the unfavourably situated body: the two
collaborators slip between the Mouse and the stake and, taking a grip
of the twig and exerting a leverage with their backs, they jerk and
shake the corpse, which sways, twirls about, swings away from the
stake and swings back again. All the morning is passed in vain
attempts, interrupted by explorations on the animal's body.

In the afternoon, the cause of the check is at last recognized; not
very clearly, for the two obstinate gallow-robbers first attack the
Mouse's hind-legs, a little way below the strap. They strip them bare,
flay them and cut away the flesh about the foot. They have reached the
bone, when one of them finds the string of raffia beneath his
mandibles. This, to him, is a familiar thing, representing the
grass-thread so frequent in burials in turfy soil. Tenaciously the
shears gnaw at the bond; the fibrous fetter is broken; and the Mouse
falls, to be buried soon after.

If it stood alone, this breaking of the suspending tie would be a
magnificent performance; but considered in connection with the sum of
the Beetle's customary labours it loses any far-reaching significance.
Before attacking the strap, which was not concealed in any way, the
insect exerted itself for a whole morning in shaking the body, its
usual method. In the end, finding the cord, it broke it, as it would
have broken a thread of couch-grass encountered underground.

Under the conditions devised for the Beetle, the use of the shears is
the indispensable complement of the use of the shovel; and the modicum
of discernment at his disposal is enough to inform him when it will be
well to employ the clippers. He cuts what embarrasses him, with no
more exercise of reason than he displays when lowering his dead Mouse
underground. So little does he grasp the relation of cause and effect
that he tries to break the bone of the leg before biting the raffia
which is knotted close beside him. The difficult task is attempted
before the extremely easy one.

Difficult, yes, but not impossible, provided that the Mouse be young.
I begin over again with a strip of iron wire, on which the insect's
shears cannot get a grip, and a tender Mousekin, half the size of an
adult. This time a tibia is gnawed through, sawed in two by the
Beetle's mandibles, near the spring of the heel. The detached leg
leaves plenty of space for the other, which readily slips from the
metal band; and the little corpse falls to the ground.