THE SHEEPFOLD
IN the evening Uncle Paul resumed the story of the ants. At that hour
Jacques was in the habit of going the round of the stables to see if the
oxen were eating their fodder and if the well-fed lambs were sleeping
peacefully beside their mothers. Under the pretense of giving the
finishing touches to his wicker basket, Jacques stayed where he was. The
real reason was that the ants’ cows were on his mind. Uncle Paul related
in detail what they had seen in the morning on the elder: how the
plant-lice let the sugary drops ooze from their tubes, how the ants
drank this delicious liquid and knew how, if necessary, to obtain it by
caresses.
“What you are telling us, Master,” said Jacques, “puts warmth into my
old veins. I see once more how God takes care of His creatures, He who
gives the plant-louse to the ant as He gives the cow to man.”
“Yes, my good Jacques,” returned Uncle Paul, “these things are done to
increase our faith in Providence, whose all-seeing eye nothing can
escape. To a thoughtful person, the beetle that drinks from the depths
of a flower, the tuft of moss that receives the rain-drop on the burning
tile, bear witness to the divine goodness.
“To return to my story. If our cows wandered at will in the country, if
we were obliged to take troublesome journeys to go and milk them in
distant pastures, uncertain whether we should find them or not, it would
be hard work for us, and very often impossible. How do we manage then?
We keep them close at hand, in inclosures and in stables. This also is
sometimes done by the ants with the plant-lice. To avoid tiresome
journeys, sometimes useless, they put their herds in a park. Not all
have this admirable foresight, however. Besides, if they had, it would
be impossible to construct a park large enough for such innumerable
cattle and their pasturage. How, for example, could they inclose in
walls the willow that we saw this morning with its population of black
lice? It is necessary to have conditions that are not beyond the forces
available. Given a tuft of grass whose base is covered with a few
plant-lice, the park is practicable.
“Ants that have found a little herd plan how to build a sheepfold, a
summer châlet, where the plant-lice can be inclosed, sheltered from the
too bright rays of the sun. They too will stay at the châlet for some
time, so as to have the cows within reach and to milk them at leisure.
To this end, they begin by removing a little of the earth at the base of
the tuft so as to uncover the upper part of the root. This exposed part
forms a sort of natural frame on which the building can rest. Now grains
of damp earth are piled up one by one and shaped into a large vault,
which rests on the frame of the roots and surrounds the stem above the
point occupied by the plant-lice. Openings are made for the service of
the sheepfold. The châlet is finished. Its inmates enjoy cool and quiet,
with an assured supply of provisions. What more is needed for happiness?
The cows are there, very peaceful, at their rack, that is to say, fixed
by their suckers to the bark. Without leaving home the ants can drink to
satiety that sweet milk from the tubes.
“Let us say, then, that the sheepfold made of clay is a building of not
much importance, raised with little expense and hastily. One could
overturn it by blowing hard. Why lavish such pains on so temporary a
shelter? Does the shepherd in the high mountains take more care of his
hut of pine branches, which must serve him for one or two months?
“It is said that ants are not satisfied with inclosing small herds of
plant-lice found at the base of a tuft of grass, but that they also
bring into the sheepfold plant-lice encountered at a distance. They thus
make a herd for themselves when they do not find one already made. This
mark of great foresight would not surprise me; but I dare not certify
it, never having had the chance to prove it myself. What I have seen
with my own eyes is the sheepfold of the plant-lice. If Jules looks
carefully he will find some this summer, when the days are warmest, at
the base of various potted plants.”
“You may be sure, Uncle,” said Jules, “I shall look for them. I want to
see those strange ants’ châlets. You have not yet told us why ants gorge
themselves so, when they have the good luck to find a herd of
plant-lice. You said those descending the elder with their big stomachs
were going to distribute the food in the ant-hill.”
“A foraging ant does not fail to regale itself on its own account if the
occasion offers; and it is only fair. Before working for others must one
not take care of one’s own strength? But as soon as it has fed itself,
it thinks of the other hungry ones. Among men, my child, it does not
always happen so. There are people who, well fed themselves, think
everybody else has dined. They are called egoists. God forbid your ever
bearing that sorry name, of which the ant, paltry little creature, would
be ashamed! As soon as it is satisfied, then, the ant remembers the
hungry ones, and consequently fills the only vessel it has for carrying
liquid food home; that is to say, its paunch.
“Now see it returning, with its swollen stomach. Oh! how it has stuffed
so that others may eat! Miners, carpenters, and all the workers occupied
in building the city await it so as to resume their work heartily, for
pressing occupations do not permit them to go and seek the plant-lice
themselves. It meets a carpenter, who for an instant drops his straw.
The two ants meet mouth to mouth, as if to kiss. The milk-carrying ant
disgorges a tiny little bit of the contents of its paunch, and the other
one drinks the drop with avidity. Delicious! Oh! now how courageously it
will work! The carpenter goes back to his straw again, the milk-carrier
continues his delivery route. Another hungry one is met. Another kiss,
another drop disgorged and passed from mouth to mouth. And so on with
all the ants that present themselves, until the paunch is emptied. The
milk-ant then departs to fill up its can again.
“Now, you can imagine that, to feed by the beakful a crowd of workers
who cannot go themselves for victuals, one milk-ant is not enough; there
must be a host of them. And then, under the ground, in the warm
dormitories, there is another population of hungry ones. They are the
young ants, the family, the hope of the city. I must tell you that ants,
as well as other insects, hatch from an egg, like birds.”
“One day,” interposed Emile, “I lifted up a stone and saw a lot of
little white grains that the ants hastened to carry away under the
ground.”
“Those white grains were eggs,” said Uncle Paul, “which the ants had
brought up from the bottom of their dwelling to expose them under the
stone to the heat of the sun and facilitate their hatching. They hurried
to descend again, when the stone was raised, so as to put them in a safe
place, sheltered from danger.
“On coming out from the egg, the ant has not the form that you know. It
is a little white worm, without feet, and quite powerless, not even able
to move. There are in an ant-hill thousands of those little worms.
Without stop or rest, the ants go from one to another, distributing a
beakful, so that they begin to grow and change in one day into ants. I
leave you to think how much they must work and how many plant-lice must
be milked, merely to nurse the little ones that fill the dormitories.”
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