THE MYSTERY OF THE SWARM i8i 



" talking bees," which is the most nerve-soothing, 

 soul-refreshing occupation in the world. There 

 never was a bee-keeper, new" style or old style, too 

 busy to talk, provided that you met him with 

 understanding, and were as impatient as he of 

 digressions from the all-important theme. One 

 soon gets tired of imparting information as to the 

 wonders of hive-life to the ignorant and plainly 

 apprehensive stranger, and none sooner than he 

 of the old school. In the quietest apiary of pure- 

 bred English bees there are always a few indi- 

 viduals of crotchety nature, who will search you 

 out in the shady orchard seat, and, as like as not, 

 knife you on the least provocation. If you are a 

 beeman, you treat these vindictive approaches 

 with unconcern. You go on listening to the old 

 man's talk, while the bee shrills away at your 

 eyelids, or creeps into your ear and out again. If 

 you keep quiet, she will soon relinquish the dull 

 sport, and wing harmlessly away ; and the thread 

 of the master's discourse is not interrupted. But 

 the uninformed stranger is a nuisance at these soli- 

 tudes for two. He flinches and shudders ; makes 

 little irritating retreats ; beats about wildly with 

 his hands ; or, if he is made of the sternest metal, he 

 sits rigidly upright when he should be reclining at 

 his ease, and turns such a painfully polite, though 

 distracted, ear to his informant, that the stream of 

 talk is sure to dry up incontinently, and he feels as 

 little welcome as ghostly Banquo at the feast. 



