CHAPTER Vit 
NIGHT ON A HONEY-FARM 
THE sweet summer dusk was over the bee-farm. 
On every side, as I passed through, the star- 
light showed me the crowding roofs of the city of 
hives; and beyond these I could just make out the 
dim outline of the extracting-house, with a cheerful 
glow of lamplight streaming out from window and 
door. The rumble of machinery and the voices of 
the bee-master and his men grew louder as I 
approached. A great business seemed to be going 
forward within. In the centre of the building 
stood a strange-looking engine, like a brewer’s vat 
on legs. It was eight or nine feet broad and some 
five feet high; and a big horizontal wheel lay 
within the great circle, completely filling its whole 
circumference. As I entered, the wheel was going 
round with a deep reverberating noise as fast as 
two strong men could work the gearing; and the 
bee-master stood close by, carefully timing the 
operation. 
“Halt!’’ he shouted. The great wheel-of- 
fortune stopped. A long iron bar was pulled down 
and the wheel rose out of the vat. Now I could see 
that its whole outer periphery was covered with 
