AS IT LOOKED TO HAPPY FROM THE KNOLL

HAPPY
The LIFE OF A BEE

by
Walter Flavius McCaleb

Illustrations
and Decorations
by
Clement B. Davis

HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON

Happy: the Life of a Bee

Copyright, 1917, by Harper & Brothers
Printed in the United States of America
Published April, 1917

D-R

To My Mother

Contents

Foreword

Years ago, banished into the far Rio Grande region, I became a keeper of bees. As a child I had loved them, even caressed them, and many a time have I held them one and a hundred at once in my hands. I knew their every mind and their wilful ways; I loved their sweet contrarieties, their happy acceptation of the inevitable, and their joyous facing of life.

So it came about that, grown older, I returned to my old engagements, and, far from human habitation, amid the wild, brush-set wilderness enveloping Lake Espantoso, I built my house and brought my bees. And, too, there came with me a little Shadow, and at his heels a shepherd-dog. There, in that land of boundless spaces, we waited and watched and dreamed.

The years went by silently, uneventfully—day following day noiselessly, as sounds die in the sea. Spring came with its bounty of flowers; and fast on the trail of retreating winter they leaped forth in multitudes: daisy and phlox and poppy and bluebonnet and Indian feather and anemone all tossed their heads and flung their beautiful wings into the sunlight. The earth was sweet with the wild, fresh sweetness of flowers. Even the cacti and the brush blossomed like roses of Cashmere, hiding their thorns amid a profusion of loveliness.

Then the winter came, brief, primordial in its changes. The brown earth and the brown-gray sweep of the horizon, stretching inimitably away, wakened in rueful contrast to the riot of the vernal months.

Season after season went by until, indeed, I seemed but a ghost fluttering in and out among the whirling days. Overhead a sky of perennial blue; in my face the winds from every zone, and in my ears the somnolent sounds of the years gone to dust. I was overwhelmed by the impalpable significance of the primeval world—and by the mysterious unfoldings of life.

Hours at a time I sat amid my little brothers, the bees, now and again catching up the harmonies of their existence and marveling much at the divine rhythm of their speech. The longer I sat and brooded the more I grew into their lives, until I seemed to know their every mood and to sound the mysteries of their being.

They seemed to know me and to love me. Often in their flight, tired and overladen, they would rest for a moment on my sleeve, and then away. Many a one did I raise from the earth where he had fallen—all too like our fellow-mortals—weighted down by burdens too heavy to bear. And how happy I was to see them, with ever so little help, again take wing and fly heartened to their homes. I have sometimes thought that, after all, men are but bees in their ultimate essence.

Thus, with the passing years, I, a keeper of bees, came to be one of them; and even now, though far distant, I wander in dreams through the open aisles about which their white houses cluster, and through that sweet rose-garden.

My cottage was framed in roses. Clambering Maréschal Neills, yellow as the sun; and Augusta Victorias, white as the snows of dead winters, leaned upon the walls; and all about varieties innumerable and known only to my mother, lifted their heads and prayed for the fulfilment of the law.

One rose there was of all roses the most beautiful. She called it the Queen of the Prairie. Red it was as the blood of the martyrs; and, huge as a lotus leaf, it blew the most wonderful of flowers. Here was my special pride. I loved it because of her hands; I loved it because it aspired toward perfection.

Early in a morning now gone—a gorgeous spring dawning—I rose and went into the garden, as was my wont. The sun had not yet risen, and there was in the air a brooding, a sound of far-away symphonies. From rose to rose I turned, until presently I came to the most marvelous of them all. Wonderful beyond words, I drew it to me—a Queen of the Prairie. I breathed its fragrance, thrilled at its beauty, when, with a start, I saw deep within the folds of its heart a little bee, drowsing in sleep. I could but gaze and wonder, and while I gazed one leg quivered a moment and then was still.

It is the story of his life that I would tell.

I plucked the rose and bore it away with me; and even now, as I write, its crumbled leaves lie over him in a memorial urn; and I shall be happy if I have truly caught the meaning of his life, which carried with it so much of the sweetness of endeavor, so much of the joy of living, and so much of love for the Kingdom of Light.

Beechhurst, Long Island,
March, 1917.

HAPPY
THE LIFE OF A BEE

CHAPTER ONE
The Awakening

My name is “Happy”—at least that is what the bees have always called me; and well I remember the first time I heard the word. I suppose I was joyfully flapping my wings at having emerged, white and feeble, but a living being, from the darkness of my cell, when I heard a queer, thin voice saying: “He[1] isn’t a minute old, and yet what a fuss he’s making with his wings! Let’s call him ‘Happy’!”

All around I could hear little noises of approval; any number of strange faces came hurrying to look me over; two or three actually jostled me, and one even drew his tongue across my face—and for the first time I tasted honey. I found out afterward that this was the customary salutation to all newly-born bees. Of course I was too young to appreciate all they said and did, and I soon forgot the jubilation, for I happened, in my wanderings, upon a cell brimming with honey, and, without asking permission, I ate and ate until I could not hold another mouthful.

Then a strange drowsiness seized me, and I scarcely knew which way to turn. But I fell in with what I afterward learned were nurse bees, and they took me in charge. Presently, hanging fast to the comb with my half-a-dozen legs, I fell asleep.

Wonderful things had happened in a very few minutes. It seemed to me, as I began to drowse and the light to fade, that once more I was falling asleep in my cell, whence I had so shortly emerged. The something that had awakened within me, that had caused me to turn round and round in my cell, and that had cried gently in my ear, “See the light—cut your way through the door and live,” sang me to sleep.

When I awoke, for a moment I imagined I was still in my cell. I thought I could hear my neighbors, on all sides of me, biting at the wax doors that closed them in, and that I could see the thin, transparent shutters giving way before the eager heads which appeared in the doorways—tiny, whitish-black heads, with huge eyes that slowly issued from the dungeon-like cells. I, too, unconsciously trying my mandibles, must have been biting on the combs about me, for presently I was stopped by an important-looking bee that cried, sharply, “What are you about, youngster?”

He was rough to me, but I had learned that one must not bite the combs just for the pleasure of biting; it began to dawn on me that it cost infinite labor to build the thousands of little six-sided houses which, laid side by side, made up the combs of our hive. And almost before I knew it, I came to have vast respect for all the things I could see about me, for the things I felt lay out there in the unexplored depths of our home, and for the things which existed only in the consciousness of the colony.

I was still so young I walked but feebly; but everywhere I was greeted as a brother. Some of the little fellows climbed over me in their hurry; some of them, hustling about me, almost knocked me from the combs; and one actually stopped me, mumbling something I could not understand; but his meaning was soon made clear. I suppose he said:

“I see you are a novice; you have on your swaddling-clothes. This will never do. I must clean you up.”

Whereat he proceeded, in spite of my protest, to lick me all over and to rub my legs and body, saying, “This white powder must come off; you can’t stand here looking like that; you must get busy and be a real bee!”

When he had finished with me I found that I was no longer so wobbly, that my wings moved more freely, and, to my astonishment, a smart little bee came up to me and said:

“I note that you are changed; you are no longer grayish-white, but look like everybody else; your eyes are gray-black, a little delicate fuzz is in the middle of your back, and beautiful alternating black and gold bands make up the rest of your body. You look like a real somebody.”

Then he hurried on, and I heard him make the same speech to another bee.

Still heeding the small voice, I had gone but a little way on my round of exploration when I plumped into the biggest bee! He was in such a hurry he nearly ran me down. As he passed I saw on his two rearmost legs great balls of yellow-looking stuff.

“Out of the way!” he called. “The bread-man! The bread-man!”

Every one seemed to have understood except me, and even I, a moment later, heard the cry and gave way to a newly-arrived bread-man. Just what character of bee he was I had yet to learn, and little did I then dream that I, too, should one day be a bread-man, carrying great baskets of bread on my legs.

By this time I was again hungry, and presently, as I traversed a white strip of comb, I came upon a great store—cell after cell, like a thousand open pots, full to overflowing with honey. I was on the point of helping myself when I was turned away.

“This is not to be eaten,” a worker said. “We are ripening it and soon it will be sealed for the winter. On over there you will find some.”

He was busy and gave no further heed to me, but as I turned away I noticed fully a hundred bees standing ever so still—fanning, fanning with their wings the open cells to hasten the ripening processes. He left unanswered my wish to know what the ripening of honey meant—and the winter.

As indicated by the worker, I soon found plenty of honey and quite gorged myself. This time I took away with me a supply in my honey-sac. Again I felt sleepy, and started back to my cell. Finally I reached it. I was dumfounded to find that it had been over-hauled and that the bread-men had filled it with shining yellow loaves. Wondering, I fell asleep hanging between the combs. The last sound that I heard had been a long, low murmur, which afterward I came to know to be the voice of my hive singing an immemorial hymn, a hymn, I have been told, the bees have sung for a hundred times a thousand years.

[1] It is well known that all worker bees are females. But I have changed Happy to the other sex. Here I have taken a liberty, warranted, I think, under the circumstances.—The Author.

CHAPTER TWO
The Cell House

How long I slept I cannot say, but I was awakened by a sharp blow which nearly knocked me from the combs. So nearly was I toppled over that I seized the first thing my feet fell upon. I felt immediately, by the way I was being dragged about, that I had grappled something dangerous; and imagine my consternation when I succeeded in opening my eyes! I was holding fast to the biggest bee that ever lived. Many of the same kind I have seen since that awakening, but none ever looked so terrible. When I had managed to loose my hold on this monster and stood fairly on the combs, I asked the nearest bee:

“Who is that?”

“Nobody; he is just a drone.”

“Please, then, what are drones?” for I had developed a wholesome respect for one of them.

“A drone is a great, worthless bee that won’t work. They stand around the hive until the time comes for them to die. He is nearly the last. For almost a month we have been driving them away, and when they won’t go sometimes we sting them. You see, they never work and are useless. Of an afternoon they fly up into the sky with a deal of buzzing. Sometimes they follow the Queen into the deep of heaven. If they would stop there! But worse than that, they bluster about over the hive and eat a lot of honey. Besides, they get in the way and are just a nuisance.”

I was listening very intently to this speech, when the very same drone that had collided with me came tearing past me with two mad workers clinging to his wings.

“Poor fellow,” I cried, “are they driving you away?”

He headed straight for me, as though a friend had come to his rescue, and the next thing I knew I began to fall and fall, until I landed plump on the bottom-board of the hive.

In all my life I never fell quite so far again, although once I was high in the air with a great load of honey when a whirlwind caught me and hurled me to the earth. You see, I then knew nothing of distance.

I got up on my legs as quickly as I could and staggered about a bit, trying to get my bearings. Now, indeed, I had gone a long way from the tiny cell-house where I was born; but strangely enough, I knew the way back to it without even thinking. I had, up to that time, moved but a few inches away from it, but suddenly the world seemed to have yawned and swallowed me up. However, I quickly regained my composure, for around me bees were running, humming strange words as they went; and over me I could hear the croon of the nurse bees and other sounds which were still foreign and mysterious.

Without even thinking of the direction I took, I started on the way back to my cell. Crawling along the bottom-board until I reached the side of the hive, I climbed up it until I came to a bridge of comb stretching to a frame, and a moment later I was crossing from comb to comb, and, ere long, to my great joy, stood on the spot whence I had started. In my passage I had met hundreds and hundreds of my brothers, none of whom seemed glad to see me, although I thought a few stopped to watch me stumbling along on my way. However, I now know that not one actually paused from his work. The world they live in is too full of duties and the dark days of winter are always too close at hand, while eternally is sounding in their ears the refrain, “Work, work, for the frost is coming.”

I went round and round the cell which had been my house. I couldn’t make out why I did this, because I was absolutely sure of my location. Still, to make doubly sure, I even thrust my head into the doorway and scented the bread with which it had been filled. There still remained about it a curious odor, which I never forgot, and at this late day, with my eyes closed, I could find my cell—perhaps not by the smell, but through the same divining sense that has led me across ten thousand fields and streams and hills to my home again. I found, however, that I had been a little bruised by my fall. The foremost leg on my right side was hurting me. It had probably been sprained when I struck the bottom-board. I began to claw at it, when a bee interrupted who seemed to understand what troubled me. Forthwith he laid hold of the lame leg and pulled and pushed it unceremoniously, and presently, without a word, went on his way. I found immediately that it gave me no further pain, and I was engaged in licking my other legs when I seemed suddenly to grow sleepy and in a trice I planted myself on a comb and prepared to sleep.

If I really slumbered, it could not have been long, for when I began to drowse a bread-man was busy taking the yellow pollen from the baskets on his hindmost legs, and when I wakened he was just drawing himself out of the cell where he had stored it away. In fact, I saw him at the moment packing it down.

“What are you doing?” I asked, sleepily.

“Can’t you see?” he answered.

Then it all dawned on me. It was interesting to watch him draw himself out and thrust himself in, head-on, battering down the loaves of bread.

“Why does he do that?” I ventured, of a bee that seemed to be loitering.

“In order that he may store a great deal in the cell, so that it will keep through the cold, wet months when there are no flowers. Bread comes from flowers, you know.”

“Flowers! What are flowers?” I cried. “And bread?”

“You shall learn for yourself,” he answered, patiently, turning away.

CHAPTER THREE
Mysteries

I thought he might have answered my questions, but, without knowing why, I started off on an excursion, and surprised myself at feeling so much stronger. At least I could scamper along without swaying and staggering and clutching at every bee and thing I met. I began to feel brave and big.

As I went forward I encountered a stream of workers. They were humming a home-coming song as they hurried up the combs to deposit their loads of honey. I overheard some of them saying that the dark had dropped on them suddenly out of a cloud and that rain had begun to fall. I could not then understand what terrors were couched in these words—rain and darkness—else I might better have appreciated the thanksgiving hymn which these late-returning, rain-draggled workers were uttering. In days to come I was to learn what danger meant, for more than once I, too, was forced to flee before a storm in the growing blackness, bearing a load almost too much for my wings; and to spend a night in the woods, hiding as best I might under a leaf, and quaking at the nameless fears that beat about me in the gloom. There was no comfort even in the tiny lights that glowed over my head, nor in the small voices that called to me in the night. It was not fear that I should be lost that oppressed me, but that the load I had gathered with so much travail should never reach the storehouse upon which the life of the colony depended, for food was necessary to life. And life? I knew naught of it. But was it consciousness of imperative duty that made me shake in every passing wind? Even to this day my own life has given me no concern. I scarcely know that I have any interest in living, apart from serving, apart from the lives of these, my little brothers.

I noticed as I moved onward that the workers brought home no pollen. Their baskets were empty. I thought this strange and inquired about it, learning that the flowers yield pollen more freely in the morning; that the sun, wind, and insects tend to dissipate it, and that, therefore, bread was largely gathered in the early hours. I also learned that as a food it was far less important than honey; and that honey, too, was more abundant when the day was young. I knew that the incoming hordes were now laden with honey, and instinctively where it was carried, for my own sac was still stuffed nearly to bursting.

On I went without thinking, at each turn facing laden and singing workers. It never occurred to me that my progress would eventually lead me to the door of the hive, which was the boundary between my home and the wide universe that spread away to the stars. Many things there were that stopped me on the way. The last laden workers had passed, and I found myself still wandering on. The night song of the hive was already submerging the hymn of the late-arriving workers; but the two were strangely commingling, the one flowing into the other, even as the shades of twilight merge with the dark.

A mysterious feeling was creeping over me. I felt as though something imponderable was pressing upon me. Suddenly a whiff of air dashed in my face and I stopped, stricken with an indefinable fear. Then, the reassuring note of the guards at the door brought again my courage, and boldly I walked out into the night.

Several of the guards ran up to me, smelling me strangely, then let me pass. I must have been wandering as in a trance; all around me the night lay black and the soft wind shook my wings, and the little stars seemed hanging just over my head. I was seized with a wild desire to try my wings, to fly into the beckoning unknown. But my wings could not lift me, and happily one of the guards, seeing me approach too near the edge of the alighting-board, cautioned me and suggested my going back into the hive.

As I turned in I cast one long look back into the great black space that lay outside, and wondered and wondered. Overhead the sprinkled lights, like flowers in the gardens of heaven, leaned a little wistfully toward the earth; and near, ever so near it seemed, a wonderfully bright light shone, calling me to fly into its embrace.

“What is that?” I asked of the gentle guard.

“The Master’s lamp,” he said.

The Master’s lamp! What might that be? But I asked no more questions. There was too much of mystery around me. I clambered over the combs as rapidly as I might, back to my cell; but even there it was a long time before I slept, so spellbound was I, so stirred to the depths. Vast harmonies seemed athrob in the outer world, and one dim undercurrent of tone, the night song of my hive, ebbed and flowed ceaselessly around me. Gradually I seemed to lose my identity and to merge with the spirit of the things about me.

In a flash I felt that I was no longer just a helpless little bee, floating about in the maze of life, intent on my own purposes, bound no whither, owning no duties and driven by no destinies. Up to the moment I had given no concern to things beyond dipping into honey-cells for food, to exploring the house in which I found myself, to groping about with eyes wide and ears that missed no sound. But now I had been shaken with new desires. I seemed to have climbed out of myself, even as I had crawled out of my cell on that other day, now but a memory—so far away it seemed. My thoughts, my activities, my soul were no longer my own—they belonged to my little brothers buzzing in the alcoves or busy with endless tasks which I seemed to know without knowing.

CHAPTER FOUR
The First Flight

My sleep was interrupted by I know not what strange dreams or fantasies. I suppose I was shaking my wings or my legs unduly, when a kindly nurse laid her hands on me.

“What troubles you?” she asked.

I did not immediately answer, because I was at a loss for a reply and seemed still to be clinging to the edge of things. Such wonderful vistas had been opened to me, I suppose I acted like one entranced.

“I don’t know,” I answered at last.

“Wake up a bit, then.”

Again I seemed quite alone, although all around me hundreds of my brothers were sleeping, or working at their manifold tasks.

It was still very dark, but I began to move about drowsily, giving no heed to the way. From comb to comb I clambered, passing over unexplored regions. Presently I came to what was clearly the outermost comb. I saw a lot of workers tugging and pulling at the cells. I stopped and watched them. Each cell had its bee or bees busily engaged upon it. They would seize the sides of it with their sharp mandibles, and, by dint of biting and drawing, extend it little by little. I could see that it was a laborious process, this building of comb. I was standing quite still, looking on and meditating, when, without ceremony, one of the comb-builders rushed up to me and began to touch my body, then left as suddenly as he had come. Instantly I was inclined to resent this treatment, and called to him as he turned:

“What is all this about?”

He did not stop to answer, and I was left to discover that he had mistaken me for a comb-grower. Just what that meant I was soon brought to understand.

Hours passed and still I hung around the comb-builders, until I felt that I had mastered the secret of the art. Then slowly I turned and made my way back to my home cell, tired, but greatly pleased with my experiences.

I suppose I must have slept, for with startling suddenness it dawned on me that the night had passed. The faintest light was coming into our hive, and over the whole colony there was ringing the early summons to the field. The cry caught me and unconsciously I moved forward with the workers, a solid stream of them making way to the entrance. I, too, passed out, and once more—now the full dawn upon me—stopped upon the alighting-board and flapped my wings, essaying flight, only to find that I could not lift myself.

I was distressed and sick at heart. I wanted to go—I knew not where; but instead, there I was, an obstruction; and I could not immediately re-enter the hive on account of the outward press of workers. The growing light, and then the sudden burst of the sun, quite fascinated me. Besides this, the flight of a thousand of my brothers, each taking the note of the field-worker when about to embark, filled me with longing to go into the wide world that spread around and that called me with infinitely tender phrases.

I suppose I was acting strangely, as well as blockading the entrance, when one of the guards mildly remonstrated with me and suggested my re-entering the hive. By this time practically all the veteran honey-gatherers had gone, and indeed those first out were beginning to return, chanting the song that tells of a successful foray into the fields. So, following the mandate of the guard, I seized the opportunity of falling in the wake of a laden bee. Instinctively I followed him.

He rushed along like mad, darting into the hive, and then over the bottom-board to a point where a bridge of wax stretched downward within his reach. Up it he scampered, with me at his heels, until he came to the very spot where the workers had been building cells the night before. Finding one to his liking, he buried himself in it, and in a moment had emptied his sac, depositing the honey at the bottom of the cell. Before I could turn around from inspecting what he had done he had gone. He appeared delighted to think he had been one of the first to return with a load, and as he went out I heard him calling aloud to his fellows to follow him, for he had found a new rich harvest field.

I hurried along and reached the alighting-board in time to see him fly, closely pursued by half-a-dozen eager workers. I rambled about on the alighting-board, constantly buzzing my wings for I knew not what reason, when I overheard one say:

“There’s that Happy again!”

It made no difference to me, for I was determined to stay to watch the incoming bees, and presently the worker I had followed inside returned and, at the briefest intervals, those that had gone with him. And now a real sensation was astir. These half-a-dozen all began to cry aloud:

“Hurry—hurry—honey—honey.”

In the briefest space a multitude was flying over the field to I knew not what rich storehouse. Indeed, every worker, on returning, was told the great news, and from one I gathered that a colony was being robbed, that something tremendous had happened. The Queen had died!

I knew not what robbery meant, nor had I ever heard the word queen.

“What is a queen?” I asked.

One of the guards stared at me impatiently. “You had better go inside.”

I refused to comply with the suggestion; on the contrary, I remained where I was, ever and anon flapping my wings, and presently to my overpowering joy I felt my body being lifted off my legs, and without thinking I rose in the air! It was a wonderful sensation. I hardly knew what I was doing, but back and forth I flew about our hive, looking and looking to make sure I should know it when I returned; for now, indeed, I felt my soul bounding within me and that the wide world, upon which I had yearningly gazed, was about to swallow me up. Back and forth I flew, ever widening the distance, taking into view other white-faced hives and trees and houses, until presently, in a long spiral I rose into the heavens. Up and up I went toward the sun, glorying in the power of wings and the infinite grandeur of the world that spread out below me. How far away it seemed and how cool and green and inviting! I could hear around me strange noises, mingled with the whirring of wings. The note of my hive now and again faintly broke on my ears, and I knew that my brothers were traveling the airy spaces, working ever toward a goal far removed from thinking.

I did not feel lonely at all, but after a time I decided to return to my house to make sure that I knew the way. You would be surprised to know how straight I came back to it. Down and down I dropped into the bee-yard, and, turning right and left, without further thought I landed on the alighting-board. Immediately a guard fell upon me, but passed me without question. Then, with glee bubbling in my soul, I fled into the hive and set up such a buzzing for joy as I think none ever surpassed.

CHAPTER FIVE
Robbery

Now that I had taken my first flight into the blue, I felt at last that the world had truly opened for me, and that I was a real bee with duties and responsibilities—and without hesitation I accepted them. Rushing around in uncontrolled delight, I heard again the laden workers murmuring about the great stores of honey they were taking. It seemed, from what I could gather, that practically all the workers of the hive were directing their course to this new, rich field.

I was listening as hard as ever I might to all this converse, when an important bee cried out:

“Why don’t you get to work?”

Up to that moment I had done nothing nor had I even then thought of it, but at the suggestion I made off, following to the entrance and then into the air a worker bound for the unknown treasure-field. I got off a little more slowly than he, but to my surprise I found I could easily outfly him. We had gone but a short distance when he began to descend, and, with no ceremony, landed at the same instant on the alighting-board of a strange hive where a thousand bees were struggling. I discovered immediately that many of the bees around were strangers to me and that all acted like mad—pushing, pulling, and fighting. Some were struggling to get in and some to get out. I saw at once that those outward bound were heavily laden with honey, and that they had to fight the hungry bees scrambling for a taste of the nectar. I collided with an old fellow heavily loaded and was about to attack him, when he hurled me aside. I was now aflame with the passion of acquisition. Honey I must have, even if it cost my life!

I scrambled along with the rest to get in and finally succeeded. But there the trouble began. Whether it was because I looked young or was really ignorant of the procedure, the first thing I knew a bad-tempered, elderly bee attacked me. I learned long afterward that he was one of the last survivors of the colony, fighting to the end. First, he seized me by the leg, but I kicked him off; then, undaunted, he got me by the wing in such a way that I could not shake him, and the next thing I knew he was about to sting me. Other bees were rushing pell-mell over us. I felt the tiniest prick of his stinger, and then with a supreme effort I escaped his clutches. I rushed away from the spot and soon came upon a batch of honey over which it appeared ten thousand bees were quarreling and fighting. Without thinking, I fell into the scrimmage and by some chance finally landed on a half-filled cell, and into it I plunged.

Here my troubles began afresh. Hundreds of bees piled on top of me and all but drowned me in the honey I was intent on possessing. For a minute my head was buried in it and I began to strangle. But by a mighty effort I escaped.

It was almost as difficult to get out of the hive as it was in; and on my return journey a hungry, malevolent bee intercepted me and demanded that I divide my load with him. On my refusing he seized me by a wing and jerked me so violently that I thought he had all but torn it off. I fought him from the start, but, he being a stalwart and I heavily laden, he thrashed me almost into a lifeless state. To add to my terrible mischance, another freebooter, more vicious than the first, joined against me, and the two of them overcame me quickly and robbed me of my load. They left me half senseless and I was only too glad to escape with my life.

I flew as straight as an arrow to my home, feeling outraged and exhausted. After all, I was not powerful—not important. I was crestfallen; but I did not even have to think of the direction or the location of my house, and you may be assured I was glad to return to it, if only to make sure that I was alive and knew the road. At the same time I was still under the impression that I had some honey in my sac. Nobody had taught me how to unload it, but I went forward to a cell. Imagine how downcast I was to find that not an atom of honey had been left me! I was infuriated; so resolved at once to try again. Hurriedly I went to the place for another load, but found the bees had nearly all gone. Once inside, I discovered that not a drop of honey remained, hence the reason for their leaving. I was wandering about when a poor crippled bee approached. Could this be one of the rascals that robbed me and who had suffered a worse fate?

“Won’t you have pity on me and let me go home with you?” he said, sorrowfully. “I’m all alone in the world.”

His tone and request cut me deeply; he was clearly no robber, for I saw that he was broken-hearted and had but five legs—one of his basket-legs was missing. And how wretched he looked!

“Have you no home?” I asked, with compassion.

“This was my home, but you and ten thousand like you have destroyed it. There wasn’t much left of it, though, when our Queen-Mother died.”

I felt guilty as a thief caught red-handed. Remorse was at my throat.

“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.

He followed, limping but uncomplaining.

On the bottom-board we saw a number of dead bees which I had not noticed on going in, I had been in such haste.

“So many of my brothers are dead,” he murmured, “why should I want to live? Because I am needed? You think I am needed? You think I am commanded by the high powers to give my energies and my intelligence to the problems that confront us? Perhaps that is true, and I shall bide by the call and give my life to my new family.”

We came at length to the entrance; I noticed that he turned and looked in a dazed way at the things about him. It was a sad farewell. His little brothers had gone. His tribe had perished. He should see his home never again.

Then I rose on my wings and he followed me ever so closely. A new chapter in our lives had opened.

CHAPTER SIX
CRIP

Scarcely were we risen in the air when I discovered the Master walking near my home. I seemed to know instinctively that he was our Master. Towering into the air and walking with such majestic tread, he filled me with wonder and admiration. Nor was I less interested in the Little One that ran at his heels. Stories there were of these two, eddying about the hive—of their kindness and also their malevolence. How mighty they appeared! I had seen them but once before. That picture was still vivid.

We were not long in reaching home. Without ceremony I lit on the board and instantly my friend was beside me. At the same moment a guard accosted him and seized him, recognizing him as an intruder. I interfered, but almost unavailingly, for the guard was about to sting him. The two of us escaped this guard only to be attacked by another, which we beat off, and hurriedly entered the hive. I was almost certain that yet others would question the stranger, and sure enough, we had barely got inside before another guard summarily attacked him. Poor fellow, with only five legs and tired from the combats of the day, he could make but a poor fight. Again I rescued him, and again we raced into the interior. And now, happily, our troubles were over. Without thinking, I made straight for my cell, with “Crip,” as I began to call him, at my heels.

He seemed to realize that he was a stranger and that he owed his life to me, for he clung to me as closely as possible. He seemed to know, too, that the ground whereon I stood was sacred to me. He did not speak for a time, nor did I. We simply hung limp on the comb, and rested. He broke the silence:

“You have a wonderful colony, I can see. I hope I shall grow into it as though it were my own. Indeed, in a sense it is my own, for all bees are sprung from the same source, and the life of the bee is kept alive by us, each in his own cell. I know now that I shall grow into it. Listen to that voice! How long it is since I heard a Queen-Mother sing!”

I roused myself, somewhat confused. “Queen-Mother!” I stammered.

“Yes. Won’t you take me to her?”

I hardly knew how to answer; I had never seen her myself, although I knew from Crip’s story and from some unknown source that there was somewhere a reigning spirit. But my life had been so brief and I had already learned so many things, I said, as lightly as I might, “Let us go.”

He seemed to know the way to her. He hobbled along as best he might on his five legs. He was now no longer suspected as an intruder, and we marched without interruption. Presently we climbed through a hole in a comb and came face to face with our Queen-Mother.

I stopped, dazed, overcome by her serenity. The grace and magnificent proportions of her body and the fire of her eyes held me entranced. I shall not live long enough fitly to describe my emotions. There she was, queenly and wonderful, and yet simple as any one of us. She approached us and appeared to nod, as if to say, “I salute you, my children.” Then she went on with her labors.

I turned to Crip. He was speechless.

Immediately we started back to our cell, for it was henceforth to be his also.

“It is strange,” he said. “I do not understand it. Life and death are in her keeping, and yet she knows it not. You and I don’t count for much. We pass like the leaves, but life everlasting lingers in her body—the very spirit of things ranges through her. But I am content with my insignificant place, to live my life, doing my duty from day to day.”

I did not answer him. We fell silent as we made our way across the combs.

“Suppose we take a turn in the woods,” he suddenly suggested, wheeling about and heading for the door. “I have new bearings to get and you have new lands to explore.”

“I supposed you knew this country,” I ventured.

“I do, but the way to this new home of mine must be learned.”

Out into the air we hurried, but he flew back and forth many times before our door. He wanted to make sure that he knew it; then, flying round and round in ever wider circles, we mounted with ecstasy into the higher reaches. Lake Espantoso, with its border of great oaks, lay below us like a bar of silver; and the Master’s house stood like a sentinel beside the white hives which, row on row, spread beneath us in the sun.

“That prominent knoll,” said Crip, “is a thing to remember, if you are returning late and flying low. And remember, too, that in that window of the Master’s house a lantern burns. This may sometimes be a guide. But, mark you, never fly into it, though you may be tempted. Better still, get in before it is too dark. Just there by that row of hives is a tree to remember. It is a glory in the spring with its yellow flowers, until the cutting ants get it. They clip off the leaves and blossoms. But it is an excellent land-mark, nevertheless. And there’s the Master,” went on Crip, “and the Little One, and that horrid dog. That little boy sits by for hours while the great one labors with some of us. The horrid dog sleeps—I’d like to sting him. Things will go wrong—the Master sets them to rights. He seems to know everything; and yet, when he took away some of our honey, in spite of our having vast stores of it, we fought him. The little he took harmed us not at all, and I suppose we fight him because our brothers have done so for centuries. But I talk too much.”

After a rather long flight, and much interesting converse, we reached our door again. Crip’s experience with the guard was still fresh in his mind, for he clung closely to me for protection. But the guard this time passed him without a word. He had acquired the scent and the note of the hive, and henceforth his life and all the energies of his body would be merged with that of the colony.

CHAPTER SEVEN
Crip, the Wise

When we had returned to our cell we halted, and for a season remained quiet. Indeed, we slept a tiny bit, as much as ever a bee can sleep at a stretch, and then we fell into meditation. Among other things, I was wondering what the Queen-Mother was doing when she popped her long, thin body into each cell as she made her rounds. I could not understand and so I called on Crip to explain.

“Why, laying eggs!” he said, right sharply, as though annoyed at my ignorance.

“Well, what are eggs?” for I was still no wiser.

“Come with me,” he said, and off we went across the combs.

He did not stop until he reached the very spot where we had seen the Queen. The odor of her was still strong thereabouts, but she had gone.

“Now look, stupid!” Crip said. “At the bottom of each of the cells in this section of comb is an egg.”

I looked down into one and, sure enough, a small, thin, yellowish-white egg was stuck squarely in the center of it. I looked into several other cells, and each had its one egg.

I shall never forget the story which he went on to unfold. The wonderful cycle from egg to larva, from larva to bee, he explained in fascinating detail. I saw at once that he was a real sage, that his knowledge was boundless, and then to crown it he told me that even the Queen-Mother herself had sprung from an ordinary egg, having been converted through miracle into a queen ruling over this empire. Simply by feeding and tending them differently—only the bees in their wisdom know how—the egg which might develop into a worker or a drone, passing through a metamorphosis, can be made to break from the dark cover of the cell the personification of life eternal, as exemplified in the body and the life of the Queen.

I could not quite understand all these things, but I felt sure Crip was telling the truth; and indeed I began to look up to him with increasing admiration and wonder on account of the worlds of things he knew.

We were silent awhile. There rose again for me the night hymn of the hive. It penetrated me as not before; it had a new significance, a new message—I had been visited with a revelation. The sight I had gained of the Queen-Mother woke new and tremulous emotions within me—there was a new meaning in life.

Crip stirred rather sharply, breaking my train of thought.

“What’s the matter?” I queried.

“I’m tired holding on. We must get another place to rest. You see, with only five legs the load of my body grows heavy.”

With that we moved up the comb to the top of it, and there he spread himself out with a little hum of content. And just then I developed a curiosity to know how he had lost his leg.

“You miss your leg, but do you suffer pain on account of it? And how did it happen?”

“That’s a short story. I was coming home late one day, well laden with honey, when, without warning, one of those terrible black bee-hawks darted for me and clutched me, sailing away to the nearest bush. He had quickly rolled me up with his powerful legs and almost by the time he lit he was ready to kill me with one thrust of his proboscis. Of course I had struggled, but when one of those fellows gets his claws on you it’s good-by. I had about ceased to struggle when suddenly there came a tremendous shock, and the next moment I was rolling on the ground and shaking myself free from the mutilated hawk. He had been torn to pieces by some mysterious force, and my leg, my bread-basket leg, was gone. At that moment the Master approached me; in his hands he held a long black thing which I had seen emit fire on other occasions, and somehow I suspected at once he had saved me. The little boy came hurriedly up, stooped over me and helped release me, and in a moment I was circling round to get my bearings. The little boy and the Master—and even the dog—watched my movements with an expression of satisfaction on their faces. I flew straightway home and was thankful still to be alive.”

“Tell me more about this Master,” I begged, for I was now growing vastly interested in his activities and in those of the Little One, and even the dog which once I tried to sting, because he came so close to our hive.

“Some say he is good—some say that he is bad. I only know him as the chopper of weeds about our home and as my rescuer. Many times since the day he saved me have I heard him shooting bee-hawks. Indeed, I had heard the little thunder of his gun before that day, but I did not understand its meaning. They say, too, that he takes away our honey—and he did take some of ours once—and frightens us nearly to death with the prospect of starvation. And they fall upon him and sting him, trying to drive him away. But all this is useless, they report, since he comes armed with fire and smoke.

“Others tell of him that in the dark, cold days, if provisions run low, he brings honey and closes the door against blizzards. But I know nothing of this. I have not lived through a winter and I fear I shall never know what it means.”

Thus I became infinitely interested in the Master who passed from day to day about the yard. But I was confused in mind about him. Somehow I instinctively feared him and I always found myself ready to attack him, as I explained to Crip.

“There would be no use in that,” answered he. “Should you sting him, you would achieve nothing. Instead, you would lose your life.”

“How is that?” I cried, for I did not till then know I had a life—at least I had never thought of it.

“You can sting once, but unless you escape with your stinger, which is rare, your life is sacrificed.”

I seemed to know this and answered him nothing.

“Is it not a strange fatality,” he continued, “that we should be given stingers with which to defend ourselves and our homes, and yet, when we make use of them, we lose our lives! Still, we are always ready to strike, with no thought of death.”

“What is death?” I asked of Crip.

“I don’t know, except that once when the bee-hawk caught me I felt myself going away. It grew dark and I heard the hum of wings that were strange and wonderful. Somehow you go to sleep and forget.”

“I have thought of death,” he went on. “I am old and battered, my days are as the falling flowers when the frost is upon them, and the frost soon will fall.”

I waited awhile in silence, but he spoke no more. Soon he lay in that buzzing hive, asleep, and I was not long in following him to where the golden honey dripped in the garden of dreams.

CHAPTER EIGHT
A Gleaner of Honey

We awakened about the same time and began to stir about. The first thing that happened was a new experience—the wax-pickers fell upon me and raked and scraped me for the tiny bits of wax which now, on account of my voracious appetite, had begun to grow in each of the rings marking the under sections of my body. They were so rude that at first I was inclined to resent their interference, which seemed to be mere meddling. But when I looked at Crip and saw two busy wax-pickers fumbling over him, I began to understand that this was part of a routine, and so I stood still until they had finished.

“They won’t bother with me much longer,” said Crip, sadly. “You see, when one becomes old the wax grows thinly—so the pickers give over. But you! They’ll get you. I have noticed that you are rather greedy about eating honey. This means you’ll get fat and produce lots of wax.”

“Tell me about wax and comb,” I begged of him.

“Comb, my child, is made of wax; this is comb on which you are standing. It is everywhere about you. The cups that hold our honey and our bread are made of it. The cell in which you were born is of wax; and, besides, it is used to stop the holes in our house. Of course there are different kinds of comb, depending on the use to which it is put. Why, these sheets of comb with their six-sided cells are wonderful in their economy, in their plan and symmetry. The cell we build is perfect. No other structure would serve our purposes, combining such strength and capacity. The cell is indispensable to the life of the bee!—otherwise he could not exist. So don’t let me see you make ready to fight the next time the wax-pickers approach, and they’ll soon be after you again.”

I answered nothing. I was wondering in what far age we had learned to build the six-sided cell, and in what tiny brain it had been conceived. They fit so perfectly, I stood quite still marveling at the harmony of it all and wondering how many things there remained for me to learn. At every turn I had been confronted with something new. And was it to be so to the end? What could the end be, of which Crip frequently spoke?

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Two months—glorious with flowers, but ending in disaster.”

“What disaster?”

“Well, you saw the close of it—the death of our colony.”

“Yes, I remember,” I said. But he was so wise I could scarcely believe that he was but two months old, for he seemed so tattered of wing and battered of body!

Without thinking what we were about, we drew near the door. Groups of workers were banked about the entrance, waiting impatiently to be away at the first streaks of dawn. Presently a note like a bugle-call sounded, and immediately the face of things was changed. By twos and threes and fours the workers took wing and scurried into the fields.

A dull gray light lay on the world; the air was damp and moved lazily out of the east; the dew had fallen thick on the flowers and now began to twinkle from myriad angles. Crip and I had left the hive at the same instant, but once on the wing I forgot all about him and flew like mad this way and that until I caught a whiff of fragrance from an unexplored meadow, and thither I hastened. Strange and thrilling sensation! I had not until now felt the joy of dipping into the flowers and searching out their honey-pots. It was a field of late sunflowers, and all of them had their faces toward the east, eager to look upon the sun. Joyfully they waved in the breeze and beckoned to one another as if to say: “Good morning. How glorious is the sun, our king!” In spite of the dew on their faces, some of them already were wearing the brand of the hot summer, which had all but gone and left them beseeching of autumn her tender graces.

“I am old and frayed,” I heard one say, “and these mornings chill me, but my work is done. The heart and soul of me are here; I shall not pass; I shall endure; my seed shall spring up to brighten the world.”

“But I am young,” a tender blossom said, “and I shall be cut off. The frost will slay me and I shall have rattled down to dust ere my soul has developed its immortal parts.”

At the moment I was taking honey from its lips, and I felt a quivering as if its heart fluttered.

“Dear little flower,” I said, “you are living your life; you cannot die; you will be swallowed up in the universal spirit of things. Your face has spread a glamour of gold in the world; your honey has nourished a thousand winged things; your scented breath has floated far and has carried blessings into silent places. Memory of you will linger; it will be preserved by the things you have fed, by the things you have gladdened. And, too, I promise that I shall remember you!”

“How can you remember me,” the flower asked, “when you, too, are doomed?”

“What!” I cried. “Doomed! Why, I am young, I am swift, I am beautiful, I am glorious!”

“Yes, and so am I. But we pass.”

“You are wise for so young a flower,” spoke up the elder blossom. “Both of you are of the heavens; both have your lives before you in this tiny garden, ere you return to the golden fields that spread out toward the sun. You are immortal.”

Just then I saw one of the petals blow away from the face of the elder flower. It fluttered and fluttered and finally fell to the earth. Scarcely had it struck the ground when something with a long, thin body and active legs seized it and began struggling to draw it through the grass, intent on some mysterious purpose. I was quite absorbed, and from my post of vantage on the breast of the floweret I followed the movements of the thing that tugged at the petal. I had never seen this thing before and I was wishing for Crip, when, behold! he appeared.

“What are you doing?” he cried at me. “How many loads have you gathered? What are you staring at?”

He had submerged me with questions. I answered none of them. I had, indeed, forgotten my work momentarily, so absorbed had I been in the talk of the flowers.

“Have you a load? Let’s go,” cried he.

I was ready, truly, but I could not refrain from asking him about this strange animal that pulled the leaf so sedulously through the grass.

“An ant!” Crip answered, rather glumly.

“Do you see what he is about?”

“Yes he is gathering his winter stores. A time comes when he must go indoors and he must have food even as you and I. Come now, let’s be off.”

I looked down at the ant struggling with his burden and then at the disheveled flower, casting a last glance at the tender face which had yielded up honey to me, wondering at the strangeness of it all.

“Come on,” cried Crip, rising on wing.

I did not speak, but followed him. I flew at his heels until he began to fag a bit and then I came up alongside, careful, however, not to outdistance him. I soon saw that he had a heavier load than I, and I felt ashamed, but I knew this had come through my having wasted a few minutes, and I resolved then and there that the next time I should be first.

Another thing I noticed, we were flying very low, so near the earth we almost brushed the tops of the bushes. I asked Crip the reason.

“The wind,” he answered, in better humor than could have been expected. “Don’t you feel that heavy head current? If you should go up it would be a hard fight home with these loads. You see, there are currents and currents,” he went on, “and you must use your wits. Take the current that blows your way. Profit by whatever nature bestows.”

Almost at once I saw the yard with its white hives, like dots, and the Master with the Little One and the dog that seemed always with them. The next moment Crip and I were dropping down to our hive. I was overjoyed when I fell upon the alighting-board, and could not restrain my exuberance of feeling. So I bowed my head humbly as best I might with the load I carried, uttering a hymn of thanksgiving—the very hymn, Crip told me, that every worker for a million years had uttered on returning to his hive with his first load of honey. I cannot explain, but some mysterious force seized me, compelling me to bow my head and to sing. I should have done it had it cost my life. Such is the law of the hive, just as there is the law of the jungle. I did not know why I was so happy, but something bubbled over in me, and the very intoxication of it finally sent me running madly to deposit my load in a waiting cell, and once more to take wing for the field of the flowers of the sun.

CHAPTER NINE
A STORM

On my way back the first rays of light caught the topmost branches of the trees and gilded the flying clouds in the east. Far in the west, black and forbidding masses of cloud were gathering, and the wind, I observed, had shifted its course. Again I had lost Crip, and I was regretful, for there were questions which only he could answer. But I flew all the faster for being alone, and soon found the very place and the very flowers I had visited before. Speedily I took my load, but I could not fail to return to the flowers I had come to love. Other petals from the elder had fluttered away, due either to the eager foraging of bees or to the gusty impatience of the wind. The younger had opened wider her heart to the sun.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, sweetly. “All that I have I yield up to you gladly. This is my end. Oh, how glorious is life! How splendid to be able to give of one’s store so that life shall go on eternally!”

“Yes, eternally,” echoed the elder blossom. “Even I, in dying, leave my seed behind to follow the summer suns through numberless ages; and I breathe into the world an imperishable fragrance. It shall be wafted to the utmost bounds; it shall gladden the hearts of the lowliest. Though it be scattered by the winds, it shall not cease to exist.”

By this time I had filled my honey-sac, and, after flying three times around these two well-beloved blossoms, I made for home. I was depressed by the talk which I had heard. I could not wholly comprehend it, and I wanted to consult Crip.

I was not long reaching our hive, for the wind seemed to get under me and literally to blow me on. I deposited my treasure, hurried out again, and once more headed for the sunflower-field, where I quickly gathered a load. Then straight for home. It was difficult flying now, because the wind was in my face. I rose higher, following Crip’s advice, but still it blew and almost beat me back. The black clouds which I remembered having seen in the west seemed almost over me, and suddenly terrific noises crashed around. It grew dark and great flashes of fire tore the heavens apart and blinded me.

This terrified me. I knew not its meaning, but instinctively I fled homeward. But my progress was slow, and I had not gone far when again the whole world seemed to tremble, shaken through and through by the most violent rumblings conceivable. It grew so dark I almost stopped in my flight, not sure of my way. At this moment of hesitation something struck me squarely in the back, almost knocking me down. It had been a great drop of water, and almost immediately others began to pelt me. Soaking wet and tossed by the gale, I was forced to alight. As I dropped downward I saw nothing but black shadows, and presently I was dashed into a great tree. I seized a branch that offered shelter, which proved to be none too well protected against the blast that now drove the rain in solid sheets. I was cold, and clambered around to the under side of the limb, and there, feeling none too secure, I grudgingly deposited some of my honey in a crevice. By lightening my load I was better able to keep my balance; but so gusty was the blast that it whipped the rain all over me, and I was unable to find a spot that was dry. I began to climb from one branch to another in the hope of reaching a safer haven, but, alas! none was to be found.

Worse things, too, were awaiting me. I was crying for Crip when the branch to which I clung suddenly snapped. Down and down it fell while I clung to it. I was too cold and wet to try to take wing, and presently the branch crashed into a swirling stream of water. At first I was entirely submerged. It seemed an interminable time that I stayed under the water; but presently I came to the surface and caught my breath. Cold as I was, I still clung with all the tenacity of my being to the floating branch that was hurried onward by the raging torrent. I was beginning to feel a little more comfortable when over went the branch again in the seething water, and again I seemed to go down to immeasurable depths. This time I felt my legs giving way in the rush of the waters. My head swam and I strangled, but just as it seemed all over with me the branch again came to the surface. I caught my breath, shifted slightly my footing, and hurriedly emptied my honey-sac. This gave me more confidence in spite of the numbness that had nearly overcome me from the cold and water. There I sat shaking, awaiting the next turn of the branch, which now seemed merely to be bobbing up and down in the waters. The wind was still whistling through the trees, the rain was falling in torrents, and the thunder rumbled in unabated violence.

How long I clung to the branch in desperation I do not know. But after a time the rain ceased, the wind fell to a whimper among the bushes, and the darkness broke along the horizon. It began to grow a little brighter. Imagine my joy, therefore, to find that my perch was now quite clear of the flood waters, the branch safely nestling in the top of a bush. In a short space it grew warmer, and I took courage; I began to dry myself and to preen my wings. The light gained, and before long, after trying out my strength, I found that I could again mount into the air, and with one wide sweep I made for home.

CHAPTER TEN
The Aftermath

I flew with all my speed, and I was almost overcome with joy when I saw my house. I noticed, too, as I approached, the Master bending over a neighboring hive, and I wondered what was the matter. But on alighting I was too happy to inquire about anything. I rushed inside and sang a song of thanksgiving at my deliverance.

Then I bolted straight for my cell to find my beloved Crip. He welcomed me with joy.

“Well,” said he, “I feared you were lost. You ought to have come home before the storm broke. But I’m happy you escaped. The next time you see great piles of cloud, make haste homeward. Your life is too precious to lose through stupidity.”

He came close and gave me a kiss, drawing his tongue across my mouth. The taste of honey excited me, and immediately I dropped into a cell and helped myself. I still felt stiff and cold from my experiences, and complained to Crip.

“It might have been worse,” he said, when I had told him all that had befallen me. “If you live long enough you will have some real adventures,” he concluded.

I was inclined to resent his comment, for I felt that I should never again pass through such a storm and survive.

“Do you know what a real storm is, Crip?” I asked, with offended pride. But he ignored my query.

“Listen,” he said, suddenly. “Do you hear that alarm?”

A note I had heard before suddenly ran through the hive. I could not at first remember the occasion, but instantly both Crip and I were off. By the time we were out I remembered what the sound meant. It was the robber-call. There was honey at hand—pure honey for the taking, and off we went.

It was just where the Master stood. He had righted a hive which had blown down in the storm, and was endeavoring to place a net over it, but already thousands of bees were swarming about.

“It is too late,” Crip said to me, as we lit on the bottom-board and hurried into the hive. “They are dead. I see it all. The rains undermined the foundations and the hive toppled over into the ditch. The storm waters crept up and up, submerging it.”

A little honey remained in the old combs, and we were soon busy with its salvage. We helped ourselves to one load only, for when we returned the Master had covered over the hive with his net. We flew about the place for a while, hoping to find some tiny hole through which we might creep; but none could be found. The net was covered with scrambling bees.

“Did all the bees drown?” I asked.

“Probably,” he answered.

“Here’s one on the ground that seems to be alive.”

We both lit beside the little fellow struggling to dry himself. We approached and licked him all over, and when he could fly Crip begged him to come home with us, since his own colony had ceased to exist.

Right gladly he followed us; but when we had reached the entrance he seemed to realize the seriousness of daring to enter a strange hive. He drew back, but we urged him, standing one on either side. Almost immediately, however, a guard scented him and flew at him. Crip headed him off, but another quickly attacked from the same quarter. He caught the stranger, and it was all I could do to save him. When we finally freed him of the advance guards, we said to the stranger, “Run for your life!”

We three rushed like mad into the hive and escaped further interference, and never again was he questioned as to his identity.

He marched with us straight up to our cell, and thenceforward he claimed it for his own.

“What shall we call him?” I asked of Crip, when we had left him to recover and were once more on our way to the fields.

“Let’s see. Suppose we call him Buzz-Buzz.”

“Excellent!” I cried.

So, Buzz-Buzz it was, then and ever after.