88 THE BEE-MASTER OF WARRILOW 
suddenly doused right up to the brim, the stirrer 
labouring all the time at the seething grey mass 
more furiously than ever. 
“The quicker we can cool it the better it is,’ 
explained the old bee-keeper, through the steam. 
He was peering into the caldron as he spoke, watch- 
ing the syrup change from dark clear grey to a 
dirty white, like half-thawed snow. Now he gave a 
sudden signal. A strong rod was instantly passed 
through the handles of the caldron. The vessel 
was whisked out of its icy bath and borne rapidly 
away. Following hard upon its heels, we saw the 
bearers halt near some long, low trestle-tables, 
where hundreds of little wooden boxes were ranged 
side by side. Into these the thick, sludgy syrup 
was poured as rapidly as possible, until all were 
filled. 
“* Hach box,” said the bee-master, as we watched 
the candy gradually setting snow-white in its 
wooden frames, ‘‘ each box holds about a pound. 
The box is put into the hive upside-down on the top 
of the comb-frames, just over the cluster of bees; 
and the bottom is glazed because then you can see 
when the candy is exhausted, and the time has come 
to put on another case. What is it made of? 
Well, every maker has his own private formula, 
and mine is a secret like the rest. But it is sugar, 
mostly—cane-sugar. Beet-sugar will not do; it is 
injurious to the bees. 
“But candy-making,’’ he went on, as we moved 
slowly through the populous building, ‘‘ is by no 
means the only winter work on a bee-farm. There 
are the hives to make for next season; all those we 
shall need for ourselves, and hundreds more we 
