“A nest is taken up with a quantity of the earth that surrounds it, then it is cut down from the top—­as you would halve a loaf of bread—­and the divided parts are placed in glass cases made purposely to receive them.  Of course, the little people are greatly disturbed for a time, and no wonder; but they soon grow accustomed to the new surroundings and go on with their every-day employments as if nothing had happened.  The sides of the case make a fine firm wall for their city; they are furnished with plenty of food and building material, and soon they can be seen busy at work clearing their streets, building houses, feeding the babies, and quite contented and happy in their glass city.  If, after months of separation, an ant from one half of the divided nest should be put into the other he would be recognized at once and welcomed with joy; but if a stranger were introduced he would be attacked and probably killed.”

“We had a great time with the ants at our house last summer,” said Eliza Jones:  “little mites of red things, you know, and they would get into the cake-chest and the sugar-bucket, and bothered ma so she had to keep all the sweet things on a table with its legs in basins of water.  They couldn’t get over that, you see.”

“Why not?” Mollie asked.  “Can’t they swim?”

“Ours couldn’t; lots of them fell in the water and were drowned.”

“Ants are usually quite helpless in the water,” Miss Ruth said, “though a French writer who has made the little folks a study, tells a story of six soldier ants who rescued their companions from drowning.  He put his sugar-basin in a vessel of water, and several adventurous ants climbed to the ceiling and dropped into it.  Four missed their aim and fell outside the bowl in the water.  Their companions tried in vain to rescue them, then went away and presently returned accompanied by six grenadiers, stout fellows, who immediately swam to their relief, seized them with their pincers and brought them to land.  Three were apparently dead, but the faithful fellows licked and rubbed them quite dry, rolling them over and over, stretching themselves on them, and in a truly skillful and scientific manner sought to bring back life to their benumbed bodies.  Under this treatment three came to life, while one only partly restored was carefully borne away.  ‘I have seen it’ is Du Pont de Nervours’s comment on what he thinks may be considered a marvelous story, though it seems no more wonderful to me than many well-attested facts in the lives of the little people.”

“It’s all wonderful,” Susie said.  “It seems as though they must think and reason and plan just as we do.  Don’t you think so, Auntie?”

“Indeed I do, Susie.  One who has long studied their ways ranks them next to man in the scale of intelligence, and says the brain of an ant—­no larger perhaps than a fine grain of sand—­must be the most wonderful particle of matter in the world.”