HAPPY 



soul chained in so broken a body. I stayed by him, 

 cheering him and encouraging him, until the bugle of 

 the morning sounded. 



"Now you must go," he commanded. "You have 

 your work to do. Mine is nearly finished." 



I took a turn in the fields, but there was nothing to 

 report, save the discovery that the white brush was 

 ready to bloom, and that the sage-brush and the 

 broomweed promised honey. 



Again, for a number of days there was little to do. 

 Toward the noon hour the September sun blazed with 

 midsummer intensity and the winds were stifling. 

 This meant that a deal of water was consumed. I was 

 assigned to help. So, back and forth to the lake I 

 went, ever returning with my sac filled to bursting. 

 The young bees clamored for water, and it was a de- 

 light to see them scramble for a drink. Again, the 

 front of the hive was packed with bees idling their 

 day away, if, indeed, it can be said that they were idle 

 when there was nothing to be done. 



Another night passed as before and still another day. 

 Then the news resounded over the hive that the white 

 brush was opening and that honey was in the field! 

 There -was only the meagerest supply the first day, 

 but hungry tongues searched out the white tiny bell- 

 shaped flowers. The next day the flow was heavier, 

 and the third day we began to carry such quantities 

 that the colony began *to develop a sort of delirium. 

 Every nook and cranny was being filled, when a strange 

 sound echoed over the hive. 



"What does this mean?" I queried of Buzz-Buzz. 



"I don't know. Let's find Crip. He can tell us." 

 76 



