28 THE BEE-MASTER OF WARRILOW 
“Those are the undertakers,’ said the bee- 
master, ruminatively filling a pipe. ‘‘ Their work 
is to carry the dead out of the hive. That last was one 
of the New Year’s brood, and they often die in the 
cell like that, especially at the beginning of the 
season. All that fine drift is the cell-cappings 
thrown down during the winter from time to time 
as the stores were broached, and every warm day 
sees them cleaning up the hive in this way. And 
now watch these others—these that are coming and 
going straight in and out of the hive.” 
I followed the pointing pipe-stem. The alighting- 
stage was covered with a throng of bees, each busily 
intent on some particular task. But every now and 
then a bee emerged from the hive with a rush, 
elbowed her way excitedly through the crowd, and 
darted straight off into the sunshine without an 
instant’s pause. In the same way others were re- 
turning, and as swiftly disappearing into the hive. 
‘Those are the water-carriers,’’ explained the 
master. ‘‘ Water is a constant need in bee-life 
almost the whole year round. It is used to soften 
the mixture of honey and pollen with which the 
young grubs and newly-hatched bees are fed; and 
the old bees require a lot of it to dilute their winter 
stores. The river is the traditional watering-place 
for my bees here, and in the summer it serves very 
well; but in the winter hundreds are lost either 
through cold or drowning. And so at this time we 
give them a water-supply close at home.”’ 
He took up his pitcher, and led the way to the 
other end of the garden. Here, on a bench, he 
showed me a long row of glass jars full of water, 
standing mouth downward, each on its separate 
