THE UNBUSY BEE 179 
subdued light, the walls covered with book-shelves, 
the littered table, and the vast wingless, drab- 
coloured creature sitting in the midst of it all, like a 
funnel-spider in his snare. Bees entering a room in 
this way seldom stop more than a second or two, 
and, more rarely still, alight. As a rule, they are 
gone the next moment as swiftly as they came, 
leaving the impression that their quick retreat was 
due to a sudden accession of fear; just as children, 
venturing into some dark unwonted place, at first 
boldly enough, will suddenly turn tail and flee, with 
terror hard upon their heels. 
But what should bring bees into such unlikely 
situations during these warm bright breaks in the 
wintry weather, when they seldom or never venture 
out of the range of hives and fields in the season of 
plenty? It would be curious to know whether 
people who have never kept bees, nor handled hives, 
are habitually pried upon in this way; or whether 
it is only among bee-men the thing occurs. Natur- 
alists are commonly agreed that bees possess an 
extraordinary sense of smell; indeed, the fact is 
patent to all who know anything of hive-life. Now, 
years of stinging render the bee-master immune to 
the ordinary results of a prod from a bee’s acid- 
charged stiletto. There is only a sharp prick, a 
little irritation at the moment, but seldom any after- 
effects of swelling or inflammation, local or general. 
But all this injection of formic acid under the skin 
year after year might very well have a cumulative 
effect, so that the much-stung bee-man would 
eventually acquire in his own person the permanent 
odour of the hive. And this, scented afar off, may 
well be the attraction that brings these roving 
