172, THE BEE-MASTER OF WARRILOW 
than loiter over the combs, or tuck themselves away 
in the empty brood-cells by the hour together. But 
in her desultory advance, she often cannons against 
single bees; and then she may be either mildly 
interrogated, fiercely challenged, or may be allowed 
to pass with a friendly stroke of the antennz, as 
though she were an orthodox member of the hive. 
Again, you may see her recognised for a stranger 
by three or four workers simultaneously. She will 
be surrounded and closely questioned. The bees 
draw back and confer among themselves in obvious 
doubt. The wasp knows better than to await the 
result of their deliberations; by the time they look 
for her again, she is gone. 
She carries her life in her hand, and well she 
knows it. The farther she goes, the more suspicious 
and menacing the bees become. Now she has 
wild little scuffles here and there with the boldest of 
them, but her superior adroitness and pace save her 
at every turn. It is about an even wager that she 
will reach the brimming honey-cells, load herself up 
to the chin, and escape home to her paper-stronghold 
with her spoils. 
As often as not, however, these hive-robbing 
wasps pay the last great price for their temerity. 
Those who study bee-life closely and unremittingly, 
year after year, find it difficult to escape the con- 
clusion that there are certain bees in the crowd who 
are mentally and physically in advance of their 
sisters. The notion of the old bee-keepers—that 
there were generals and captains as well as rank- 
and-file in the hive—seems, in fact, to be not 
entirely without latter-day confirmation. And it is 
just the chance of falling in with one of these bees 
