THE LIFE OF A BEE 



On one of the early days of our trouble, in passing, he 

 had discovered our condition. 



"They have lost their Queen," he said to the little 

 Shadow. "You can tell that by their movements. 

 Everything is now in confusion. Let us see whether 

 they have eggs or young larvae available for the making 

 of a Queeru" 



With that he opened our hive and found the queen-cells. 



"Here are cells already," he commented, a gleam of 

 satisfaction on his grave face. 



"Let me see!" cried the Shadow, poking a little, 

 curious face around a jorner of the hive. 



The Master knew at a glance the age of the Queens, 

 for the cells had not been sealed; he knew that on 

 such a day one would come forth amid the acclaim of 

 a colony which had languished between hope and fear 

 life* and death. So now, from day to day, with his 

 little Shadow, he passed, pausing in front of the hive 

 long enough to discover whether the great event had 

 occurred. 



It was on a day golden with a sun steeped in the 

 waning glory of an Indian summer that the Queen 

 emerged and took her throne. Crip and I had gone 

 to the lake for a load of water, and we should prob- 

 ably not have missed the event had we not, out of 

 curiosity, returned by the hollow tree which our 

 brothers of the swarm had occupied. We flew up to 

 the very entrance; the workers were filing past in a 

 great stream, humming a note of content. 



"They will survive," I said to Crip. "The season 

 has been a late one, and they must have gathered 

 ample stores." 



109 



