THE LIFE OF A BEE 



By this time I was overcome with sorrow. My poor 

 dear friend, the very personification of wisdom, seemed 

 passing out of my life. 



"No don't please don't talk so mournfully!" I 

 cried. "You will get well. Do! I so want you to 

 stay with me." 



At this he seemed to stir a little and, with an effort, 

 raised himself on his remaining legs. 



"I cannot walk, you see. I cannot be sure of hold- 

 ing my weight on the combs, even if I am not bleeding 

 to death." 



I was so shocked that it had not occurred to me to 

 stanch his wound; but instantly I fell to it most 

 vigorously. 



"That will help," he said. "Do you think I have 

 done well with my life?" Crip asked. "Do you think 

 I have helped our people?" 



I answered that he had been wonderful that he 

 had worked faithfully for two houses, and all for the 

 betterment of our race the Bee. 



"You really think me deserving? Then I am 

 happy." 



He seemed suddenly to take on new life, and began 

 to flap his wings for joy. 



After a little pause he again flapped his wings vio- 

 lently. I did not understand. 



"I still can fly!" he exclaimed. "I can fly! Go 

 now, finish your work," he commanded. "Perhaps 

 I shall yet be able to labor for a little; but I want to 

 be as much as possible with you. Go now." 



I went at his word, but when I came to the place of 

 the debris, no scrap remained. My fellow-workers, 



73 



