THE WINTERERS 131 



showing a not less metallic surface. By midday the fly 

 may discover just enough energy to crawl up a fruit head 

 and search, probably in vain, for a last grain of pollen among 

 the black-headed pins of fruit. 



The haphazard wintering of the flies and some butterflies, 

 even the solitary wintering of other creatures, is very 

 different from the organised wintering of the honey-bees. 

 Of all the sounds in nature, none is more suggestive than 

 the high-pitched vibrant hum which you can just hear if you 

 put your ear to the hive. The bee has as strong and 

 insuperable an instinct as any creature. But the course of 

 this instinct is also the course of reason and has the appear- 

 ance of it. In the hive proceeds all the military preparations 

 for a long siege. Food is served in minute rations. Water 

 is procured only when winter is ending and the queens 

 demand it, by the agency of as few water carriers as possible, 

 who are absent from the hive for a short while and only 

 when circumstances are favourable. Warmth is conserved 

 to the utmost by close packing ; and health in such crowded 

 quarters is maintained by the ventilation of many wings 

 working as an electric fan works. It is the hum of the 

 ventilator one hears. Doubtless the tide of life, perceptible 

 indeed in inorganic as well as organic things, ebbs in the 

 bee as in others. In winter, the hive bee, as the bumble- 

 bee, sinks in vitality and can live with less food and less 

 activity than when the days are longer. Nevertheless, in 

 the bee, the organisation, the definite methods of meeting 

 winter, are more obvious than the intrinsic adaptation of 

 the physical qualities. It is not so with other insects. 



In October most of the winterers prepare their retreat. 

 On the whole the insects, perhaps, sleep hardest ; but few 

 creatures look so dead as the bat. Old barn roofs are a 

 certain covert where one will never draw blank ; but the bats 



