Mary and I had watched bees outside and we had looked into lots of hives and, of course, had learned a little about indoor bee ways. But ever since we got Fuzzy's glass-sided house built and a community of pretty amber-bodied gentle Italians living in it, we have never got over being sorry for ourselves in the old days and sorry for other people all the time. For it is so easy and sure, so vastly entertaining and utterly fascinating to sit quietly and comfortably in chairs (one of us on each side) for hours together and see all the many things that go on in the bee's house. The bees are not disturbed in the slightest by our having the black cloth jacket off of the hive and by the light shining in through the great window-like sides of the house, nor by Mary's bright eyes and my round spectacles staring ever so hard at them.
We have seen the queen lay her eggs, the little bees hatch out, the nurse bees feed them, the foragers come in and dance their whirling dervish dance and unload their baskets of pollen and sacs of honey, the wax-makers hang in heavy festoons and make wax, the carrying bees carry the wax to the comb-builders, and the comb-builders build comb of it, the house-cleaners and the ventilators clean house and ventilate, and the guards stopping intruders at the door. We have heard the piping of the new queens in their big thimble-like cells, and seen them come out, and the terrible excitement and sometimes awful tragedy that follows; we have seen the wild ecstasy that comes before swarming out, and the swarming itself begin in the house; we have looked in at night and found some of the bees resting, but others working, and always some on guard; we have seen the lazy drones loaf all the morning and then swing out on their midday flight and come back and fall to drinking honey again; we have seen a great battle when our gentle Italians fought like demons and repulsed a fierce attack of foraging black Germans, and again a nomad band of yellow-jackets; and we have seen the provident workers kill the drones and even drag young worker bees from their cells when the first cold weather comes on. We have seen, in truth, a very great deal of all the wonderful life that these wise and versatile little creatures live in their nearly perfect cooperative community. But above all we have followed with special interest and affectionate pride the education and experiences of Fuzzy, our most particular friend in all the thousands of our gentle Italian family.
Fuzzy must have been very glad to get out finally from her tight, dark, little cell and into the airy, light hive, with all of her sisters and brothers moving around so lively and busily. And she must have been especially delighted when she went to the open door of the house for a peek out—for she wasn't allowed really to go outdoors for exactly eight days—and saw the beautiful arcades of the outer Quadrangle underneath her and the red-tiled roof on a level with her, and then the great eucalyptus trees and the beautiful live-oaks in the field beyond, and far off on the horizon the crest of the distant mountains, with the giant redwoods standing up against the sky-line. You have a glimpse in Sekko's picture of all this that Fuzzy saw that day. That is, if she could see so much. I am afraid she couldn't.
"But what are those other bees doing to her," cried Mary in some alarm, as two or three workers crowded around Fuzzy just as she came from her cell. "Are they trying to bite her?"
"Not the least in the world," I hasten to answer reassuringly. "Just look sharp and you will see." And Mary did look sharp and did see. And she clapped her hands with glee. "Why, they are licking her with their long tongues; cleaning her, just as a cat does her little kittens," sang Mary. Which was exactly so. For a bee just out from its nursery cell is a very mussed-up looking, and, I expect, rather dirty little creature. And it needs cleaning.
It was soon after Fuzzy had got cleaned and had her hair brushed and had begun to wander around in an aimless way in the glass-sided house that we got hold of her and dabbed the spot of white paint on her back. We did it this way. She had walked up to just under the roof of the house near where you see (in Sekko's picture) one of the cork-stoppers sticking up like a little chimney-pot. These corks stop up two round holes in the roof which we had made for the express purpose of putting things,—other insects, say,—into the hive to see what the bees would do with them, and also to take out a bee when we wanted to experiment with it. When Fuzzy got up just under one of the holes, we took the cork-stopper out gently and thus let her come walking slowly up and out on top of the roof. Then we caught and held her very gently with a pair of flat-bladed tweezers, and put the white paint on. Then we dropped her back through the hole and put the cork in its hole.
We watched Fuzzy for a long time after she came out of her cell that day, and although she walked about a great deal, she only once ventured near the real door or entrance-slit of the hive through which the foraging bees were constantly coming and going. And next day we watched many hours and looked often between regular watching times, always finding Fuzzy in the house. And so for eight days. And then she made her first excursion outside.
It was interesting to watch her on this eighth day. She would fly a little way out, then turn around and come in. Then she would fly out farther, turn around, hover a little in front of the window, and finally come in again. A lot of other young bees were doing the same thing. They seemed to be getting acquainted with things around the door of the house so they would know how to find it when they came back from a long trip. On the ninth day Fuzzy brought in her first loads of pollen, two great masses of dull rose-red pollen held securely in the pollen-baskets on her hind legs. And after that she brought many other loads of pollen and later sacs of honey.
But you must not imagine that Fuzzy was idle during all those eight days before she went outside of the glass house. Not a bit of it. No bees are idle. But yes, the drones. Big, blunt-bodied, hairy, blundersome creatures that move slowly about over the combs. Not over the nursery combs where there is work to be done, feeding and caring for the young bees. Dear me, no. But over the pantry combs. They keep close to the honey-pots and bread-jars. But even they have their work. Each day from spring into late summer they all, or nearly all, fly out about eleven o'clock and circle and traverse the air for long distances in search of queens. Then in the early afternoon they come back and fall to sipping honey again.