So far as we were concerned this was one of the most fearless of the wasps, not even interrupting her work when we once placed a glass over her as she was filling her nest; but the approach of an ant would throw her into a perfect panic, and seizing her spider she would make off with every sign of terror. It is difficult to understand why wasps of this species, as well as of biguttatus, never offer combat to the ants that rob them right and left, but invariably seek safety in retreat. Their attitude toward other robbers is quite different. We once saw a fuscipennis that was dragging a Lycosid attacked by a bigger wasp of the same species. Number One left her spider on the ground and chased Number Two to a distance; but no sooner had she returned and taken it up than Number Two, bold and unashamed, was at her heels again, and the scene was repeated. The object of the robber was to seize a leg of the spider, and whenever she succeeded in doing this she jerked it free, and made off with it very rapidly; but when the owner pursued and caught up with her she relinquished the prize without a struggle. Why did she? She was the bigger and the stronger, and possession is nine points of the law in Waspland as elsewhere; but conscience made a coward of her, while the other was strong in her righteous cause. After a time we captured the little pirate; but now the nerves of the rightful owner were completely upset, and she flew away, deserting the spider for which she had battled so bravely. The most interesting thing about fuscipennis is her habit of biting the legs of her victims. The instinct is very irregularly developed, since four out of ten spiders had not lost any legs, while the others had been deprived of one or two. No one who has watched the wasp can doubt that the habit is related to the fact that she makes a very small nest in comparison to the size of her prey. The spider never went in easily, always requiring to be shifted and turned and tugged at. There was an especial tendency to bite at the legs at this point of time, when the wasp, standing within the tunnel, was trying to drag the spider down. In one instance she managed to get it past the entrance, but it stuck in the gallery; and after working at it in that position for a time she brought it out, subjected the legs to a severe squeezing, and then tried again. It was still a very bad fit, but by turning it about and pulling at it she succeeded in getting it in. It may be that the object of biting the legs is not to remove them, but to render them limber so that they will bend easily. Whatever the process may be, it is repeated at intervals from the time the spider is captured. As she carries it, the wasp pauses again and again, now on bare ground and now in a sheltered place or on some plant, to renew her efforts at getting the legs into a satisfactory state.