THE MYSTERY OF THE SWARM 181 
“talking bees,” which is the most nerve-soothing, 
soul-refreshing occupation in the world. There 
never was a bee-keeper, new style or old style, too 
busy to talk, provided that you met him with 
understanding, and were as impatient as he of 
digressions from the all-important theme. One 
soon gets tired of imparting information as to the 
wonders of hive-life to the ignorant and plainly 
apprehensive stranger, and none sooner than he 
of the old school. In the quietest apiary of pure- 
bred English bees there are always a few indi- 
viduals of crotchety nature, who will search you 
out in the shady orchard seat, and, as like as not, 
knife you on the least provocation. If you area 
beeman, you treat these vindictive approaches 
with unconcern. You go on listening to the old 
man’s talk, while the bee shrills away at your 
eyelids, or creeps into your ear and out again. If 
you keep quiet, she will soon relinquish the dull 
sport, and wing harmlessly away ; and the thread 
of the master’s discourse is not interrupted. But 
the uninformed stranger is a nuisance at these soli- 
tudes for two. He flinches and shudders; makes 
little irritating retreats; beats about wildly with 
his hands; or, if he is made of the sternest metal, he 
sits rigidly upright when he should be reclining at 
his ease, and turns such a painfully polite, though 
distracted, ear to his informant, that the stream of 
talk is sure to dry up incontinently, and he feels as 
little welcome as ghostly Banquo at the feast. 
