It is the ants' wheat," was the reply. "A grain of our wheat might
prove too heavy for them. They generally prefer the seed of the
buffalo-grass, a kind of grass that grows plentifully in Texas. It is
very amusing to see one of the foragers after he has found a seed to his
liking. No matter how far he has strayed from the road, he always knows
his way straight back. But he has a hard struggle with his grass seed,
clambering over clods, tumbling over sticks, and travelling around
pebbles. There is no give up in him, however. He is bent on bringing in
his share of the crop, and lets nothing hinder him. After he reaches the
road, it is all plain sailing. He gets a good hold on his grain, and
trots off home like an express messenger, sometimes not stopping to rest
once on the long journey."

"Gracious! wouldn't I like to see them?" exclaimed Harry. He had
approached his uncle step by step, and was now standing in open-mouthed
wonder at his knee.

As for Willie, he was not nearly so eager. He had not yet got over his
contempt for farmers who did not keep cows.

"Is there anything else queer about them?" asked Harry.

"There is another sort of grass, called ant rice, of which the seed
tastes something like rice. One observer says that this grass is often
permitted to grow upon their clearings, all other kinds of grass being
cut away, as our farmers clear out the weeds from their grain. When the
seeds are ripe and fall, they carry them into their granaries, and
afterward clear away the stubble, preparing their wheat field for the
next year's crop. It is this writer who says that they plant the seeds
in the spring, but other writers doubt this statement."

"And you said a while ago that you didn't believe it, either," remarked
Harry.

"I think it needs to be pretty thoroughly established before we can
accept it as a fact."

"I think so too," said Harry, with great gravity.

"Ain't nuffin more queer 'bout 'em, is there?" asked Willie. "Cos I's
getting kind of tired of them."

"You can go 'way, then," retorted Harry. "Uncle Ben's telling me."

"No, he ain't. He's telling bofe of us. Ain't you, Uncle Ben?"

"Anybody who wants to listen is welcome," answered their uncle, with
assumed gravity. "But I don't wish to force knowledge into any unwilling
young brains. However, I have only a few more things to tell, and then
will leave you at liberty."

"Just tell all, Uncle Ben. Don't mind him," cried Harry.

"Another stra