The Bee-Master of Warrilow. 



the jars into their travelling-cases ready for the railway-van 

 in the morningf. The whole place reeked with the smell of 

 new honey and the faint, indescribable odour of the hives. 

 As we passed out of the busy scene of the extracting-house 

 into the moist dark night again, this peculiar fragrance 

 struck upon us overpoweringly. The slow wind was set- 

 ting our way, and the pungent odour from the hives came 

 up on it with a solid, almost stifling, effect. 



' ' They are fanning hard tonight, ' ' said the bee-master, 

 as we stopped halfway down the garden. " Listen to the 

 noise they're making !" 



The moon was just tilting over the tree-tops. In its 

 dim light the place looked double its actual size. We 

 seemed to stand in the midst of a great town of bee-dwell- 

 ings, stretching vaguely away into the darkness. And from 

 every hive there rose the clear deep murmur of the ven- 

 tilating bees. 



The bee-master lighted his lantern, and held it down 

 close to the entrance of the nearest hive. 



" Look how they form up in rows, one behind the 

 other, with their heads to the hive; and all fanning with 

 their wings ! They are drawing the hot air out. Inside 

 there is another regiment of them, but those are facing 

 the opposite way, and drawing the cool air in. And so 

 they keep the hive always at the right temperature for 

 honey-making, and for hatching out the young bees." 



" Who was it," he asked ruminatively, as the gate 

 of the bee-garden closed at last behind us, and we 

 were walking homeward through the glimmering dusk 

 of the lane — " who was it first spoke of the ' busy bee '? 

 Busy ! 'Tis not the word for it ! Why, from the moment 

 she is born to the day she dies the bee never rests nor 

 sleeps ! It is hard work night and day, from the cradle- 

 cell to the grave ; and in the honey-season she dies of it 

 after a month or so. It is only the drone that rests. He is 

 very like some humans I know of his own sex ; he lives an 

 idle life, and leaves the work to the womenkind. But the 

 drone has to pay for it in the end, for the drudging woman- 

 bee revolts sooner or later. And then she kills him. In 

 bee-life the drone always dies a violent death ; but in human 

 life — well, it seems to me a little bee-justice wouldn't be 

 amiss with some of them." 



44 



