284 READINGS IN BIOLOGICAL SCIENCE 



excitement of stealing made-up honey from whatever source ("robbing"), 

 the bees do not usually settle down until nightfall; they have to sleep it 

 off. The length of time for relaxation depends on the intensity of the 

 stimulus. So it is with a person. When he is greatly excited, he gets a large 

 dose of adrenalin poured into his blood from those little glands in his back. 

 And he simply can not settle down until that disturbing hormone is oxi- 

 dized or eliminated or sent back to its place. Ritter suggests that the human 

 organization is unified by hormones. Does the bee have hormones? Does 

 a puff of smoke let loose in her body fluids some guiding substances from 

 some hidden gland? And when I open the hive, do I stir up some other 

 hormone, which keeps Miss Bee literally on pins and needles until the hor- 

 mone works itself out? 



Speaking of robbing, whenever bees find a chance to gather real honey, 

 ready made, they go for it and carry it away with the utmost haste and 

 energy. They often tear a comb to pieces, a thing they never do in their 

 own hives. They fight one another while gathering the loot. They are 

 unusually irritable and Hable to sting. Once about noon I left a lot of combs, 

 wet with honey, exposed in my shed. On getting home at five o'clock, I 

 found the air full of bees buzzing around the shed and the shed crowded 

 with bees. A neighbor down the street called my attention to the great 

 numbers of bees buzzing around his house, my bees stirred up by the experi- 

 ence of robbing. Were I a Maeterlinck, I could describe them as exhibiting 

 all the passions of a madhouse or an army. With nightfall, the bees mostly 

 came home. I put the exposed combs under cover by candle light, and 

 next day all was quiet. 



Bees sting in different ways at different times. If one alights quietly 

 on one's face or hand, she means no harm, and soon flies away. If she gets 

 into one's hair by accident, she hurries down and stings. Why? because 

 among the hairs she feels caught; the reaction is to injure and drive away 

 the enemy. If she alights on one's arm and one's sleeve presses down on 

 her, she stings. A drop of ammonia cures it. If her hive is disturbed she 

 comes out with a shrill whistle of the wings, and the intruder is in for it. 

 She alights on his glove, bends down her abdomen and gives a thrust. It 

 misses its goal in the soft fuzz of the gloves. She thrusts again, with a violent 

 contortion, — she misses. Again she thrusts, with a violence that nearly 

 bends her double, and draws her abdomen into a sphere. One is obliged to 

 think of it as an expression of baffled rage and savage bitterness. She looks 

 and behaves like a veritable little fury. 



The queen fulfils the Christian admonition that he who would be greatest 

 must be servant to all. (That is the only Christian virtue about bees.) She 

 has absolutely no freedom of action whatever. She can not feed herself, 

 but is fed by her daughters. When she lays too many eggs, the workers 

 withhold food and she lays fewer. If she lays too few, they feed her up. So 

 do beekeepers. If that doesn't bring results or if she lays only unfertilized 



