ii8 THE LORE OF THE HONEY-BEE 



knew it, but singularly damping to the ardours, 

 and great ideas of destiny, that gather within 

 her day by day. At length the call comes for 

 which all are secretly waiting, and obeying irre- 

 sistibly, she presses out into the light. 



As she stands hesitating, the hot June sun falls 

 upon her, laving her in molten gold. The blue 

 sky beckons her upward. All the world of colour 

 and incense and life calls her to her wooing, and 

 she must needs obey. With a little glad flutter of 

 the wings, she breaks at last from the scrambling 

 company about her, and soars up into the light. 



Warily now she hovers, taking careful stock of 

 her home and its surroundings. Then round and 

 round, in ever widening and lifting circles, each 

 sweep upward giving her a broader view of the 

 world that lies beyond. And then away into the 

 blue sky so swiftly that no human eye can follow ; 

 yet only for a short flight. She is back again 

 now, almost before you have missed her, and 

 hurrying, frightened at her own audacity, into the 

 old safe gloom of the hive. 



Thus she dallies, to and fro between the sun- 

 shine and the darkness, each time adventuring 

 a little farther into the blue playground of the 

 upper air, until at length the inevitable comes to 

 pass. A great drone — one of the roistering crowd 

 that fills the bee-garden with its hoarse noontide 

 music — spies her, and gives instant chase. At 

 sight of him she wheels, and darts away into the 



