34 THE BEE-MASTER OF WARRILOW 
box, lined with warm material, and containing bar 
frames full of sealed honeycomb. 
““These are extra combs from last summer. I 
keep them in a warm cupboard over the stove at 
about the same temperature as the hive we are 
going to put them into. But first they must be 
uncapped. Have you ever seen the Bingham 
used? ’’ 
From the inexhaustible barrow he produced the 
long knife with the broad, flat blade; and, poising 
the frame of honeycomb vertically on his knee, he 
removed the sheet of cell-caps with one dexterous 
cut, laying the honey bare from end to end. This 
frame was then lowered into the hive with the 
uncapped side close against the clustering bees. 
Another comb, similarly treated, was placed on the 
opposite flank of the cluster. Outside each of 
these a second full comb was as swiftly brought 
into position. Then the sliding inner walls of the 
brood-nest were pushed up close to the frame, and 
the quilts and roof restored. The whole seemed 
the work of a few moments at the outside. 
‘“ All this early spring work,’’ said the bee- 
master, as we moved to the next hive, ‘‘ is based 
upon the recognition of one thing. In the south 
here the real great honey-flow comes all at once: 
very often the main honey-harvest for the year has 
to be won or lost during three short weeks of 
summer. The bees know this, and from the first 
days of spring they have only the one idea—to create 
an immense population, so that when the honey-flow 
begins there may be no lack of harvesters. But 
against this main idea there is another one—their 
ingrained and invincible caution. Not an egg will 
