"Very well. Suppose I describe the farmer ants."
"The farmer ants!" cried Harry, with interest.
"Yes, there is a species of ants in Texas that have farms of their own, and gather the grain in when it is ripe, and store it away in their granaries; and some people say that they plant the seed in the spring, just like human farmers. But others think that this part of the story is very doubtful."
"You don't believe that, do you, Uncle Ben?" asked Harry, doubtingly. "Why, that would be making them folks at once."
"They are very much like folks without that," said his uncle, settling himself back easily in his chair, and gazing down with his kindly glance on his eager young nephews.
"If you could see one of their clearings," he continued. "But maybe you don't care to hear about them?"
"Yes, we does," cried Willie, eagerly.
"I do, ever so much. I know that," chimed in Harry.
"Well, then, if you will keep just as quiet as two mice, I will tell you the story of our little black farmers. They are, in some ways, the strangest of all ants. You have seen little ant-hills thrown up in the sand about an inch across; but these ants build great solid mounds, surrounded by a level court-yard, sometimes as much as ten or twelve feet in diameter. Here they do not suffer a blade of grass nor a weed to grow, and the whole clearing is as smooth and hard as a barn floor. This is no light labor, I can tell you, for wild plants grow very fast and strong under the hot suns of Texas."
"But how do they do it?" asked Harry.