64 THE BEE-MASTER OF WARRILOW 
fanning with their wings! They are drawing the 
hot air out. Inside there is another regiment of 
them, but those are facing the opposite way, and 
drawing the cool air in. And so they keep the hive 
always at the right temperature for honey-making, 
and for hatching out the young bees.”’ 
““Who was it,’? he asked ruminatively, as the 
gate of the bee-farm closed at last behind us, and 
we were walking homeward through the glimmer- 
ing dusk of the lane—‘‘ who was it first spoke of the 
‘busy bee’? Busy! ’Tis not the word for it! 
Why, from the moment she is born to the day she 
dies the bee never rests nor sleeps! It is hard 
work night and day, from the cradle-cell to the 
grave; and in the honey-season she dies of it after 
a month or so. It is only the drone that rests. He 
is very like some humans I know of his own sex; 
he lives an idle life, and leaves the work to the 
womenkind. But the drone has to pay for it in 
the end, for the drudging woman-bee revolts sooner 
or later. And then she kills him. In bee-life the 
drone always dies a violent death; but in human 
life—well, it seems to me a little bee-justice wouldn't 
be amiss with some of them.’ 
