THE COWS
THE next day Emile, when only half awake, began to think of the ants’
cows. “We must beg uncle,” said he to Jules, “to tell us the rest of his
story this morning.”
No sooner said than done: they went to look for their uncle.
“Aha!” cried he upon hearing their request, “the ants’ cows are
interesting you. I will do better than tell you about them, I will show
them to you. First of all call Claire.”
Claire came in haste. Their uncle took them under the elder bush in the
garden, and this is what they saw:
The bush is white with flowers. Bees, flies, beetles, butterflies, fly
from one flower to another with a drowsy murmur. On the trunk of the
elder, amongst the ridges of the bark, numbers of ants are crawling,
some ascending, some descending. Those ascending are the more eager.
They sometimes stop the others on the way and appear to consult them as
to what is going on above. Being informed, they begin climbing again
with even more ardor, proof that the news is good. Those descending go
in a leisurely manner, with short steps. Willingly they halt to rest or
to give advice to those who consult them. One can easily guess the cause
of the difference in eagerness of those ascending and those descending.
The descending ants have their stomachs swollen, heavy, deformed, so
full are they; those ascending have their stomachs thin, folded up,
crying hunger. You cannot mistake them: the descending ants are coming
back from a feast and, well fed, are returning home with the slowness
that a heavy paunch demands; the ascending ants are running to the same
feast and put into the assault of the bush the eagerness of an empty
stomach.
“What do they find on the elder to fill their stomachs?” asked Jules.
“Here are some that can hardly drag along. Oh, the gluttons!”
“Gluttons! no,” Uncle Paul corrected him; “for they have a worthy motive
for gorging themselves. There is above, on the elder, an immense number
of the cows. The descending ants have just milked them, and it is in
their paunch that they carry the milk for the common nourishment of the
ant-hill colony. Let us look at the cows and the way of milking them.
Don’t expect, I warn you, herds like ours. One leaf serves them for
pasturage.”
Uncle Paul drew down to the children’s level the top of a branch, and
all looked at it attentively. Innumerable black velvety lice, immobile
and so close together as to touch one another, cover the under side of
the leaves and the still tender wood. With a sucker more delicate than a
hair plunged into the bark, they fill themselves peacefully with the sap
of the elder without changing their position. At the end of their back,
they have two short and hollow hairs, two tubes from which, if you look
attentively, you can see a little drop of sugary liquid escape from time
to time. These black lice are called plant-lice. They are the ants’
cows. The two tubes are the udders, and the liquor which drips from
their extremity is the milk. In the midst of the herd, on the herd,
even, when the cattle are too close together, the famished ants come and
go from one louse to another, watching for the delicious little drop.
The one who sees it runs, drinks, enjoys it, and seems to say on raising
its little head: Oh, how good, oh, how good it is! Then it goes on its
way looking for another mouthful of milk. But plant-lice are stingy with
their milk; they are not always disposed to let it run through their
tubes. Then the ant, like a milkmaid ready to milk her cow, lavishes the
most endearing caresses on the plant-louse. With its antennæ, that is to
say, with its little delicate flexible horns, it gently pats the stomach
and tickles the milk-tubes. The ant nearly always succeeds. What cannot
gentleness accomplish! The plant-louse lets itself be conquered; a drop
appears which is immediately licked up. Oh, how good, how good! As the
little paunch is not full, the ant goes to other plant-lice trying the
same caresses.
[Illustration: Plant-louse]
Uncle Paul let go the branch, which sprang back into its natural
position. Milkmaids, cattle, and pasture were at once at the top of the
elder bush.
“That is wonderful, Uncle,” cried Claire.
“Wonderful, my dear child. The elder is not the only bush that nourishes
milk herds for the ants. Plant-lice can be found on many other forms of
vegetation. Those on the rosebush and cabbage are green; on the elder,
bean, poppy, nettle, willow, poplar, black; on the oak and thistle,
bronze color; on the oleander and nut, yellow. All have the two tubes
from which oozes the sugary liquor; all vie with one another in feasting
the ants.”
Claire and her uncle went in-doors. Emile and Jules, enraptured by what
they had just seen, began to look for lice on other plants. In less than
an hour they had found four different kinds, all receiving visits of no
disinterested sort from the ants.
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