THE LIFE OF A BEE 



a bee interrupted who seemed to understand what 

 troubled me. Forthwith he laid hold of the lame leg 

 and pulled and pushed it unceremoniously, and pres- 

 ently, without a word, went on his way. I found im- 

 mediately that it gave me no further pain, and I was 

 engaged in licking my other legs when I seemed sud- 

 denly to grow sleepy and in a trice I planted myself on 

 a comb and prepared to sleep. 



If I really slumbered, it could not have been long, 

 for when I began to drowse a bread-man was busy 

 taking the yellow pollen from the baskets on his hind- 

 most legs, and when I wakened he was just drawing 

 himself out of the cell where he had stored it away. 

 In fact, I saw him at the moment packing it down. 



"What are you doing?" I asked, sleepily. 



"Can't you see?" he answered. 



Then it all dawned on me. It was interesting to 

 watch him draw himself out and thrust himself in, 

 head-on, battering down the loaves of bread. 



"Why does he do that?" I ventured, of a bee that 

 seemed to be loitering. 



"In order that he may store a great deal in the cell, 

 so that it will keep through the cold, wet months when 

 there are no flowers. Bread comes from flowers, you 

 know." 



"Flowers! What are flowers?" I cried. "And 

 bread?" 



"You shall learn for yourself," he answered, pa- 

 tiently, turning away. 



