THE LIFE OF A BEE 



you! They'll get you. I have noticed that you are 

 rather greedy about eating honey. This means you'll 

 get fat and produce lots of wax." 



"Tell me about wax and comb," I begged of him. 



"Comb, my child, is made of wax; this is comb on 

 which you are standing. It is everywhere about you. 

 The cups that hold our honey and our bread are made 

 of it. The cell in which you were born is of wax; and, 

 besides, it is used to stop the holes in our house. Of 

 course there are different kinds of comb, depending on 

 the use to which it is put. Why, these sheets of comb 

 with their six-sided cells are wonderful in their econ- 

 omy, in their plan and symmetry. The cell we build 

 is perfect. No other structure would serve our purposes, 

 combining such strength and capacity. The cell is 

 indispensable to the life of the bee ! otherwise he could 

 not exist. ' So don't let me see you make ready to fight 

 the next time the wax-pickers approach, and they'll 

 soon be after you again." 



I answered nothing. I was wondering in what far 

 age we had learned to build the six-sided cell, and in 

 what tiny brain it had been conceived. They fit so 

 perfectly, I stood quite still marveling at the harmony 

 of it all and wondering how many things there re- 

 mained for me to learn. At every turn I had been con- 

 fronted with something new. And was it to be so 

 to the end? What could the end be, of which Crip 

 frequently spoke? 



"How old are you?" I asked. 



"Two months glorious with flowers, but ending in 

 disaster." 



"What disaster?" 



