THE LIFE OF A BEE 



"She had been ill but a few days," one said. 



"She has not been well since the robbery," added 

 another. 



"She was hurt in the fight," put in a third. 



"But she did not complain," answered another. 



Crip and I now in our turn came into the presence 

 of the Queen lying prone on the floor, her wings draped 

 about her. There were present none of the trap- 

 pings of the dead, nor anything to show that she was 

 not asleep, so peacefully she lay there. I came pres- 

 ently face to face with her, and once I had looked into 

 her eyes I saw that the vision had vanished, that the 

 spirit had gone. 



I turned away sick at heart, wailing I know not 

 what black hymn of despair. Crip, too, I had lost, 

 and I feared he had gone on his long journey. I 

 seemed to sink into a bottomless abyss. 



Soon I had partially recovered my composure. The 

 commotion which had swept the colony slowly sub- 

 sided, although there still ran an undercurrent of 

 anxiety. What should we do? That part of the in- 

 telligence of the bee which has to grapple with such 

 emergencies had been active on the instant. 



"The Queen is dead long live the Queen," was the 

 low, reverential chorus. 



"Three Queens have been ordained," ran the cry. 



Without knowing why, I hurried to the place which 

 had been chosen for the wax-cell palaces and there 

 was Crip! He appeared to be the leader, and I was 

 overjoyed to see him. 



"You've found something more to do," I said to 

 him. 'Tm so glad." 



107 



