THE PASTOKAL BEES 9 



of things: there is no incontinence among the males 

 in this republic ! 



Toward the close of the season, say in July or 

 August, the fiat goes forth that the drones must die ; 

 there is no further use for them. Then the poor 

 creatures, how they are huddled and hustled about, 

 trying to hide in corners and byways! There is no 

 loud, defiant humming now, but abject fear seizes 

 them. They cower like hunted criminals. I have 

 seen a dozen or more of them wedge themselves into 

 a small space between the glass and the comb, where 

 the bees could not get hold of them, or where they 

 seemed to be overlooked in the general slaughter. 

 They will also crawl outside and hide under the 

 edges of the hive. But sooner or later they are all 

 killed or kicked out. The drone makes no resist- 

 ance, except to pull back and try to get away; but 

 (putting yourself in his place) with one bee a-hold 

 of your collar or the hair of your head, and another 

 a-hold of each arm or leg, and still another feeling 

 for your waistbands with his sting, the odds are 

 greatly against you. 



It is a singular fact, also, that the queen is made, 

 not born. If the entire population of Spain or 

 Great Britain were the offspring of one mother, it 

 might be found necessary to hit upon some device 

 by which a royal baby could be manufactured out of 

 an ordinary one, or else give up the fashion of roy- 

 alty. All the bees in the hive have a common par- 

 entage, and the queen and the worker are the same 

 in the egg and in the chick; the patent of royalty 



