Her task accomplished, away flew our little tornado as though she were pursued by the avenging spirits of all the spiders that she had murdered, although more probably she was off in quest of another of those meek and helpless victims. “Now,” we said, “we will trace out the nest and make a drawing of it. We will take the spider home and note its condition from day to day, watching at the same time the development of the larva.” Enjoying this little air–castle, we began to excavate. Having had experience with the nests of Ammophila and Diodontus, and knowing that the task might not be so easy as it looked, we went to work with all possible care. It seemed, however, that some magician’s trick—some deception of the senses—had been played upon us. We saw the spider interred; we at once dug up the place and found nothing. Slowly and carefully we enlarged our circle. We went down deeper until the opening was large enough to hold a thousand spiders,—still nothing. Then we tried another plan. Gathering all the earth that we had taken out, we sifted it through our hands—in vain. At last we acknowledged ourselves beaten, and trudged home empty–handed. Our pride was destined to be still further humbled. Three times within that same week we saw the tornado wasp bury her spider, and three times we failed, just as incredibly, to find it. On the last of these occasions we did not let her fill the nest, attempting to follow the tunnel and get out the spider as soon as the egg was laid, but the loose, unstable character of the soil defeated us. Our fifth example, however, dug her nest, not among the beans but lower down in the potato field, where the ground was firmer; and here we made our first successful excavation,—successful only up to a certain point, since in getting out the spider we dislodged the egg, and although it was at once replaced it never developed. The spider was placed three inches below the surface, but we could not trace the tunnel. At our next opportunity, wishing to make good this failure, we placed a blade of grass in the opening just after the wasp began to fill it. On being disturbed she assumed the most comically threatening aspect, whirling around, lifting her wings, and then circling about us. As soon as we moved back she dashed at the grass–blade and pulled it out with great energy. A few minutes later we made a similar attempt, and again she frustrated our plan; but when we inserted the grass–blade for the third time, the nest being now half filled, she let it remain. Some hours later, with this to guide us, we succeeded in tracing the nest, but much to our disappointment found it transformed into a banqueting hall. Scores of tiny red ants had discovered this rich store of food. They had eaten the egg and were rapidly finishing the spider.