1
THE farmer opened his bee-hive.
“Out with you!” he said. “The sun is shining; the flowers are blossoming everywhere and are a sheer joy to behold. Let me see you industrious now and gather me a good lot of honey which I can sell to the shopkeeper in the autumn. Many mickles make a muckle; and you know that things are looking bad with agriculture.”
“What is agriculture to us?” said the bees.
But they flew out nevertheless, for they had been in the hive all winter and were longing for a breath of fresh air. Buzzing and humming, they stretched their legs and tried their wings. They swarmed forth everywhere, crawled up and down the hive, flew off to the flowers and shrubs and walked about on the ground.
There were many hundred bees.
The queen came last. She was bigger than the others and it was she that reigned in the hive.
“Stop that nonsense now, children,” she said, “and begin to do something. A decent bee does not idle, but turns to, in a capable way, and makes good use of her time.”
Then she divided them into companies and set them to work.
“You, there, fly out and see if there is any honey in the flowers. The second company can gather pollen; and, when you come home, deliver it all nicely to the old bees indoors.”
They flew away. But all the young ones were still left. They formed the last company, for they had never been out before.
“What are we to do?” they asked.
“You? You’ve got to sweat!” said the queen. “One, two, three and to work!”
And they sweated as best they knew how and the loveliest yellow wax burst out of their bodies.
“That’s right,” said the queen. “Now we will begin to build.”
The old bees took the wax and started building a number of small hexagonal cells, all alike and close together. All the time that they were building, the others came flying up with pollen and honey, which they laid at the queen’s feet.
“Now we’ll knead the dough!” said she. “But first pour a little honey in; then it will taste better.”
They kneaded and kneaded and made nice little loaves of bee-bread, which they carried to the cells.
“Now we’ll go on building!” commanded the queen-bee. And they sweated wax and built away with a vengeance.
“I may as well begin my own work,” said the queen and heaved a deep sigh, for this was the hardest of all.
She sat down in the middle of the hive and began to lay eggs. She laid great heaps and the bees ran up, took the little eggs in their mouths and carried them into the new cells. Every egg got its own little room; and, when they were all disposed of, the queen ordered the bees to put doors to the cells and to shut them tight.
“Good!” she said, when they had finished. “Now you can build me ten big, handsome rooms at the outer edge of the hive.”
The bees did so in a trice and then the queen laid ten beautiful eggs, one in each of the big rooms, and put a door before them.
Every day, the bees flew out and in and gathered great heaps of honey and pollen; but, in the evening, when their work was done, they set the doors a little ajar and peeped in at the eggs.
“Take care!” said the queen, one day. “Now they’re coming!”
And suddenly all the eggs burst and in each cell lay a nice little baby.
“What queer creatures!” said the young bees. “Why, they have no eyes; and where are their legs and wings?”
“Those are grubs,” said the queen, “and that’s what you young green-horns yourselves once looked like. You have to be a grub before you can become a proper bee. Hurry now and give them something to eat.”
The bees hastened to feed the little young ones; but they did not all fare equally well. The ten that lay in the large rooms got as much to eat as ever they wanted and a big helping of honey was carried in to them every day.
“Those are princesses,” said the queen. “Therefore, you must treat them well. The others you can stint in their food; they are only work-people and must accustom themselves to take things as they come.”
And the poor little creatures got a small piece of bee-bread every morning and nothing more; they had to be content with that, even though they were ever so hungry.