony is at its height, two categories of Halicti are easily distinguishable: the young mothers and the old. The former, much more numerous, brisk of movement and smartly arrayed, come and go unceasingly from the burrows to the fields and from the fields to the burrows. The latter, faded and dispirited, wander idly from hole to hole. They look as though they had lost their way and were incapable of finding their homes. Who are these vagabonds? I see afflicted ones bereft of a family through the act of the odious spring Gnat. Many burrows have gone under altogether. At the awakening of summer, the mother found herself alone. She left her empty house and set off in search of a dwelling where there were cradles to defend, a guard to mount. But those fortunate nests already have their overseer, the foundress, who, jealous of her rights, gives her unemployed neighbour a cold reception. One sentry is enough; two would simply block the narrow guard-room.
I am privileged at times to witness a fight between two grandmothers. When the tramp in quest of employment appears outside the door, the lawful occupant does not move from her post, does not withdraw into the passage, as she would before an Halictus returning from the fields. Far from making way, she threatens with her feet and mandibles. The other hits back, tries to enter notwithstanding. Cuffs are exchanged. The fray ends by the defeat of the stranger, who goes off to pick a quarrel elsewhere.
These little scenes afford us a glimpse of certain details of the highest interest in the manners of Halictus Zebrus. The mother who builds her nest in the spring no longer leaves her home, once her works are finished. Shut up at the bottom of the burrow, busied with the minute cares [[216]]of housekeeping, or else drowsing, she waits for her daughters to come out. When, in the summer heats, the life of the colony recommences, having naught to do outside as a harvester, she stands sentry at the entrance to the hall, so as to let none in save the workers of the home, her own daughters. She wards off the ill-intentioned. None can enter without the door-keeper’s consent.
There is nothing to tell us that the watcher at moments deserts her post. I never see her leave her house to go and refresh herself at the flowers. Her age and her sedentary occupation, which implies no great fatigue, relieve her perhaps of the need of nourishment. Perhaps, also, the young ones returning from pillage disgorge a drop of the contents of their crops for her benefit, from time to time. Fed or not, the old one no longer goes out.