THE LIFE OF A BEE 



found deposited freely one, two, or half-a-dozen in 

 a cell were the eggs of an impostor, a would-be Queen, 

 called a fertile worker. 



Strangely enough, too, we began to work in a half- 

 hearted way, gathering honey, feeding the brood of 

 the impostor, and yet we knew or seemed to know that 

 there would emerge but worthless drones. Hope still 

 lingered in our hearts, but daily it grew more faint 

 until despair overcame us. 



One morning Crip and I were brooding over our 

 affairs when we saw the Master and his Shadow ap- 

 proaching. They stopped near us. 



"Something has happened," said the Master; 

 "something is wrong. We do not need the smoker. 

 Here, son, lend me a hand!" 



"A fertile worker an impostor!" he exclaimed, on 

 lifting up a frame from the brood-chamber. "See those 

 eggs dropped haphazard! A Queen never does that." 



"Why, there are six in one cell!" cried the Shadow. 



"Run, son, and bring me that Italian Queen in the 

 new cage." 



In a few minutes the cry of a Queen rang through 

 the hive. Crip and I flew toward it, and presently 

 paused beside the trap which contained a most beau- 

 tiful Queen. But she was not our Queen, and now a 

 riot was started. "Kill her kill her!" broke on all 

 sides. While Crip and I took no part, we entered no 

 protest we stood almost alone. 



Over the cage, biting and clawing, a mob of bees, 

 incited partly by the impostor, endeavored to reach 

 the royal personage. They meant to kill her; first, 

 because she was not of our tribe ; secondly, because the 



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