THE LIFE OF A BEE 



I bethought me of Crip, whom I had left disconsolate 

 and battered from his fight with the worm. Returning 

 to our old haunt, he was nowhere to be found. Then 

 I went to the spot of the combat and there he was, 

 more or less chilled and still sore from the loss of his leg. 



"I thought you had forgotten me," was his greeting. 



"I forget you? Not while I live. I was outside in 

 the night." 



"And the south wind blew? And there were 

 stars?" he asked. "I want to look upon them once 

 more. Help me, for I can only crawl now. My body 

 can scarcely be carried by those four little legs, all 

 that I have left. I don't know how soon I shall be 

 done for, and then and then " 



He struggled pitifully in order to reach the front. 

 Try as I might, I could be of no assistance to him. 

 But by dintof perseverance he finally gained the thresh- 

 old and gazed into the night. The moon had drifted 

 far toward the west, and already the morning star 

 shone with transcendent brilliancy. The south wind 

 breathed ever so softly through the chaparral, as it 

 made its way to some hidden goal; and near the bor- 

 ders of the lake a coyote, in staccato treble, gave 

 warning that the dawn was near. 



Crip said nothing, nor did I. How useless are words 

 when there is perfect understanding. He came close 

 to me, however, and put his face as near mine as he 

 might, as though he wished to look into the very 

 depths of my eyes. 



"It is well," he said. "I know." 



Then he turned and dragged himself into the hive. 

 I followed closely. How sad it was to see so great a 



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