it and
moistening it with saliva, whirred back like a homing aeroplane to her
city in the making.

There was a whir and a buzz as she passed through the portals of her
main gate from the light of day, and she reappeared again, backing out,
"looking daggers," as we say, and brandishing her poisoned dart--her
sting, if you insist, on the end of her tail--in the air. But she
still hung on to her pellet.

Presumably some unlucky visitor had called in her absence. More sounds
of concentrated argument followed, and finally there fell out, rather
than rushed out, a small and amazingly slender black wasp, one of those
hermits who seem to consecrate their lives to lonely working for a
family they never see. This unhappy one slid down the bank, curled up
at the bottom, uncurled, curled up again, and--remained curled.
Apparently _her_ day's work was done, which comes of falling foul of
the yellow flag.

Arrived inside, at her hallowed chamber, our queen carefully selected a
rootlet in the roof--not just any old rootlet, mark you; never any
"old" anything, you will notice, but a good, sound, well-found rootlet
that you could hang five or six pounds' weight to; indeed, three
rootlets before she had finished. To these rootlets she
fastened--gummed would be a more correct word--her pellet of
wasp-paper, in the form of a thin layer, and hurried away, singing, for
more. This was, so to speak, the foundation-stone of the city, laid,
be it noticed, not haphazard--our queen never did any business that
way--but with mathematical regard as to what was to follow. In very
fact, too, it was the foundation-stone of her city, only upside-down,
though that is nothing. Wasps always do things that way, which is
unlike ants, those other and greater city builders.

Back came the queen very soon with another load, and pasted
that--thin--to the first layer, hurrying, bustling, humming a happy
song continuously to herself. Then away again for more, and in the
process to a lively battle with a robber-fly, who appeared set upon
robbing her of her blood. It tried, like the beetle, to stalk her and
pounce upon her back, what time she was planing out wood for
paper-pulp; but her back wasn't there when it pounced, and her jaws
were. It "waited on," hovering like a falcon, and twice as keen, and
when she got to work again, dropped like a hurled lance-head, only to
be met with jaws, wide and ready, as before.

It went away, watching from afar--f