THE DESERT AND THE ROSE 51 



wheat over their heads, thus letting Nature do their 

 winnowing. Later, in the Fall days, women may yet 

 be found, grinding the corn between the upper and 

 the nether millstone. 



But all these things pass away, all relics of the 

 past primeval. 



• Nearing home I come to a flat roofed town in 

 miniature, a bee-town. Lucrative as such settle- 

 ments are to their owners, fifty pounds of comb 

 honey per hive being considered a moderate esti- 

 mate and ambrosial as is the Valley honey, I prefer 

 not to engage in this industry. I do not like bees, 

 and, far more important, they do not like me. At 

 one time I gave them credit for being at least hard- 

 working, but I have learned that in New Mexico 

 they are sometimes disgracefully lazy and have to 

 be urged into doing business. The bee is due to 

 work for from three to five months in the year here, 

 but does not always live up to his schedule. 



So doth the little busy bee. 



Furthermore, owing to the smaller acreage of 

 alfalfa sown in later years this nominally industri- 

 ous insect has to be fed more plentifully than of old, 

 and sugar is no longer a cheap commodity. Ergo, 

 honey is no longer cheap. 



And now the long respected bee is accused of 

 spreading pear blight. Clearly the vogue of the 

 Bee is passing. 



