When they had flown away to a distant tree, Edith noticed a beautiful pink rosebud, more beautiful than any she had yet seen. “Oh, how lovely you are!” she cried; and, running to the bush where it was, she bent down the branch, that she might examine it more closely, when out of the heart of the rose came a small insect and stung her pretty cheek. The little girl began to weep loudly, and ran to her father who was working in another part of the yard. “Why, my little girl!” said he, “a bee has stung you.” He drew out the sting, and bathed her swollen cheek in cool water, at the same time telling her many interesting things about the wonderful little bees.
“Do not cry any more, my child,” said her father, “and I will take you to see a kind gentleman who keeps many hives of bees.”
“Oh, thank you!” cried Edith, brushing away her tears. “I will run and get ready now.”
The bee-master, as everybody called the old man who kept the bees, was very glad to show his little pets, and to tell Edith all he knew about them. He led her to a hive, made wholly of glass, so that she might watch the bees at their work.
“There are three kinds of bees in every hive,” said the gentleman. “That large bee in the middle is the queen bee. She is the most important bee in the hive. She has a sting, but seldom makes use of it. Those busy bees are the worker bees. It was probably a worker that stung you this morning, my little girl,” said the bee-master.
Edith thought she did not like the worker bee as well as the others; but when she heard what industrious little workers they are, and how they take all the care of the young bees, build the cells of wax, and bring in the honey, she felt much more affection for them.
“What do the bees do in winter when there are no flowers from which to gather honey?” inquired Edith.
“They sleep during the long, cold winter days, and awaken when the warm spring returns,” replied her kind instructor.
“Now,” said Edith’s father, “we had better go, or you will not get to see Tommy to-day.”