“I forget you? Not while I live. I was outside in the night.”
“And the south wind blew? And there were stars?” he asked. “I want to look upon them once more. Help me, for I can only crawl now. My body can scarcely be carried by those four little legs, all that I have left. I don’t know how soon I shall be done for, and then—and then—”
He struggled pitifully in order to reach the front. Try as I might, I could be of no assistance to him. But by dint of perseverance he finally gained the threshold and gazed into the night. The moon had drifted far toward the west, and already the morning star shone with transcendent brilliancy. The south wind breathed ever so softly through the chaparral, as it made its way to some hidden goal; and near the borders of the lake a coyote, in staccato treble, gave warning that the dawn was near.
Crip said nothing, nor did I. How useless are words when there is perfect understanding. He came close to me, however, and put his face as near mine as he might, as though he wished to look into the very depths of my eyes.
“It is well,” he said. “I know.”
Then he turned and dragged himself into the hive. I followed closely. How sad it was to see so great a soul chained in so broken a body. I stayed by him, cheering him and encouraging him, until the bugle of the morning sounded.
“Now you must go,” he commanded. “You have your work to do. Mine is nearly finished.”
I took a turn in the fields, but there was nothing to report, save the discovery that the white brush was ready to bloom, and that the sage-brush and the broomweed promised honey.
Again, for a number of days there was little to do. Toward the noon hour the September sun blazed with midsummer intensity and the winds were stifling. This meant that a deal of water was consumed. I was assigned to help. So, back and forth to the lake I went, ever returning with my sac filled to bursting. The young bees clamored for water, and it was a delight to see them scramble for a drink. Again, the front of the hive was packed with bees idling their day away, if, indeed, it can be said that they were idle when there was nothing to be done.
Another night passed as before and still another day. Then the news resounded over the hive that the white brush was opening and that honey was in the field! There was only the meagerest supply the first day, but hungry tongues searched out the white tiny bell-shaped flowers. The next day the flow was heavier, and the third day we began to carry such quantities that the colony began “to develop a sort of delirium. Every nook and cranny was being filled, when a strange sound echoed over the hive.