“How would the boy have liked to have had his wings torn off,” said Honeyball, “for the amusement of some creature stronger than himself?”
“Men and boys are worse than hornets,” muttered Waxywill.
“But we have found one of human-kind,” hummed Silverwing cheerfully, “who could be merciful even to a bee. Perhaps in the world there may be others like her, too noble, too generous to use their strength to torture and destroy what cannot resist them.”
Waxywill and Honeyball now took their departure—I fear rather for their own pleasure than for the benefit of the hive; as Waxywill was not in a humour to work, and Honeyball was always in a humour to idle. As soon as they had flown out of reach of hearing, poor Sipsyrup said, in a very dull tone,—
“I wonder what is to become of me now, poor unhappy insect that I am. I fear that I shall never be able to fly; and to live on here in this wretched way is almost worse than to be eaten by a spider.”
“Oh, you should not say so,” replied gentle Silverwing; “you can still crawl about, and you are safe in your own home.”
“Safe!—I am miserable! With what pleasure I had thought of joining the first swarm that should fly off. I am tired of the hive—this noisy, bustling hive—I have lost everything that I cared for, everything that made life pleasant—my beauty, my strength, my power of flying; I have nothing left—”
“But your duties,” added Silverwing; “make them your pleasures. My dear friend, if you no more can be pretty, you may still be useful; if you no more can be admired, you can still be loved. You may not be able to go far, or to see much; but there are better joys to be found in your own home.”
Before the night closed, both the little nurse-bees were busy feeding the larvæ.