“Gracious!” said Ruth.
“Now do you wonder that we can reach down into the red clover? When we went to Australia the clover not only grew, but set seeds too.”
“But,” questioned Ruth, “do different flowers have different bees to come to them, and how do you know?”
“Ah, that’s just it. A voice within us seems to whisper, ‘Go to the blossom whose heart you can best reach, feed upon its honey and take your fill of its golden dust.’ We know it to be the law, and we obey, and, even as we obey, the pollen clings to our hairy bodies, and we bear it to the next flower we visit. This is what usually happens, but sometimes,” he added, as though ashamed, “I must say, we break the law, and, finding a flower whose honey we cannot reach, we use our tongues to cut a hole in the spot where we know the nectar is hidden and enter from the outside. Plainly speaking, it is the way of the thief, getting our feast without paying for it. For the bee who takes it so carries away no pollen, and an honest bee should never act so. Now perhaps you would like to know how we bumble bees began life? I am sure the little girl would.” And Ruth nodded an emphatic “Yes.”
“We do not live all Winter, as honey bees do. Only a few queens sleep through the cold months, and they do not need food; so while we make a little honey to eat in Summer, we do not lay by any stores for Winter, and naturally we make no combs. What looks like them are the silken cocoons our babies spin. If I were a queen, I wouldn’t be here. Queens have too much work to do to be abroad in Summer. You may see them in the early Spring flying about and hunting up good home sites. A hole under a log is often chosen, and gathering nectar and pollen the queen carries it to this underground palace. In the mass she lays an egg, then gathers more, in which she also lays an egg. In this way her house is soon full. When the eggs hatch, the babies eat the pollen and nectar they find around them. I was just such a baby, and, being a gentleman, I haven’t much to do. I shall probably marry a queen some day, but now I simply play in the sunshine. We bumble bees belong to the social branch of the family, but there are many bees who live alone. They all follow trades. There is the carpenter, who isn’t furry like us, but black and shiny. She can bore right into solid wood and make cells for her eggs. Then there are the miners, who burrow into the ground, and the masons, who make nests out of grains of sand glued together, or out of clay or mud. Some of the carpenters line their nests with pieces of leaves, which they cut out with their sharp jaws. They have been called upholsterers and they——”
“This is all very interesting,” interrupted a honey bee, “but really I must speak now. I have so much to say, and my work is waiting.”
“Talk, by all means,” answered Sir Bumble Bee, gallantly. “I am a gentleman, and I always yield to ladies.”
“Thank you, but I can’t call myself a lady. I am just a worker honey bee. My name is Apis Mellifica, but I do belong to a wonderful family. I will admit that. We are the greatest wax makers in the world. I heard somebody once say that bees are always in a hurry, while butterflies seem to take their time. Now there’s a good reason for that. Butterflies haven’t any work to do. They do not even see their children, and never take care of them, while bees have thousands of babies to feed and look after. Then you must know we clean house every day, for we are extremely neat housekeepers. We clean ourselves also, and we have combs and brushes for that purpose.”
The words combs and brushes seemed to have quite an effect on the bees and ants in the audience, and many began to make their toilets, Miss Apis among them. They looked so very funny that Ruth laughed outright, but she quickly settled down to listen, as Miss Apis, feeling herself quite clean, said briskly:
