go THE BEE-MASTER OF WARRILOW 
balm and lavender and mint. After this the skep 
was covered up and set aside in the shade; and the 
old bee-keeper, carrying an ancient battered copper 
bowl in one gnarled hand, and a great door-key in 
the other, would lead the way towards the hive, 
his drab smock-frock mowing the scarlet tulip-heads 
down as he went, 
Sometimes the swarm went off without any 
preliminary warning, just as if the skep had burst 
like a bombshell, volleying its living contents into 
the sky. But oftener it went through the several 
stages of a regular process. After much waiting 
and many false alarms, a peculiar stir would come 
in the throng of bees cumbering the entrance to the 
hive. Thousands rose on the wing, until the sun- 
shine overhead was charged with them as with 
countless fluttering atoms of silver-foil; and a wild 
joyous song spread far and wide, overpowering all 
ether sounds in the garden. Within the hive the 
rich bass note had ceased; and a hissing noise, like 
a great caldron boiling over, took its place, as the 
bees inside came pouring out to join the carolling 
multitude above. Last of all came the queen. 
Watching for her through the glittering gauzy 
atmosphere of flashing wings, she was always 
strangely conspicuous, with her long pointed body 
of brilliant chestnut-red. She came hustling forth; 
stopped for an instant to comb her antennz on the 
edge of the foot-board; then soared straight up into 
the blue, the whole swarm crowding deliriously in 
her train. 
Immediately the old bee-man commenced a weird 
tom-tomming on his metal bowl. ‘‘ Ringing the 
hees ’”’ was an exact science with him. They were 
