CHAPTER II 
FEBRUARY AMONGST THE HIVES 
THE midday sun shone warm from a cloudless 
sky. Up in the highest elm-tops the south- 
west wind kept the chattering starlings gently 
swinging, but below in the bee-garden scarce a 
breath moved under the rich soft light. 
As I lifted the latch of the garden-gate, the sharp 
click brought a stooping figure erect in the midst of 
the hives; and the bee-master came down the red- 
tiled winding path to meet me. He carried a box 
full of some yellowish powdery substance in one 
hand, and a big pitcher of water in the other; and 
as ustial, his shirt-sleeves were tucked up to 
the shouldet, baring his weather-browned arms to 
the morning sun. 
‘“'When do we begin the year’s bee-work? ”’ he 
said, repeating my question amusedly. ‘‘ Why, we 
began on New Year’s morning. And last year’s 
work was finished on Old Year’s night. If you go 
with the times, every day in the year has its work 
on a modern bee-farm, either indoors or out.’’ 
‘“ But it is on these first warm days of spring,” 
he continued, as I followed him into the thick of 
the hives, ‘‘ that outdoor work for the bee-man 
starts in earnest. The bees began long ago. 
24 
