"It never had furs," said a voice behind her. It was her Mistress of the Robes. "I know the family, Ma'am. Queer clothes, of course. But artists, Ma'am, artists to the toe-tips." "Artists in what?" said the Black Queen. "In Sand, Ma'am, in Sand. See, she's starting now." "That's hive-bee's work," said the Black Queen contemptuously. "The art comes at the finish, Ma'am----" [Illustration: IN SAND, MA'AM, IN SAND. SEE, SHE'S STARTING NOW] "Well, call me when it comes," said the Black Queen, "and keep her off the nurseries, and clean that eleventh cell of mine, and wait till I come back. She soared up skywards, fussily, cleared the cliff's head, circled three times about, and set a straight course south. "Good riddance!" said the Mistress of the Robes. "They're like that everywhere," said Spinipes. "What are her nurseries to me? Black Queens and black sand go together. Now this is red sand. I feel the grip and bind of it." She was quite right. The ledge was rain-washed silt. Sunshine had bleached the outer crust of it, but, under this, its substance was brick-red--fine ground stuff too, damp, clingy, easily tunnelled, and easily smarmed into a hold-fast mortar. "In that case," said the Mistress of the Robes, "I may as well be going." Slowly she floated off the ledge, yet kept her face towards it. Slowly she tacked from side to side, in dipping, widening sweeps. Slowly she passed the cliff's east edge, and disappeared. _Then_ Spinipes commenced to dig in earnest. [Illustration: "WELL, CALL ME WHEN IT COMES," SAID THE BLACK QUEEN] Her scissor-jaws worked viciously, carved four-square pellets from the sun-baked crust, gripped them and flung them backwards. As she engaged the softer soil, she added feverish foot-work, and scraped, and rasped, and scrabbled it, and kicked it back in dust-clouds. Her head was quickly buried, next her waist, and, presently, she disappeared completely. But not for long. She backed up to the surface, dragging a sand-load underneath her body. She shook this clear, and, without resting, dived afresh. Ten loads in all she raised, and each one meant a longer spell below. For she had more to do than dig. From end to end her shaft must needs be glazed--and this meant patient mouth-work, deft steadying touches as the mortar set, and skill to keep her tube's round symmetry, and guide it in a gentle curve to end in quiet darkness. Three inches down she sank, and, at the bottom, drove a slant, and hollowed out a store-room. With this the first stage ended. She left her shaft, and, poising in mid-air, made survey of the ledge. To right she swerved, to left again, outwards and back, upwards and down, until its bearings east and west, from sky above, and earth below, were rooted in her memory. [Illustration: _THEN_ SPINIPES COMMENCED TO DIG IN EARNEST]