October, 1919 



G L E A N I N G S IK BEE C V L T U U E 



ed quickly at the others, "I'd say about -U 

 pounds here. Wouldn't you?'' 



Auue nodded, keenly observant and atten- 

 tive. ' ' If you dou 't count the unsealed, 

 scattered around. How about that?" 



"Tiiat doesn't help much towards actual 

 wintering. Sealed stores are the thing to 

 count on. Now we '11 look in the lower 

 chamber, the usually the bulk of it is above. 

 Two practically full combs, and sealed hon- 

 ey over the tops of several others. Fifteen 

 or eighteen pounds down here. Between 

 thirty-live and forty altogether. We '11 

 leave it all, tho I '11 make a note that we 

 can take out a little if necessary. ' ' 



Another hive had the upper story nearly 

 full and a generous abundance iu the lower. 

 ' ' We 'il take away part of this, ' ' said the 

 man. And he put the extra combs, heavy 

 with their sealed treasure, in an empty su- 

 per, closely covered, to be drawn on for 

 those that might need. 



fcitili another he estimated at 24 or 25 

 pounds. "That would probably do," he 

 said. ' ' It would more than take them thru 

 tlie actual winter. But that's not enough to 

 consider. I want to take them thru iruit 

 bloom. iSuppose we have an early warm 

 speil, and tliey start rearing a lot ox brood, 

 tnen there comes a long, late, slow, cold, 

 rainy spring. ' ' 



••Oh, what a spring! '' shivered Anne. 



' ' Then they 'd starve, likely, or at least 

 sacrihce part of the brood. They're going 

 to get an extra boost right now. I want 

 tuem all heavy. If the extra honey gives 

 out, we 'll fall back on sugar syrup. ' ' 



' ' I want to ask about leeding the syrup, 

 Daddy Lowe, ' ' Anne interrupted. ' ' I know 

 you teed it in friction-top buckets, with the 

 tops perforated. And make the syrup of 

 two parts sugar to one of water, and feed 

 it a little warm. But how much do you 

 give'? I mean, what proportion of syrup to 

 the needed honey?" 



' ' One pound of sugar for each pound of 

 honey required, ' ' he answered. 



Then they came to a colony that was 

 queenless. ' ' And what do we do with this. 

 Daddy Lowe^ How can we requeeu it so 

 late?" 



' ' We areu 't going to try to requeen it. 

 We are going to unite it. Late this after- 

 noon, after the bees are all in — or some cool 

 day would do as well, just so the bees aren 't 

 flying — we can set it quietly over some colo- 

 ny that has a queen, with a sheet of news- 

 paper between. They will gnaw thru the 

 paper and unite without any trouble." 



And then came one or two weak colonies. 

 ' ' This one might winter all right, ' ' the man 

 said, ' ' reduced to a single story and then 

 contracted to about eight combs. Sometimes 

 I do that, putting a division-board on each 

 side, with chaff or dry leaves to fill out, and 

 a chaff tray above. But I figure they are 



apt to be weak because of a poor queen. So 

 i usually kill the queen and then unite them. 

 That's what we'll do with this one." 



' ' About how small does a colony have to 

 be for you to classify it as weak?" Anne 

 asked thoughtfully. 



' ' Look down in this brood-chamber. You 

 see these bees don 't fill out their whole hive, 

 as the others have done. They are covering 

 only about five combs. I call that small a 

 colony too weak to be worth wintering." 



So on down the sunlit rows they went, the 

 bees hunnning gently around. ' ' There is 

 still a little aster coining in," Mr. Lowe re- 

 niarlied. ' ' I like to make this examination 

 before the flow is quite over, as there isn 't 

 such danger of robbing. Tomorrow morn- 

 ing we 'li start putting on the upper pack- 

 ing, and contracting entrances." 



Anne smiled. ' ' At last the circle begins 

 to close on my own experience. Last spring 

 I helped take off' those shallow supers of 

 chaii. They had burlap tacked across in- 

 side, and rested on queen-excluders that 

 were turned ujiside down over the bees. And 

 we found no moldy combs at all in those 

 hives, while there were some very bad ones 

 in tne few colonies you had left under seal- 

 ed covers. Oh, I remember! And then 

 there were the big packing cases. Four, 

 weren't there, or five?" 



"Five. I'll get those set up this week, 

 too. It is true i didn 't see much advantage 

 m the big case compared to the top packing. 

 Tho they may have used less stores. But 

 tlie quadruple winter packing case seems to 

 have struck a new note in progressive bee- 

 keeping, and I '11 ultimately put all my bees 

 in tnem, if they really pay — in this locality. 

 Anyway, I shall try these thoroly, for sev- 

 eral successive winters. Then if they should- 

 n t make good, I won't get any more." 



A little betore noon, the vivid blue and 

 gold noon of October, they left their work 

 and started for the house to dress for din- 

 ner, the good old-fashioned midday meal of 

 the country. As they crossed the porch, 

 Anne stooped to pat Shep. And there, tied 

 to his collar, was another note! She smiled, 

 waiting till Mr. Lowe had gone in. Then, 

 alone, she read it. 



"Dear Miss Anne: I have persuaded 

 Jack to come to our party under the maples. 

 Persuaded, mind. And he especially likes 

 Kipling's stories. He also likes that blue 

 dress you wore yesterday. Loyally, Shep." 



When Anne came downstairs, she slipped 

 out to an althea bush near a particularly 

 friendly maple tree, and there she hid a 

 volume of Kipling's "Plain Tales from the 

 Hills. ' ' Then she went on in to dinner, 

 looking like a slender, starry-eyed young 

 Quakeress, in a dress of soft dove-gray, with 

 white at the throat and wrists. And she 

 carried, conspicuously, the magical poems of 

 John Keats! 



