November, 1919 



G T, R A N I N G S T N BEE C IT h T V R E 



ANNE LESTER AND DADDY LOWE, BEEKEEPERS 



By Grace Allen — Chapter X 



A CHEERFUL fire was blazing in the 

 ^Lowe livingrooni and in its glow sat 

 the two old people and Jack and Anne. 

 The day was chill and gray, with rain 

 against the windows. Two small books lay 

 on the table by Mr. Lowe. ' ' Think of hav- 

 ing both a Roman Emperor and a Roman 

 slave with us, right here by our very fire- 

 side," Anne had said. For in that quiet, 

 rain-bordered, fire-lighted hour Daddy Lowe 

 had been reading at random favorite mark- 

 ed passages from Marcus Aurelius and Epic- 

 tetus; while Jack, lying on the couch by the 

 window, had watched the light cOme and 

 go across the girl 's sensitive face as she 

 listened. 



' ' If, careless of by-gains, you keep your 

 god within pure and erect, ' ' he had begun 

 from those deathless diarylike pages written 

 centuries ago in the privacy of the imperial 

 tent of the old Roman Emperor, fighting his 

 last battles there along the Danube where 

 he held back the invading barbarians from 

 the north; and again, "This is the way of 

 salvation — with your whole heart to do 

 what is just and say what is true; and one 

 thing more, to find the joy of life in heaping 

 good on good so close that not a chink is 

 left between"; and still again, "Whatso- 

 ever anyone does or says, my duty is to be 

 good; just as gold or emerald or purple for- 

 ever say, Whatever anyone else does or says, 

 my duty is to be emerald and keep my 

 proper hue. ' ' 



And from Epictetus, the slave, "I am 

 free, I am a friend of God. Whitherso- 

 ever I go, there shall I still find Sun, Moon, 

 and Stars; there shall I find dreams, and 

 omens, and converse with the Gods." And 

 so on, to the ringing lines beginning, ' ' What 

 would you be found doing when overtaken 

 by Death?" 



As usual a deep full silence closed over 

 the last words. It was Anne who spoke first, 

 scarcely interrupting the stillness to do so. 

 ' ' Thank you. Daddy Lowe, ' ' she said gent- 

 ly, ' ' and you, ' ' touching the Marcus Aure- 

 lius as she passed; "and you," touching the 

 Epictetus. ' ' Now I 'm going out to walk 

 in the rain — and let it soak in! " 



In a few minutes she reappeared, ruV)ber- 

 ed and raincoated and ready. Outside the 

 door she found Jack waiting, in boots and 

 mackintosh. She shook her head at him. 

 "Ought you?" she asked, with the solici- 

 tude they all tried to avoid, he hated it so. 



"Of course I ought. i^ou might get 

 drowned or blown away." 



"Mrs. Lowe!" she called. "Jack's 

 mutinous. ' ' 



"Too late," he retorted cheerfully. 

 ' ' Dad 's already convinced her. Anyhow, 

 haven 't I been walking every day for two 

 weeks? And is the weather to stop me?" 



' ' Apparently not, ' ' said Anne. 



As they splashed down the steps, ' ' Let 's 



go around by the bees first," Anne suggest- 

 ed. The water was dripping off the metal 

 covers; "but they're dry and comfy in- 

 side," she assured the unworried Jack. 

 "See how the hives all tilt towards the 

 front. Any inside moisture can run out and 

 no outside moisture can run in. ' ' 



' ' If the outside moisture can 't run in, 

 how can there be any moisture inside to run 

 out?" Jack challenged her. 



* ' Well, you see the bees are in there eat- 

 ing honey, for one thing — and honey's got 

 water in it. It's a carbohydrate, and you 

 know better than I what that is — cause 

 you've known longer. Want to hear — just 

 as if you didn't know? Well, it's some- 

 thing made of carbon, hydrogen, and oxy- 

 gen. And after it's eaten, it ends up as 

 carbon dioxide and water. ' ' 



' ' Wise young woman, ' ' murmured Jack. 



"So there's bound to be moisture in the 

 hive. Sometimes there's so much, it con- 

 denses and drops down on the floor — and 

 even runs out the entrance. And the combs, 

 especially the outside ones, get all moldy. 

 I remember last winter Daddy Lowe and I 

 poked little twigs in a lot of entrances and 

 some of them came out all wet. But they 

 were hives that had sealed covers. Daddy 

 Lowe doesn 't have any trouble with damp 

 hives, because he uses absorbent cushions." 



"Uses what?" 



' ' Overhead packing, with just burlap be- 

 tween it and the bees. The water vapor 

 evidently rises, and passes thru the burlap 

 into the packing. Anyhow it disappears. 

 Some beekeepers think overhead packing 

 and upward ventilation are scandalous; but 

 your father 's had such good success with it, 

 of course he keejjs right on using it. So 

 naturally I'm a devotee of that system, 

 too." 



' ' Honestly, ' ' Jack exclaimed boyishly, 

 "isn't Dad great?" 



"Honestly," Anne smiled back, "he is." 



' ' But what I don 't understand, ' ' she said 

 as they started for the road, "is why you, 

 the son of your father, don 't know all there 

 is to know about bees. ' ' 



' ' Perhaps I do, and am modest about it. ' ' 



' ' You didn 't seem to know much just 

 now. ' ' 



' ' Well, for a fact, I never had anything 

 to do with the bees in the fall — always go- 

 ing to school, you see— grades, county high, 

 college. But I helped Dad a lot in the sum- 

 mer. Don 't I know — let 's see, what do I 

 know? Order, Hymenoptera — genus, Apis 

 — species, mellifica. How's that?" 



"Whew!" exclaimed Anne. "But I 

 meant practical things. ' ' 



Jack meditated. "See that your colonies 

 are strong, eternally. Keep Italians. Then 

 you surely won 't have moths, probably 

 won't have disease, and almost certainly 

 will have honey. Use full sheets of founda- 



