A second is still at her first row of bricks. The cell as yet is no
more than a shallow cup, containing no provisions. I make a big hole
in the bottom of the cup and the Bee hastens to stop the breach. She
was busy building and turned aside a moment to do more building. Her
repairs are the continuation of the work on which she was engaged.

A third has laid her egg and closed the cell. While she is gone in
search of a fresh supply of cement to strengthen the door, I make a
large aperture immediately below the lid, too high up to allow the
honey to escape. The insect, on arriving with its mortar intended for
a different task, sees its broken jar and soon puts the damage right.
I have rarely witnessed such a sensible performance. Nevertheless, all
things considered, let us not be too lavish of our praises. The insect
was busy closing up. On its return, it sees a crack, representing in
its eyes a bad join which it had overlooked; it completes its actual
task by improving the join.

The conclusion to be drawn from these three instances, which I select
from a large number of others, more or less similar, is that the
insect is able to cope with emergencies, provided that the new action
be not outside the course of its actual work at the moment. Shall we
say then that reason directs it? Why should we? The insect persists in
the same psychic course, it continues its action, it does what it was
doing before, it corrects what to it appears but a careless flaw in
the work of the moment.

Here, moreover, is something which would change our estimate entirely,
if it ever occurred to us to look upon these repaired breaches as a
work dictated by reason. Let us turn to the second class of emergency
referred to above: let us imagine, first, cells similar to those in