242 THE LORE OF THE HONEY-BEE 



neither wax-generating organs, nor leg-pincers to 

 deal with wax. His tongue is too short for honey- 

 getting. His brain is much smaller than even that 

 of the feeble-minded queen. The intricate gland- 

 systems, which play so important a rdle in the daily 

 life of the worker, are either completely atrophied 

 in the drone or exist only in an elementary state. 

 While it has been the communal will of the hive 

 that the worker- bee should develop an amazing 

 proficiency of mind and body, the same forces have 

 been steadily at work to degrade the male-bee into 

 a creature of dependence, gradually training out of 

 him all initiative and idea, except in the one direc- 

 tion. Just as in the case of the queen and the 

 worker, drone and worker- bee seem hardly to 

 belong to the same race. 



And yet, for all his frank incapabilities and lack 

 of ideals, the drone offers, in one respect, a refresh- 

 ing contrast to his sour, stern, duty-worshipping 

 sister. He is a life-long, incorrigible optimist. He 

 fiddles gaily while the city burns. All his misery 

 and mourning would not serve to quench a single 

 spark of it ; so he eats, drinks, and is merry, with 

 the intuition of all drones that Nemesis waits on 

 the morrow with something disagreeable. It is 

 impossible to study his ways for long without re- 

 cognising the spirit of rude jollity and horse-play 

 that thoroughly pervades all he does. In and out 

 of the hive he blusters, cannoning roughly against 

 all he meets, and raising his burly, bullying song 



