CHAPTER VII. 



NIGHT ON A HONEY-FARM. 



The sweet summer dark was over the bee-garden. On 

 every side, as I passed through, the starlight showed me 

 the crowding roofs of the waxen city ; and beyond these I 

 could just make out the dim outline of the extracting-house, 

 with a cheerful glow of lamplight streaming out from 

 window and door. The rumble of machinery and the 

 voices of the bee-master and his men grew louder as I 

 approached. A great business seemed to be going forward 

 within. In the centre of the building stood a strange- 

 looking engine, like a brewer's vat on legs. It was eight 

 or nine feet broad and some five feet high ; and a big hori- 

 zontal wheel lay within the great circle, completely filling 

 its whole circumference. As I entered, the wheel was 

 going round with a deep reverberating noise as fast as 

 two strong men could work the gearing ; and the bee- 

 master stood close by, carefully timing the operation. 



"Halt!" he shouted. The great wheel-of -fortune 

 stopped. A long iron bar was pulled down and the wheel 

 rose out of the vat. Now I could see that its whole outer 

 periphery was covered with frames of honeycomb, each in 

 its separate gauze-wire cage. The bee-master tugged a 

 lever. The cages — there must have been twenty-five or 

 thirty of them — turned over simultaneously like single 

 leaves of a book, bringing the other side of each comb into 

 place. The wheel dropped down once more, and swung 

 round again on its giddy journey. From my place by the 

 door I could hear the honey driving out against the sides 

 of the vat like heavy rain. 



" Halt ! " cried the bee-master again. Once more the 

 big wheel rose, glistening and dripping, into the yellow 

 lamplight. And now a trolley was pushed up laden with 

 more honeycomb ready for extraction. The wire-net cages 

 were opened, the empty combs taken out, and full ones 

 d^tly put in their place. The wheel plunged down again 



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