THE LIFE OF A BEE 



stinctively feared him and I always found myself ready 

 to attack him, as I explained to Crip. 



"There would be no use in that," answered he. 

 "Should you sting him, you would achieve nothing. 

 Instead, you would lose your life." 



"How is that?" I cried, for I did not till then know 

 I had a life at least I had never thought of it. 



"You can sing once, but unless you escape with 

 your stinger, which is rare, your life is sacrificed." 



I seemed to know this and answered him nothing. 



"Is it not a strange fatality," he continued, "that we 

 should be given stingers with which to defend ourselves 

 and our homes, and yet, when we make use of them, we 

 lose our lives! Still, we are always ready to strike, 

 with no thought of death." 



"What is death?" I asked of Crip. 



"I don't know, except that once when the bee-hawk 

 caught me I felt myself going away. It grew dark 

 and I heard the hum of wings that were strange and 

 wonderful. Somehow you go to sleep and forget." 



"I have thought of death," he went on. "I am old 

 and battered, my days are as the falling flowers when the 

 frost is upon them, and the frost soon will fall." 



I waited awhile in silence, but he spoke no more. 

 Soon he lay in that buzzing hive, asleep, and I was 

 not long in following him to where the golden honey 

 dripped in the garden of dreams. 



