later, the grubs make
their way into the fleshy depths of the socket. The eyes and the beak,
therefore, form the two chief entrances into feathered game.

There are others; and these are the wounds. I cover the Linnet's head
with a paper hood which will prevent invasion through the beak and
eyes. I serve it, under the wire-gauze bell, to a third egg-layer. The
bird has been struck by a shot in the breast, but the sore is not
bleeding: no outer stain marks the injured spot. Moreover, I am careful
to arrange the feathers, to smooth them with a hair-pencil, so that the
bird looks quite smart and has every appearance of being untouched.

The Fly is soon there. She inspects the Linnet from end to end; with
her front tarsi she fumbles at the breast and belly. It is a sort of
auscultation by sense of touch. The insect becomes aware of what is
under the feathers by the manner in which these react. If scent lends
its assistance, it can only be very slightly, for the game is not yet
high. The wound is soon found. No drop of blood is near it, for it is
closed by a plug of down rammed into it by the shot. The Fly takes up
her position without separating the feathers or uncovering the wound.
She remains here for two hours without stirring, motionless, with her
abdomen concealed beneath the plumage. My eager curiosity does not
distract her from her business for a moment.

When she has finished, I take her place. There is nothing either on the
skin or at the mouth of the wound. I have to withdraw the downy plug
and dig to some depth before discovering the eggs. The ovipositor has
therefore lengthened its extensible tube and pushed beyond the feather
stopper driven in by the lead. The eggs are in one packet; they number
about three hundred.

When the beak and eyes are rendered inaccessible, when the body,
moreover, has no wounds, the laying still takes place, but this time in
a hesitating and niggardly fashion. I pluck the bird completely, the
better to watch what happens; also, I cover the head with a paper hood
to close the usual means of access. For a long time, with jerky steps,
the mother explores the body in every direction; she takes her stand by
preference on the head, which she sounds by tapping on it with her
front tarsi. She knows that the openings which she needs are there,
under the paper; but she also knows how frail are her grubs, how
powerless to pierce their way through the strange obstacle which stops
her as well