THE YELLOW PERIL IN HIVELAND 171 
clamour of bygone summer days. It is only a 
make-believe of duty. Each bee, as she swings up 
into the sunshine, hovers a while before setting 
easy sail for the ivy in the lane; and, on returning, 
she may bask for whole minutes together on the 
hot hive-roof. There is no sort of hurry; little 
as there may be to do abroad, there is less at 
home. 
But to one section of the bee-community, these 
slack October hours bring no cessation of toil. The 
guards at the gate must redouble their vigilance. 
Cut off from most of their natural supplies, the yellow 
pirates—the wasps—are continually prowling about 
the entrance; and, in these lean times, will dare all 
dangers for a fill of honey. Incessant fierce skir- 
mishes take place on the alighting-board. The 
guards hurl themselves at each adventuress in turn. 
The wasp, calculating coward that she is, invariably 
declines battle, and makes off; but only to return a 
little later, hoping for the unwary moment that is 
sure to come. While the whole strength of the 
picket is engaged with other would-be pilferers, she 
slips round the scuffling crew, and plunges into the 
fragrant gloom of the hive. 
The variation in temperament among the mem- 
bers of a bee-colony is never better illustrated than 
by the way in which these marauders are received 
and dealt with. The wasp never tries to pick a way 
to the honey-stores through the close packed ranks 
of the bees. She keeps to the sides of the hive, and 
works her way up by a series of quick darts when- 
ever a path opens before her. Evidently her plan 
is to avoid contact with the home-keeping bees, 
which, at this time of year, have little more to do 
