WAKING AND SLEEPING 7 



to catch urging himself on wings through this keen 

 air. And his chances of satisfying even the dryness 

 of his palate are scarcely better than if the whole 

 world had been sterilized. If anything in this 

 world is certain, Master Flittermouse will go to bed 

 ten times hungrier than he came out, and on a 

 stomach sharpened and a system made lean by 

 midwinter exercise he must clem till a less fallacious 

 bright day in March really does provide something 

 for the catching. 



The miracle of hibernation is the insect. I have 

 known many a fat caterpillar, but never a fat insect. 

 Yet the queen wasp or humble-bee leaves the 

 revelry of late autumn and tucks herself up in some 

 dry place, and sleeps four or five good months 

 without the necessity of renewing her frugal 

 tissues. The honey-bee is, of course, in another 

 case. It is, like man, a civilized creature capable 

 of providing stores to carry it over the winter, not 

 asleep but drowsily awake, like a Russian on his 

 oven, or, a Laplander in his igloo, coming forth on 

 warm days for a stretch in the sun, talking on such 

 days of making the queen lay again, eager for the 

 first flower, even if it be Christmas rose and winter 

 aconite. I know not how a hive bee may sleep in 

 the cold of a Swiss or Canadian winter, but in 

 England it does a little sweeping and clearing up 

 nearly every day. 



In the garden is an old building with double 

 wooden walls, which, in order to keep a delayed 

 promise, we have begun to pull down on the first 



