222 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE 



April, 1919 



ANNE LESTER AND DADDY LOWE, 



By Grace Allen — Chapter III 



BEEKEEPERS 



ONE morning Mr. and Mrs. Lowe and 

 Anne Lester stepped out on the side 

 porch after breakfast, and stood look- 

 ing a few minutes at the beauty of the April 

 morning. 



"It feels like Sunday," Anne remarked. 



"That's because we had waffles for break- 

 fast," smiled Mrs. Lowe. 



"Maybe so. I never had them at home 

 except on Sunday. And then the orchard 

 is so dressed-up and blossomy — and so quiet, 

 as if everything was waiting for the ser- 

 mon." 



"Or the benediction," Mrs. Lowe added 

 softly. 



Anne turned swiftly. ' ' Don 't you love 

 the benediction better than any other part 

 of church? It's so — so sort of — " 



"Holy," finished Mrs. Lowe simply. 



Anne nodded. It was very quiet for a 

 few minutes. Then the girl started down 

 the steps, calling Shep. 



"I've just got to get out into this," she 

 declared. "Shep, race me to the orchard!" 



Off they ran. When they came loitering 

 back half an hour later, Anne was bearing 

 boughs of apple bloom. 



' ' What did you find in the orchard, 

 Anne?" asked Daddy Lowe. 



"These," Anne answered, laying the 

 blossomy branches in Mother Lowe's lap, 

 and sitting on the step near her rocker; 

 "with bees humming in them till the trees 

 sounded like giant cats purring in the sun. 

 It-'s a thrilly morning." 



' ' Shep, ' ' warned Mother Lowe, ' ' don 't 

 you go getting temperamental, and start 

 chasing purring trees!" 



Anne laughed. Then Daddy Lowe rose. 

 " I 'm going into the bees today. Anybody 

 going along?" 



"Yes, and can't I really help?" Anne 

 asked. 



"Not much at first. But you can learn." 



"You see, if I'd stayed in town, I'd have 

 been deep in Eed Cross work and other war 

 work. I've got to do something that counts. 

 If I can help produce some honey, that will 

 be very much worth while. Of course, now 

 that I 've learned to knit ' ' — laying a grate- 

 ful hand on Mrs. Lowe's knee — "I expect 

 to do a lot of that, too, but — " 



' ' Don 't you stay indoors, child, and settle 

 down to knitting mornings like this," Mrs. 

 Lowe interrupted. "Go on out and fuss 

 with the bees." 



A little later Daddy Lowe and Anne 

 were in the shop at the edge of the 

 bee-yard. "Put on one of these veils," he 

 directed. 



He lighted the smoker, in which Anne was 

 much interested. Then he brought out two 

 hive-seats. 



' ' Such handy little seats, ' ' Anne approv- 

 ed, "with places to put things on each 

 side," 



A few deft, strong motions with the hive- 

 tool, and Daddy Lowe had raised a super 

 enough to puff a bit of smoke in gently. 

 Then he set the super off. Anne drew a 

 quick breath. "Is that all bees?" she de- 

 manded, awed, looking in the open hive. 



' ' Bees and combs and honey and pollen 

 and brood and — •" 



"Thanks. Just which is which?" 



Daddy Lowe loosened the comb nearest 

 his side and drew it out, dry and empty. 

 "Sometimes I start removing combs from 

 one place and sometimes from another," he 

 remarked. "I could see there were no bees 

 over here, so it was easy to take this one 

 out first, and give more room to work with 

 the others. This, then, is merely empty 

 comb, such as you have already seen in the 

 shop. ' ' 



Loosening the other combs, he crowded 

 part of them over towards the empty space, 

 and gently lifted one from near the center. 

 It was covered with bees crawling appar- 

 ently aimlessly over its surface. 



' ' Laying queen, all right, ' ' he announc- 

 ed with satisfaction. 



"Where?" with some excitement. 



' ' Not on this comb. I haven 't seen her, 

 but there must be one, because — look." 



Then he showed her the hope of the hive, 

 the brood, the wonderful early stages of bee 

 life. 



' ' Oh, I can 't see the woods for the trees! ' ' 

 she wailed despairingly. "I can neK^er 

 learn about bees where there are so many 

 of them." 



"Don't call this a lot," he admonished. 

 ' ' Wait till summer, when there really are 

 some." He gave the comb a quick shake, 

 and off dropped most of the bees. Then he 

 handed it over to the girl. 



"Now!" she exulted. 



"Can you see the eggs?" he asked. She 

 could not. So he went round to her side, 

 tipping the comb so that the light struck 

 into the cells where the fairy-like eggs lay. 



' ' You mean those tiny white curvy 

 things'?" she queried incredulously. "Those? 

 Are they dreaming there of wings, those 

 little wee specks? Thev reallv think they'll 

 get them?" 



"The wonder of it is they'll get them 

 without thinking about it at all. The scien- 

 tists would object mightily to your putting 

 a dream inside one of them!" 



"I didn't put it. God did. Else the 

 wings would never grow. And no doubt can 

 shoo it away. It- mayn 't be like what we 

 call dreams, but it's there, something that 

 urges and reaches out and grows and start- 

 ed with the beginning?, of things. Assuming, 

 of course, that these renl'y are eggs." 



"They really are eggs. Look further and 

 \ou '11 see the lar\-£e. " 



"The M'orms — ch, yes! The little old fat 

 things! Aren't they roly-poly? Here are 



