Part 12

I looked at Crip in silence. Was there no end to perils?

“Let us hope they’ll travel on,” he added. “There’s plenty of food abroad for them. But tell me, where did you find that worm?”

“Back in the far corner. Come with me. I was cleaning out the débris when I came upon him.”

“Well, did you finish your task?”

I had quite forgotten it. I had been so absorbed in the fight that the original undertaking had gone out of mind.

“Then come on. I’ll help you.”

With that Crip led off, limpingly. I followed by his side, amazed at his speed.

Soon we came to the place. Each of us seized a bit of the débris, and away we went to deposit it far from the entrance to our home.

“I see where your worm came from,” Crip observed. “There’s a hole in the board, and he found it, then crept in stealthily and hid in this little heap of rubbish. I’m a bad guesser, or we’ll find another here any minute.”

And sure enough. Crip seized a piece of comb, and, upon dragging it away, out sprang another worm, even more forbidding than the other.

Crip was the first to spy him, and, valiant warrior that he was, seized him instantly. I attacked him, also, with all my might. But the worm, a full-grown one, and twice as big as both of us, simply flung us about and thrashed us unmercifully. He quite knocked me to bits; but I never relaxed my hold, nor did Crip. It was a poor showing that we were making, when several guards rushed to our assistance. The fight was soon over and the monster lay still.

“He’s dead,” said one of the new-comers. “Out with him.”

We all fell to, dragging him along. It took the combined energies of four of us to move his huge form.

At last we arrived at the edge of our alighting-board, and down we dropped him to the tender mercies of the black ants, who immediately swarmed over him. One could almost imagine that they thanked us for the delicacy we had tossed them. I wondered what the ants thought of us, if they thought at all. I had become particularly interested in those big red ones that ran along the tiny trail skirting our home.

I was looking down at the worm, covered with the little black ants, when, in a final paroxysm, he flounced violently, scattering the little army that beset him. But once again they fell upon him, and presently they had cut him entirely to pieces, carrying away every scrap for a feast.

In the economy of things, these worms had grown and fattened on the refuse of our hive, and now they had become food in their turn for a host of tiny creatures which roamed the earth below, all this seemingly in accordance with some unknown law.

I stood there watching them for some time, until the last ant made off, following with unerring aim the trail of his fellows. Soon they were lost to sight. It seemed to me that this last one disappeared under a log where the Master often sat. I wondered what relation there might be between them, if in some mysterious way they worked together, for I remembered that Crip had told me that not only the Master, but even the ants, sometimes raided our hives, taking our honey. I turned to ask him to explain, but he was not to be seen among the bees swarming upon the board. I must find him.

The Wounding of Crip]

Back to the field of battle I hastened.

“Tell me,” I cried in distress, for Crip was lying quite still on the floor, “what is the matter?”

“Ah, I fear I am done for at last.”

Grieved by his words, I rushed up to him, saluting him, pressing my tongue to his lips, praying for his life. I felt him all over, and at last came to a little moist spot on his body, and realized that he had lost his last basket-leg. I wiped his eyes, and came close to him to warm him a bit, for he seemed cold and almost lifeless.

“Go your way,” he murmured, dejectedly. “Leave me quite alone. My work is done; I shall pass. Remember me sometimes when you cleave the air and salute the sun and our mysterious Master.”

By this time I was overcome with sorrow. My poor dear friend, the very personification of wisdom, seemed passing out of my life.

“No—don’t—please—don’t talk so mournfully!” I cried. “You will get well. Do! I so want you to stay with me.”

At this he seemed to stir a little and, with an effort, raised himself on his remaining legs.

“I cannot walk, you see. I cannot be sure of holding my weight on the combs, even if I am not bleeding to death.”

I was so shocked that it had not occurred to me to stanch his wound; but instantly I fell to it most vigorously.