THE LIFE OF A BEE 



I did not immediately answer, because I was at a 

 loss for a reply and seemed still to be clinging to the 

 edge of things. Such wonderful vistas had been opened 

 to me, I suppose I acted like one entranced. 



"I don't know," I answered at last. 



" Wake up a bit, then." 



Again I seemed quite alone, although all around me 

 hundreds of my brothers were sleeping, or working at 

 their manifold tasks. 



It was still very dark, but I began to move about 

 drowsily, giving no heed to the way. From comb to 

 comb I clambered, passing over unexplored regions. 

 Presently I came to what was clearly the outermost 

 comb. I saw a lot of workers tugging and pulling at 

 the cells. I stopped and watched them. Each cell 

 had its bee or bees busily engaged upon it. They 

 would seize the sides of it with their sharp mandibles, 

 and, by dint of biting and drawing, extend it little by 

 little. I could see that it was a laborious process, this 

 building of comb. I was standing quite still, looking 

 on and meditating, when, without ceremony, one of 

 the comb-builders rushed up to me and began to touch 

 my body, then left as suddenly as he had come. In- 

 stantly I was inclined to resent this treatment, and 

 called to him as he turned: 



"What is all this about?" 



He did not stop to answer, and I was left to discover 

 that he had mistaken me for a comb-grower. Just what 

 that meant I was soon brought to understand. 



Hours passed and still I hung around the comb- 

 builders, until I felt that I had mastered the secret of 

 the art. Then slowly I turned and made my way 



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