26 THE BEE-MASTER OF WARRILOW 
settled on our hands and faces, comfortably, and 
with no apparent haste to be gone. The bee-master 
noted my growing uneasiness, not to say trepidation. 
“Don’t be afraid,’ he said. ‘‘It is only their 
companionableness. They won’t sting—at least, 
not if you give them their way. But now come and 
see what we are doing to help on the queens in 
their work.” 
At different stations in the garden I had noticed 
some shallow wooden trays standing among the 
hives. The old bee-man led the way to one of these. 
Here the humming was louder and busier than 
ever. The tray was full of fine wood-shavings, 
dusted over with the yellow powder from the bee- 
master’s box; and scores of bees were at work in 
it, smothering themselves from head to foot, and 
flying off like golden millers to the hives. 
““This is pea-flour,’? explained the master, 
“and it takes the place of pollen as food for the 
young bees, until the spring flowers open and the 
natural supply is available. This forms the first 
step in the bee-keeper’s work of patching up the 
defective English climate. From the beginning 
our policy is to deceive the queens into the belief 
that all is prosperity and progress outside. We 
keep all the hives well covered up, and contract the 
entrances, so that a high temperature is maintained 
within, and the queens imagine summer is already 
advancing. Then they see the pea-flour coming in 
plentifully, and conclude that the fields and hillsides 
are covered with flowers; for they never come out 
of the hives except at swarming-time, and must 
judge of the year by what they see around them. 
Then in a week or two we shall put the spring- 
