CHAPTER XXII 
THE HONEY-FLOW 
ON Warrilow Bee-Farm, where it lay under the 
green lip of the Sussex Downs, there was 
always food for wonder, whether the year was at 
its ebb or its flow. But in July of a good season 
the busy life of the farm reached a culminating 
point. 
The ordinary man, in search of excitement, 
distraction, the heady wine served out only to those 
who stand in the fighting-line of the world, would 
hardly seek these things in a little sleepy village sunk 
fathoms deep in English summer greenery. But, 
nevertheless, with the coming of the great honey- 
flow to Warrilow came all these subtle human 
necessities. If you would keep up with the bee- 
master and his men at this stirring time, you must 
be ready for a break-neck gallop from dawn to dusk 
of the working day, and often a working night to 
follow. While the honey-flow endured, muscles and 
nerves were tried to their breaking-point. It was 
a race between the great centrifugal honey-extractor 
and the toiling millions of the hives; and time and 
again, in exceptionally favourable seasons, the bees 
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