CHAPTER XI 
WINTER WORK ON THE BEE-FARM 
"THE light snow covered the path through the 
bee-farm, and whitened the roof of every hive. 
In the red winter twilight it looked more like a 
human city than ever, with its long double rows of 
miniature houses stretching away into the dusk on 
either hand, and its broad central thoroughfare, 
where the larger hives crowded shoulder to 
shoulder, casting their black shadows over the 
glimmering snow. 
The bee-master led the way towards the extract- 
ing-house at the end of the garden, as full of his 
work, seemingly, as ever he had been in the press 
of summer days. There was noise enough going 
on in the long lighted building ahead of us, but I 
hissed the droning song of the great extractor 
itself. 
“No; we have done with honey work for this 
year,’’ said the old bee-man. ‘‘ It is all bottled and 
cased long ago, and most of it gone to London. 
But there’s work enough still, as you'll see. The 
bees get their long rest in the winter; but, on a big 
honey-farm, the humans must work all the year 
round.” 
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