CHAPTER XXIII 
SUMMER LIFE IN A _ BEE-HIVE 
[IF you go to the bee-garden early of a fine 
summer’s morning you will be struck by the 
singular quiet of the place. All the woods and 
hedgerows are ringing with busy life. The rooks 
are cawing homeward with already hours of 
strenuous work behind them. The cattle in the 
meadows are well through their first cud. But as 
yet the bee-city is as still as the sleeping village 
around it. Now and again a bee drops down from 
the sky on a deserted hive-threshold with sleepy 
hum, and runs past the guards at the gate. But 
these are bees that have wandered too far afield 
overnight, tempted by the sunny warmth of the 
evening. The dusk has caught them, and oblit- 
erated their flying-marks. They have perforce 
camped out under some broad leaf, to be wakened 
by the earliest light of morning and hurry home 
with their belated loads. 
The sun is well up over the hillbrow before the 
visible life of the bee-garden begins to rouse in 
earnest. The a are the first to appear. 
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