on put the newcomer to flight. Of
the various cells that yawn like so many wells around the dome, only one
is needed at the moment; but the Bee rightly calculates that the others
will be useful presently for the other eggs; and she watches them all
with jealous vigilance to drive away possible visitors. Indeed I do not
remember ever seeing two Masons working on the same pebble.

The task is now very simple. The Bee examines the old cell to see what
parts require repairing. She tears off the strips of cocoon hanging from
the walls, removes the fragments of clay that fell from the ceiling when
pierced by the last inhabitant to make her exit, gives a coat of mortar
to the dilapidated parts, mends the opening a little; and that is all.
Next come the storing, the laying of the eggs and the closing of the
chamber. When all the cells, one after the other, are thus furnished,
the outer cover, the mortar dome, receives a few repairs if it needs
them; and the thing is done.

The Sicilian Mason-bee prefers company to a solitary life and
establishes herself in her hundreds, very often in many thousands, under
the tiles of a shed or the edge of a roof. These do not constitute a
true society, with common interests to which all attend, but a mere
gathering, where each works for herself and is not concerned with the
rest, in short, a throng of workers recalling the swarm of a hive only
by their numbers and their eagerness. The mortar employed is the same as
that of the Mason-bee of the Walls, equally unyielding and waterproof,
but thinner and without pebbles. The old nests are used first. Every
free chamber is repaired, stocked and sealed up. But the old cells are
far from sufficient for the population, which increases rapidly from
year to year. Then, on the surface of the nest, whose chambers are
hidden under the old general mortar covering, new cells are built,
as the needs of the laying-time call for them. They are placed
horizontally, or nearly so, side by side, with no attempt at orderly
arrangement. Each architect has plenty of elbow-room and builds as and
where she pleases, on the one condition that she does not hamper her
neighbours' work; otherwise she can look out for rough handling from the
parties interested. The cells, therefore, accumulate at random in
this workyard where there is no organization. Their shape is that of a
thimble divided down the middle; and their walls are completed either by
the adjoining cells or by t