Happy: The life of a bee

by Walter Flavius McCaleb

“He has been dreaming in his rose-garden,” commented Crip, when the Master had nearly finished his examination. “That is the reason he has neglected us of late. He did not know there had been a great flow of honey.”

We were talking among ourselves, when up came Buzz-Buzz, angry from the smoke in his eyes.

“A fine lot this fellow,” he growled.

“You don’t like him?” I asked.

He just looked at us. He was too irritated to speak.

“He’ll get over it,” mused Crip.

We were still holding converse when again the top came off and one by one the Master lifted out our combs and robbed them of their honey. They were battered and broken and empty when he restored them to us. We were all infuriated, and for a while flew madly about him and about the Little Master—the dog kept at a respectful distance—straining every effort to drive them away. But the Little One only smoked us the more, while the Master went on with his work. He was careful to kill no bee, brushing off every one of them before taking away the combs of honey, and while returning them.

Quickly it was all over. When he had gone we at once took stock and found that he had left us quite enough to carry us through the winter, barring accident. But almost before the appraisal had been made a catastrophe was upon us. The honey from a broken comb had flooded the bottom-board, and began to pour out through the entrance onto the ground, and robber bees were shortly upon it. We summoned all our guards for our protection, but the robbers in thousands came, and in spite of our resistance they forced their way into the hive and began to plunder at random. Poor old Crip even mixed in the mêlée, fighting like a veteran, while I, beaten and trampled, finally lay senseless on the floor.

We should have been lost but for the thoughtfulness of the Master, who, returning to see that all was well, found us besieged and overrun. He quietly closed the entrance to our hive, and thus left us to clear it of the marauders within doors, which we did promptly, although at heavy cost in the lives of our brothers. An hour later he returned and opened ever so slightly our door. Although a few robbers still lingered and endeavored to force an entrance, they were easily beaten off. In the mean time we carefully cleaned up the spilled honey which had nearly been our undoing—and the battle was over.