AN IDYL OF THE HONEY-BEE. 53 
is as mad as a hornet ; its tone changes, it sounds its 
shrill war trumpet and darts to and fro, and gives 
vent to its rage and indignation in no uncertain man- 
ner. It seems to scent foul play at once. It says, 
“Here is robbery; here is the spoil of some hive, 
may be my own,” and its blood is up. But its ruling 
passion soon comes to the surface, its avarice gets 
the better of its indignation, and it seems to say, 
“ Well, I had better take possession of this and carry 
it home.” So after many feints and approaches and 
dartings off with a loud angry hum as if it would 
none of it, the bee settles down and fills itself. 
It does not entirely cool off and get soberly to 
work till it has made two or three trips home with 
its booty. When other bees come, even if all from 
the same swarm, they quarrel and dispute over the 
box, and clip and dart at each other like bantam 
vocks. Apparently the ill feeling which the sight of 
the honey awakens is not one of jealousy or rivalry, 
but wrath. 
A. bee will usually make three or four trips from 
the hunter’s box before it brings back a companion. 
I suspect the bee does not tell its fellows what it has 
found, but that they smell out the secret; it doubt- 
less bears some evidence with it upon its feet or pro- 
boscis that it has been upon honey-comb and not upon 
flowers, and its companions take the hint and follow, 
arriving always many seconds behind. Then the 
quantity and quality of the booty would also betray 
it. No doubt, also, there are plenty of gossips about 
a hive that note and tell everything. ‘ Oh, did you 
see that’? Peggy Mel came in a few moments ago 
in great haste, and one of the up-stairs packers says 
she was loaded till she groaned with apple-blossom 
