“Yes,” I said, “you may go home with me. But tell me about your Queen-Mother. What became of her?”
Then he began a fascinating story which kept me rooted to the place, desolate as it was.
“Well, it was this way: One sunny afternoon, a long time ago, our Queen-Mother went for a flight into the outer world, a thing she did but rarely—and never returned. Have you ever lived in a house without a Queen-Mother? You do not understand, then, what a terrible thing that is.”
He stopped short and would say no more.
“Please go on!” I urged.
“Some day I’ll tell you all of it. It is a long story, but for us the end was in sight. In the large economy of the universe our efforts were futile. Better for us and for the great Life of the Bee that the honey we had gathered should be conserved by strange colonies, and that our short lives should be yielded up or dedicated to strengthening them, than that it should be left rich booty to web-worms and mice. So it came to pass, you and others found out our condition and sought our stores, as it has been written you should. We fought at first, half-heartedly—as one without friends or kinsmen or home will fight. You saw the end of the battle. It is over. And now will you let me go home with you? You see I have but five legs, but I can still work and help do the things that remain to be done.”
So absorbing had been his story, I quite forgot myself, and while I answered, “I’m so sorry for you, and want you to come,” my thoughts were far away.
The things he had told me out of his life and out of the life of the colony had gone deep in my breast. Turning from him, I looked around and, lo! the hive was silent as death. Not a thing of life remained except this poor, miserable, orphaned bee. Death had come, and now stood guard over the portal of the little home where once a beautiful spirit had brooded, and where some of the laws we may not understand had come to fulfilment....
“Come with me,” I said, in a whisper.