318 



AMERICAN BEE JOURNAL 



August 



which I fastened into small frames, 

 brushed the box full of bees and then 

 looked for the queen. Wahah put in 

 his hand, drew out a handful of bees 

 and shook them into my box: "Th-j 

 Su'tana is in," he said, "you may shui 

 your box," "No," I said, "I must 

 see her first." When I finally found 

 her, I took her by the wings and said' 

 ' Here is the Sultana," and dropped 

 her in the box. My work was accom- 

 plished, and I went to the train with 

 my trophy. Eight days later I was 

 bacK in Nice. 



Now let me tell of the experience 

 which I had of their well-developed 

 scent organ : 



I was taking honey from a small 

 apiary, in Nice, about a mile distant 

 from the place where I keep the Sa- 

 harian and Tellian bees which I 

 brought home. I was telling a friend 

 about the new yellow bee which I 

 brought over the Mediterranean and 

 explained that she was the first one, 

 in our day, which crossed that sea, 

 though her far-away ancestors may 

 have crossed the same sea, 2,000 or 

 more years ago. While I was talking, 

 a Saharian bee came and settled upon 

 my finger smeared with honey. 

 "There she is," said I. "A beauty," 

 said my friend. Presently a dozen or 

 more were about us, while not a sin- 

 gle one of the Tellians appeared — a 

 proof that the Saharian is endowed 

 with more powerful olfactory organs 

 and that she has long been accus- 

 tomed to fly great distances for 

 honey. Nice, of course, has nothing 

 in common with the Sahara oases, yet, 

 in spite of numerous gardens, and 

 wide-spread flower cultivation, the 

 bee readily smells the stronger odor 

 of the honey fresh from the hive. 



I almost forgot to tell you that the 

 Tellian or Algerian bees which I 

 brought also, are due to the kindness 

 of the amiable Mr. Bernard, of Al- 

 giers. 



Since you are fond of "local color," 

 let me tell you of a little incident on 

 my way from Morocco, on the train, 

 before reaching TIemcen. I met a 

 venerable sheik, who turned out to be 

 a beekeeper. We talked about honey, 

 bees, etc. He said : "Bees, like all 

 well-managed nations, have a Sul- 

 tan." "You are joking," said another 

 traveler, "bees have no Sultan." The 

 sheik straightened up, as if his body 

 was unfolding itself, and replied: 

 "Attend to your own affairs and lis- 

 ten. You are ignorant and should 

 listen to wisdom. This Christian and 

 I (pointing to me) are wise. We know 

 that every being has a Sultan. I have 

 one. He is here (showing his heart), 

 it is only the dead who have no Sul- 

 tan." "Pardon me," said I, "perhaps 

 this man is a republican and does not 

 recognize any Sultan." "No, he is 

 simply ignorant," replied the sheik. 



Incidents like this were quite enter- 

 taining. But, as a rule, I like the 

 Arabs and their philosophy. The 

 French work in Algeria is immense. 

 The Americans might have gone 

 faster, but with an ancient nation like 

 that of North Africa, one of the old 

 countries succeeds perhaps better 

 than a young nation like yours. 



Now, I am studying the manners 



and habits of the Sahara Sultana, as 

 well as of the Tellian Sultana. La 

 Saharian and la Tellian are gathering 

 pollen and honey, just as if they had 

 always been citizens of Nice. More 

 about them by and by. 



I 

 AN APIARIAN ROMANCE 



How Helen and Jim Beat Low-Priced 

 Honey 



By Amos Burhans 



PA JONES reached over for the 

 honey, in which he intended to 

 smother another of Ma Jones' 

 famous buckwheat cakes. In spite of 

 the fact that he had kept bees twenty- 

 five years and was possessor of over 

 one hundred colonies, he never be- 

 came tired of honey or the cakes that 

 gave him an excuse to eat it. 



"Land sakes," exclaimed Ma, as 

 she put another big, brown seven- 

 inch cake onto the stack between Pa 

 and the Hired Man. "Land sakes, 

 but you do love honey. It appears to 

 me that you eat more honey now 

 than you did twenty years ago, when 

 you liked it." 



"Yes," agi-eed Pa Jones, "Honey is 

 one of the two sweetest things in the 

 world — and you're the other. I like 

 you both." 



"Now you hush," chided Ma, a bit 

 of color rushing to her cheeks. "Don't 

 start up on that again." 



Pa winked at the Hired Man. Ma 

 Jones went over to the stove where 

 the soapstone; griddle was gently 

 putting a delicious brown on the left 

 hand side of another cake. She in- 

 spected the cake critically and then 

 her eyes happened to stray out the 

 east kitchen window which gave onto 

 the south side of the orchard, where 

 the bees had long since been quar- 

 tered. This window also faced the 

 road from town. 



A horse-drawn semi-bespattered 

 vehicle that looked like a cross be- 



Wearing the French "Medaille Militaire," Note 

 the Russian samovar for tea. 



tween a flivver and a family surrey 

 approached the farm. Ma Jones 

 thought that she recognized the team 

 of sorrels. 



"Why, there's the sorrels from 

 Harry Johnson's livery," cried Ma, as 

 she made certain of her suspicions. "I 

 wonder if Jim got home on the early 

 train this morning. He's always sur- 

 prising folks." 



The short course at the Agricultural 

 College was over and they were ex- 

 pecting their only son, Jim, though 

 no word had come from him to warn 

 them of his arrival. Jim had gone to 

 take the short coui'se in beekeeping 

 and some other woi'k he felt the need 

 of since he had stuck to the farm so 

 closely, following his graduation 

 from high school. 



The sorrels came to a halt. Ma's 

 eyes, now close to the window pane, 

 followed every move. A man climbed 

 down from the rig, cap pulled down, 

 collar turned up. He helped a well- 

 dressed girl from the rear seat of the 

 shay. Following her there also ap- 

 peared bags, suit cases, and a spry 

 young man who snatched them all up 

 and started for the Jones home. Be- 

 hind him stepped the girl, smoothing 

 out her apparel as she walked. 



"Well, for land sakes," ejaculated 

 Ma Jones. She threw open the side 

 door and hurried out on the porch. 

 "Pa," she called, "i's Jim and there's 

 a girl with him." 



And almost before she finished, Jim 

 tossed the hand bags on the porch, 

 kissed his mother, and said proudly, 

 "Mother, this is my wife, Helen. We 

 were married day before yesterday." 

 "Well, for the land sakes." Ma 

 Jones, when taken aback, always re- 

 lied on her old verbal standby. At 

 the first glance the feminine under- 

 standing that defies description, 

 passed between them. Ma Jones 

 swept the bride into her arms, put- 

 ting a resounding period to this chap- 

 ter in the form of a great motherly 

 kiss. 



II 

 "Jim has a lot of nerve for a young 

 fellow," observed Pa to the Hired 

 Man. Ma had gone to install her new 

 daughter in the spare room and put 

 on a clean apron. 



"With cheap honey in sight, now 

 that the war is over," he continued, 

 "it'll take some hustling to maintain 

 a wife, I'd say." 



"I think I'll stick to the corn plow 

 and the seeders and let Jim monkey 

 with the bees," the Hired Man know- 

 ingly answered. 



Now a regular novelist would put 

 in a fine lot of trimmings right here, 

 but I haven't the time, and don't 

 know how. All I'm going to say is 

 that Pa Jones didn't have the old- 

 time pep to get down to work in the 

 apiary. He left the spring overhaul- 

 ing of the colonies and hives to Jim 

 and his bride, a bride he opined that 

 coming from an advertising agency 

 in the city, even though she shared 

 Jim's bee fever, would not be of much 

 account as a wife to an apiculturist 

 who had no better outlook than 10- 

 ccnt honey. But then, thought Pa, 

 remembering how rosy the whole 

 world looked when he grafted unto 



