128 THE LORE OF THE HONEY-BEE 
ways where the traffic seems too congested for the 
old thoroughfares of the hive. 
On all sides the scavenging bees go to and fro, 
picking up every particle of refuse, and carrying 
it safely away. Winged undertakers drive their 
trade in the midst of the throng, bearing the 
corpses of their comrades, old and young, towards 
the entrance, and flying away with them into the 
sunlight of the young spring day. There is the 
ventilating army outside the city gates, skilfully 
organised in relays, so that, day and night, a con- 
stant circulation of air is maintained. There are 
the guard-bees close by, watching all in-comers 
and out-goers. There is a sort of General Pur- 
poses Committee ready outside the threshold with 
a helping hand for all : succouring the overladen, 
grooming down any in need of such assistance, 
gathering up fallen treasure, or, as it would seem, 
taking careful note of the weather for their next 
official report. And all through the hours of sun- 
shine, in unnumbered thousands, the foragers are 
charging to and fro, some bringing nectar, some 
staggering in under mighty loads of pollen, others 
with full water-sacs, still more dragging behind 
them lumps of the curious cement called by the 
ancients Propolis, and used for so many different 
purposes in the daily work of the hive. 
And it all goes on with the regularity of a well- 
ordered human settlement. There is complexity, 
yet no confusion ; there is speed without hurry. 
