The lowest chamber of the shaft now held a precious thing--a spindle-shaped gold egg, slung to the side-wall by a silken thread. Back darted Spinipes to look at it; and test the fine-spun sling again; and fuss with it; and feel that it was hers. [Illustration: THE LOWEST CHAMBER OF THE SHAFT NOW HELD A PRECIOUS THING] Then up to her look-out once more. This time she dropped down to the sand and sunned herself contentedly. The Bees had long been working. Forward and back they passed unceasingly, now and again one towered, now and again one settled; but never did their labour-song, a droning, buzzing, humming chanty, weaken or gather strength. The Jewel Fly had vanished altogether, yet Spinipes still seemed to fear her coming. A full half hour she stayed on guard, and spent the time in adding to her tower, and rounding off its entrance, which, of its own weight, took a gentle down-curve. Then, after one last gaze upon her egg, she flew afield. "Good hunting, sister!" said the Ophion Fly. She sat on the same leaf as yesterday. "I want them now," said Spinipes. "The're thousands of them, thousands," said the fly, "and most of them quite fat." [Illustration: IT WAS A FLABBY, GREEN, BLACK-HEADED GRUB] But Spinipes was too engrossed to hear her. Already, swayed by instinct she was hunting, hunting an unknown quarry in the lucerne. From plant to plant, from leaf to leaf, she fluttered. Now she dropped down to earth, and ran this way and that in the green twilight tangle. Now she sped nimble-footed up a stalk. Now she took flight and skimmed above the leaves. At last she paused, her every muscle trembling, and stared at what confronted her. It was a flabby, green, black-headed grub, fixed slug-like on its food-plant. A trail of skeleton tracery marked where its jaws had passed, and, as it reached the border of its leaf it swung its head, and starting near midrib, gnawed yet another ribbon-strip of green. [Illustration] It ceased to feed as Spinipes appeared, and rested motionless, until her weight made its leaf-platform shiver. Then it dropped silently to earth. But Spinipes reached earth almost as fast, and, quartering every inch of ground, found it and gripped it tightly. It struggled feebly as she pinned it down, and, as she stung it, shuddered. The sting was measured to the millionth part. It robbed the grub of sentient life, yet left it living. So Nature had enjoined. For every infant Spinipes, a score of live green grubs. Robbed of full life, lest struggling they should harm the egg; forbidden death, lest dying they should taint the shaft; lulled to long sleep in mercy. Of Nature's ordinance the grub knew nothing--and Spinipes knew nothing. Her task was to make store of food against the time when her gold egg should hatch. Instinctively she knew the grub was food: instinctively she paralysed its being: instinctively she laboured to transport it.