THE BEE-MASTER OF WARRILOW 19 
t 
“ But the blue-cap,’’ he went on, “ is not always 
content to wait for his breakfast until the bees 
voluntarily bring it to him. He has a trick of 
enticing them out of the hive which is often success- 
ful even in the coldest weather. Come into the 
extracting-house yonder, and I may be able to show 
you what I mean.’’ 
He led the way to a row of outbuildings which 
flanked the northern boundary of the garden and 
formed additional shelter from the blustering gale. 
A window of the extracting-house overlooked the 
whole extent of hives. Opening this from within 
with as little noise as possible, the bee-master put a 
strong field-glass into my hand. 
“* Now that we are out of sight,’’ he said, ‘‘ the 
tits will soon be back again. There they come— 
whole families of them together! Now watch that 
green hive over there under the apple-tree.”’ 
Looking through the glass, I saw that about a 
dozen tits had settled in the tree. Their bright 
plumage contrasted vividly with the sober green 
and grey of the lichened boughs, as they swung 
themselves to and fro in the sunshine. But 
presently the boldest of them gave up this pretence 
of searching for food among the branches, and 
hopped down upon the alighting-board of the hive. 
At once two or three others followed him; and then 
began an ingenious piece of business. The little 
company fell to pecking at the hard wood with 
their bills, striking out a sharp ringing tattoo 
plainly audible even where we lay hidden. The old 
bee-man snorted contemptuously, and the cart- 
ridges slid home into the breech of his gun with a 
vicious snap. 
