THE PHYSICIAN IN THE HIVE 81 
floor in front of the furnace—where a big caldron 
of metheglin was simmering—a carpet was hastily 
unrolled, and a comfortable couch brought out and 
set close to the cheery blaze. 
And now the strangest part of the proceedings 
commenced. The old gentleman was brought in, 
partially disrobed, and transferred to the couch by 
the fireside. He seemed in great trepidation about 
something. He kept his gold eyeglasses turned on 
the bee-master, watching him with a sort of terrified 
wonder, as the old bee-man produced a mysterious 
box, with a lid of perforated zinc, and laid it on the 
table close by. From my corner the whole scene 
was strongly reminiscent of the ogre’s kitchen in 
the fairy-tale; and the muffled sounds from the pack- 
ing-room might have been the voice of the ogre 
himself, complaining at the lateness of his dinner. 
Now, at a word from the black-coated man, the 
bee-master opened his box. A loud angry buzzing 
uprose, and about a dozen bees escaped into the air, 
and flew straight for the window-glass. The bee- 
master followed them, took one carefully by the 
wings, and brought it over to the old gentleman. 
His apprehensions visibly redoubled. The doctor 
seized him in an iron, professional grip. 
‘* Just here, I think. Close under the shoulder- 
blade. Now, your lordship...” 
Viciously the infuriated bee struck home. For 
eight or ten seconds she worked her wicked will on 
the patient. Then, turning round and round, she 
at last drew out her sting, and darted back to the 
window. 
But the bee-master was ready with another of his 
living stilettos. Half a dozen times the operation 
F 
