"There, thank goodness, that is finished," buzzed Madam Interruptus, as she flew to the top of a tall red clover to take a good look at her nest. Now there wasn't a thing to be seen, but that does not mean that there was nothing there. She had filled her burrow so cleverly pushing in the soil with her feet, that no one would have dreamed that right under that clover upon which she was sitting was the home of one of her baby wasps.
"I have worked so hard to-day I am tired out," she sighed to herself as she sat daintily washing her face. "I had lots of trouble with my hunting this morning. Every spider I found was either hiding in a rolled-up leaf or under a stone where she couldn't be reached. I had almost given up hope when I happened to see that big fat one sunning herself in her web there in the orchard. She was drowsy from over-eating, and was soon caught. Then, when at last I had gotten the clumsy thing safe home and had hung it on a sorrel plant, didn't I find the nest would not suit me at all, and that I must dig another? But now it is all done, the nest is snug, the spider packed in, the egg placed on the right side, as it should be, and the burrow so nicely filld that no one could ever imagine it was there. Now I can take a rest."
The garden lay drowsing in a glare of heat;even the singing of the birds was hushed until the coolness should come again. The only sound was the shrilling of grasshoppers and the droning buzz of bumblebees as they grumbled and blundered in the hollyhocks that grew by the path. But Madam Interruptus didn't mind the weather, the warmer the day the better she liked it. She surveyed with satisfaction her gown of yellow and black stripes and her filmy wings, and ran about on the tips of her toes in the daintiest manner, as if she considered herself a little princess.
"I believe I am too weary to work any more to-day," she sighed to herself, folding her gauzy wings like a fan, as all true wasps do. "I think I will take a holiday and visit some of my relations. I have never called on a vespa and I should like to know something of their life in their big gray house. Then there are the daubers, and my cousin Mrs. Bembex, and ever so many others. Yes, I really must do it. I'll take a sip of honey from the sweet clover and then I'll go."
So she flicked her wings and away she flew in the golden sunshine; up over the garden she whisked, across the orchard and beyond the meadow to Raspberry Hill.
"I'll make my first call here," she thought, flying to the nearest bush. "Some of the Crabro family used to live here. I hope they haven't moved."
No, they were still there, for there was Mrs. Crabro on her raspberry leaf veranda. She was a pretty little lady dressed in black, barred with saffron, and she wore long yellow stockings.
"I am very glad to see you," she said in greeting to Madam's salutation. "I hope you will excuse me if I go on with my toilet. I have worked so hard for the last few days I haven't taken time to comb my antennae. In fact, I have worked for two days and nights, stopping only ten minutes for refreshments in all that ime, and I have just finished the nest itself."
"Mercy me!" cried Madam, clasping her front pair of claws; "I was tired out with less than an hour's digging, and I am sure soil must be much easier to dig than pith. I really don't see how you endure it!"
"I rather enjoy it," replied Mrs. Crabro, brushing her wings with her hind legs. "We of the Crabro branch of the family of wasps work slowly and gently and never get excited as you earth-diggers do; so we do not tire ourselves as much."
"Oh, I have always envied you your repose of manner," said Madam, shrugging her shoulders. "But my nerves are so delicate. Would you mind telling me how you manage? I have sometimes felt I must really give up my way of nesting; earth-digging is so dirty, and spiders are such awkward things to carry."
"It is easy enough if you know how," said Mrs. Crabro. "I bite out with my mandibles the pith of a raspberry or blackberry stalk into little pellets and pass them back under my body with my feet until I have a load; then I walk backward and push it out with the tip of my abdomen, sometimes kicking it clear out of the hole with my hind legs. When the tunnel is about twelve inches deep I begin storing it with tiny flies. After I have filled one cell with fifteen to twenty flies, which must all be caught, I lay an egg upon one of the flies and shut them all in with a pith partition. So I fill cell after cell until the tunnel is quite full.
When my babies hatch out, all hungry grubs, they dine upon the flies until the seventh day, when they spin themselves little nightgowns of white silk, and take a long nap. When they wake they are no longer worms, but black and yellow wasps just like me. Of course, in the way my nest is built, my oldest child must stay in his bed until the youngest has hatched and made his way out. But, after all, my way is the only proper way to raise children."
"Ah, no doubt!" drawled Madam, pretending to yawn behind her front foot, for she thought Mrs. Crabro was boasting. "After all, I believe I prefer spiders to flies, and then, fortunately, my child is not greedy and one spider is all it cares for. As for dirt, I dig but a short time. I am sure that working night and day must be drudgery. But I really must be going. I hear our cousins, the Bembex family, have started a new home in the cornfield. How strange they should live all together in that way! I intend to call there, so I will bid you good-morning," and away she whirled.
The Bembex village was all astir when Madam arrived, but she didn't mind that, and told them to go right on with their work, as she had really called to learn something of their customs.
"Come talk to me," called a buzzing voice, and there at the door of her burrow good-natured Mrs. Bembex was resting. She seemed to be leaning on her elbows with her head outside her nest, showing her great goggle eyes, and she made such a funny bow that Madam almost laughed aloud.
"I am resting a bit," Mrs. Bembex went on to say. "I have caught enough flies for my child to-day, and shall be pleased to entertain you."
"You are very kind and you do look comfortable," responded Madam. "I have been calling on Mrs. Crabro. She is such a worker!"
"I should say so, said Mrs. Bembex, waving her antennae contemptuously. "A busy bee is as nothing to her; and what a silly way of nesting--to build flats in a raspberry stalk. It's pure nonsense, and I have no patience with her. Now, a Bembex lives in a village, yet there is no crowding as in the Vespa nest. Each of us has her own nest and is perfectly independent. Of course, we are very large and strong. Look over there at my sister; what do you think of that digging?"
The sister wore a gown of black trimmed with white, and was broad and heavy, more like a bee than a wasp. She carefully bit the soil with her mandibles until it was loosened; then swept it all out, with the stiff little brushes she wore on the second joint of her front legs. She looked so queer sweeping with her elbows that Madam had to smile, but it was wonderful to see her send the dirt out so rapidly that it fairly streamed out behind her. When her nest was finished she made all quite tidy, then filled it partly with loose earth and flew away.
"She has gone for a fly," explained Mrs. Bembex. "You know we do not shut our babies up as you do and leave them. We feed our little ones fresh meat every day. There comes sister with a big bluebottle fly."
The sister was holding the fly so closely with her second pair of legs that one could scarcely see it. Yet before she had time to reach her nest another wasp darted out after her and tried to rob her.
"How wicked!" cried Madam, indignantly. "Why doesn't that lazy creature catch her own flies?"
"Oh, we are always quarreling here," chuckled Mrs. Bembex, as the two fighting wasps rolled over and over to the ground. "No one pays any attention to it."
"I don't see how you ever know your nests apart. They looke exactly alike," said Madam, as the owner of the fly flew into her nest, still clinging to her treasure.
"Trust a Bembex for that," replied her hostess. "We never make any mistakes. Our worst trouble is those tiny flies you see so giddily dancing above our village. They are just watching for a chance to slip into a nest, while a wasp is out fly-catching and lay an egg, so that their ugly children will be hatched out there and fed upon our food."
"How dreadful!" exclaimed Madam, shuddering at such boldness. "It is time for me to be going," she went on, unfolding her wings. "I have stayed such a great time."
"I'm very glad to have seen you, I am sure," said Mrs. Bembex, offering her front foot; "I shall always be happy to see you. By the way, if you want to meet the very cleverest member of the wasp family call on Mrs. Ammophila, No. 6 Potato Patch Avenue. She is such a charming hunter and builder."
"Thank you, I believe I will," and off fluttered Madam for Potato Patch Avenue. She had often seen the lady of No. 6 and had longed ot know her, but she had looked so haughty and fashionable, in a perfectly fitting gown with a rich red girdle about her slender figure, and she had such a delicate, high-bred way of dancing about upon the ground like a bit of thistledown, that Madam had never dared to approach her.
"I know what I will do," thought Madam; "I will go and sit on a sorrel plant and pretend to drink honey, and watch how she builds, and perhaps she will speak to me."
She had hardly settled herself near No. 6 when Mrs. Ammophila returned, bringing with her a green caterpillar hanging limp and helpless. "She has stung him and paralyzed him, so that he will live for days, and she will have fresh food for her babies when they hatch out," reflected Madam. "Now what is she going to do?"
Mrs. Ammophila had laid the caterpillar down and flown straight to her nest. She carefully moved the lump of earth that she had used to cover the opening, then seizing the poor caterpillar she quickly dragged him in.
"Now she will lay her egg and be out in a moment," and Madam, all in a fidget, peeped around a leaf to see what would happen next.
Out flew Mrs. Ammophila, humming happily as she set about her work. First she carefully filled in the burrow with fine earth, jamming it down with her head until it was level with the ground. Next she whisked away and brought grains of sand, and taking up a little pebble in her mandibles hammered down the sand until it seemed to Madam as firm and smotth as any wasp could wish. But no, My Lady was not satisfied. So she brought more sand and seizing the pebble, rat-a-tap-tap-tap went she, fast and sure, until it was,--oh, beautifully smooth. Yet even then she was not entirely pleased, and scampering about she found a dry leaf which she brought to decorate the outside of the nest and give it an artistic touch.
"How wonderful!" whispered Madam as she peeped down over the edge of the leaf. "I believe I'll tell her how lovely I think it is."
But before she could even buzz, Mrs. Ammophila had spread her filmy wings and was off.
"Too bad!" exclaimed Madam, "but never mind, I will speak to her some day when she isn't so busy. Now for the Vespa family. They must have good times in their big house."
The Vespa family lived in the orchard in a large maiden-blush apple tree. The sky was very blue above, and juicy, mellow appes lay on the grass beneath. Sweet clover and goldenrod waved their white and yelow plumes just over the fence,--an old rail fence, gray and weather-beaten. Could any place be finer for a paper-wasp's home? Apple juice--how delicious! The shallow honey-bearing blossoms of the sweet clover and the goldenrod seemed made for short tongues. Let the butterfly, and the bumblebee, with their long proboseces, drink from the horn of the red clover and the trumpet of the honeysuckle. And the old gray fence, what a place to gather building material!
"Good-morning," buzzed Madam Interruptus to a big stout drone who was flying about the nest. "Good morning, Mr. Bald-faced Hornet. Are you busy?"
"Always busy," grumbled the hornet, who was cleaning out the doorway of the nest. "I can't see the pleasure in being a drone in Wasptown; one has to work all the time. It's a shame. I never have a minute to myself. The drones in Beeville live like princes, and do nothing all day long but fly about in the sunshine and sip honey."
"Good drone, you have worked hard this morning," cried a pretty wasp who came out of the nest just then, humming a happy little tune to herself. "Fly away and get some honey for yourself over at Goldenrod Inn. It was delicious this morning. I will entertain Madam Interruptus."
"Poor fellow," she went on when the drone had boomed away on blustering wings; "I sometimes think it is his not being able to sting that makes him so discontented. Now I am a worker, and I am always happy."
She was much smaller than the drone, although their uniforms were just alike,--black velvet, braided and spotted with gold.
"I am much interested in your housekeeping, Miss Bald-faced Hornet," said Madam with a bow and a smile. "I have heard it was very pleasant, this living all together as one big family."
"It is, indeed. Come in and I will tell you all about it," replied Miss Bald-faced Hornet, pausing a moment to comb her antennae with the tiny combs she always carries on her fore legs for this purpose. "We hornets are always so unjustly spoken of that we are surprised to receive a visitor, even of our own family. Our mother has told us that man has an adage, 'as mad as a hornet'; but to tell the truth we have the sweetest dispositions if let alone. Certainly we do not like being struck at and screamed at the moment we appear. Who would?"
"Please tell me," continued Madam, "what that wasp is doing hanging from that twig in such a strange position?"
"She has just caught a meat-fly, and is getting it ready for the nursery. We always hang by one hind leg while we crush to a pulp anything we intend for the babies."
"And will you please explain," inquired Madam, eagerly, "how you make the beautiful gray paper with which you build your house?"
"Certainly," replied Miss Bald-faced Hornet, kindly. "We scrape wood fiber from the weather-beaten rails of the fence, and chew it with our mandibles, mixing it with saliva the while, and when it is soft we knead it into a sort of pulp, which, when spread, hardens into paper."
"How remarkable it is!" excalimed Madam, as she followed Miss Bald-faced Hornet in at the door at the bottom of the nest.
Above them rose tier upon tier of cells, and in each was a little wasp grub hanging head downward so that its mouth was toward the bottom of the cell. In this position it could be fed easily by the workers, who walked rapidly back and forth in the halls, never coming empty handed, but always with something good to thrust into a hungry little mouth.
"You see," said Miss Bald-faced Hornet, "this spring our dear mother, who had lived through the winter alone, built in this tree three cells, and into each cell she put an egg. These soon hatched out into baby grubs and she tenderly fed and watched them day by day, until one morning they cuddled down into the little silk beds they had woven for themselves and went to sleep.
"When they awaked they cut a hole in the silk cover and crept out to find themselves pretty paper wasps instead of fat grubs. Oh, they were very happy that they need no longer be shut up in the dark nest, but could fly out into the sunshine. "So they began at once to help our mother, doing all the work, cleaning out the old cells and building new ones, while she put eggs into them. The family grew and grew, and the workers soon made a paper cover for the outside. Gradually it was built into the big gray nest you see. We workers feed the babies, repair the nest, make new paper, and take care of our mother, who lays all the eggs; while the drones, our brothers, keep the nest clean and attend to the dead. When we are flying about in such mad haste we are not looking for anyone to sting, but for a juicy fly for our little ones. Sometimes we take frest meat from the butcher, and it is a curious sight to see each little white grub with a bit of red meat in its mouth."
"What a nice way to live! I have enjoyed hearing you tell about it, and seeing your home, exceedingly," said Madam when she had been taken all over the nest, had seen the babies fed, and been introduced to the mother. "You have been most kind, Miss Bald-faced Hornet. I almost wish I might become a social rather than a solitary wasp, but of course that is impossible."
"Come again," said the cheery paper wasp; "I shall return your call soon," and she waved an antenna as long as Madam was in sight."
"Now I shall go to see the Daubers, said Madam to herself. "I hope I shall have as pleasant a time as I did at the Hornets'."
Mrs. Mud-Dauber was very busy and at first seemed reluctant about stopping to talk. But when Madam told her how much she admired her long, slender waist and her beautiful gown of steel-blue she grew quite friendly.
She was almost standing on her head, biting the mud into pellets with her mandibles, when Madam first saw her; but soon they flew off together to Mrs. Dauber's nest under the woodshed roof. Here she was building mud cells, in which she would store little spiders for her babies to feed upon. Her nest was very pretty for some of the cells were of red clay while others were of gray mud, and there were two at the end of white plaster. Mrs. Dauber, you understand, was an artist and liked a contrast in things. She hummed contentedly as the pellets which she had brought home in her mandibles were one by one built in. Patting it deftly, both inside and out, she very soon completed the foundation of a new cell.
"Don't you find it very hard to build so many cells?" asked Madam, as she hovered admiringly over them. "Then, too, I should be afraid the rain would ruin them."
"Ah, that is just the reason I have built under this shed roof," explained Mrs. Dauber. "Here the rain cannot strike directly, and besides, I shall not leave them as they are now, built ring upon ring, although they are so pretty. I shall bring mud and cover them with pellets until the walls are thick and strong."
"It will take a great many spiders to store so many cells," said Madam, waving her antennae thoughtfully. "I am delighted that you use nothing but spiders. That is my way, too, you know. The very thought of caterpillars makes me ill. What variety of spider do you use, Mrs. Dauber? As for myself I rather prefer the common garden sort."
"Oh," chuckled Mrs. Dauber, "so long as it is a spider I am not particular. When you have to find from twenty to thirty in a single day, you catch what and where you can and are thankful your children are not finicky about their food. I have heard that some solitary wasps use crickets, bees, grasshoppers, and even fireflies."
"Yes, I have heard the same thing. What strange tastes people have when they might be living on fresh spiders just out of their webs!"
"But, dear me, what a time I am staying!" exclaimed Madam, arranging her wings with her hind legs. "I really must be going. I intend to call on the vase-maker's and COUSIN WREN.
"Oh," said Mrs. Dauber disdainfully, "I never have anything to do with the Wren, even if she does belong to our family. I would as soon think of calling on a bumblebee. She has such common ways of building in nail holes, reeds, and straws, and she uses those horrid green worms found on rosebushes to feed her children. She was never known to build a respectable nest."
"How shocking!" exclaimed Madam, twitching her antennae with horror. "I am so glad you told me. I wouldn't go to see her for the world. I suppose every family has some queer members."
"Speaking of queer people," said Mrs. Dauber, "I saw some over in the field where the straw-stack stands. They had made their nests in the ends of the straws. The stack had been cut down smooth on one side, and dozens of wasps had made their homes in it. The strange thing is that their husbands stand all day in the doorways and guard the nest until it is stored and closed."
"Just imagine Mr. Dauber or Mr. Interruptus taking any interest in the home! But over there, if another male wasp comes around the nest, he is driven off in short order. I can't tell you how funny the husbands look with their heads sticking out of the straws."
"How interesting! Some day I will go and see them," said Madam. "Now I must make a flying visit to Miss Eumenes, the little Vase-Maker. She is such a dear!"
"I rather like her," admitted Mrs. Dauber. So, saying good-by, away fluttered Madam.
The Vase-maker had just finished molding her little clay jug. It had rounded sides and a turned-over rim and was tiny enough for a fairy's water bottle. She had fastened it securely to a twig and was taking a final look at it when Madam arrived. Such a warm welcome as she received!
"I can stay only a moment," explained Madam, "for it is almost four o'clock, my bedtime. But I did so want to see your exquisite vase. You certainly build the most artistic nest of all the solitary wasps. May I ask what food you use for your children?"
"Little green caterpillars, always," said the Vase-maker. "After I have stung them I pack them into my jug, not forgetting to put my egg safely in with them. The jug is corked up tight with mud, and I fly away, knowing that out of that vase a little wasp will some day come who will be quite as good a potter as its mother. So I need have no worry about my child."
"It is a very beautiful nest, of that I am sure. But I must be off," and Madam gave a little flirt of her wings. "Come and see me soon. I am going to begin a new nest at No. 9 Beanfield Street. Doesn't one get tired of this continual moving? I really envy the Vespa family when I think of it. Good-by, good-by."
"I'll go over and get a honey dinner at the Goldenrod Inn," buzzed Madam, thoughtfully, as she whirled along over the orchard, "for I am almost starved. Calling is such tiresome work."
Golden Rod Inn was crowded. There were the gallant soldier beetles in gay uniforms of yellow and black, a whole squad of them, jolly fellows without a care in the world. Then there were trim blister beetles in suits of neat-fitting black. Locust-borers in red stockings, and with yellow stripes on their black coats like the chevron on the sleeve of a sergeant of the police. The pretty painted clytus, in gold and sable, sipped from a tiny yellow bowl and squeaked and squeaked on his little fiddle, as if to pay for his dinner, much to the disgust of the busy, buzzy flies who were gathered about and who wanted to make all the music themselves. There were honey bees and bumblebees, wasps, black and steel-blue, and white faced-drones, but they all politely made way for Madam, who looked charming in her rich satin gown and dainty gossamer wings.
It was a tired little wasp that dug a sleeping burrow in the ferny fence corner late that afternoon. The sun was still shining brightly overhead, a song sparrow was singing a gleeful roundelay from a sumach bush, and the bumblebees blundered past with overflowing pollen baskets and without a thought of bed. But all wasps except Mrs. Crabro keep early hours, and Madam's eyes were heavy.
"It has been the most delightful day of my life," she thought, as she closed the door after her and cuddled down to sleep.
