CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Fight with the Web Worms
We reached home quickly and were making our way along the combs, when I was accosted by a pretentious bee.
“It’s your turn to nurse. Come with me. This shall be your section. These little ones are to be fed to-night.”
“Well, with what shall I feed them?” I asked, impulsively, somewhat irritated to think that I, a honey-gatherer, should be set at such a task.
In answer to my question I got only a look; but I shall not forget it—it was withering. I felt ashamed of myself; and I resolved never again to question an assignment of duty.
Immediately I set about my task. Without thinking, I peeped into two or three cells and found that the bees allotted to me were but four days old. Miraculous as it may seem, while I knew nothing about preparing food for the young, I fell to it with zest. Taking a supply of honey from one cell, I sought one stored with pollen; and there, without ceremony, I began to mix honey and bread, making a thin paste to which I had to add ever so little water. Then I placed the least bit of it in each of the cells of my section. The tiny worm-like bees began to wriggle, so I knew at once that I had succeeded in my task.
Several days now rolled away in comparative idleness. The great storm had completely washed out the supplies of honey, leaving the flowers draggled and broken. We busied ourselves with chores about the hive and with flights into the fields, ever on the scout for sweets. For my part, I was set to filling up a hole in the uppermost corner of the hive. At the moment it was serving as a ventilator. A little stream of air was constantly flowing out of it; but the cold weather was on its way and the time had come to stop the hole. With winter once fallen, it would be too late.