ODDS AND ENDS 
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cation of me with my bees. Or it may be just a 
polite acknowledgment of interest in a rather 
peculiar occupation. Occasionally it is a pathetic 
and uninspired attempt to “draw me out”—an 
attempt doomed to failure. In such a case, the 
next remark is quite likely to be: 
“Don’t they ever sting you?” 
This question is put to me literally thousands of 
times, as often from men and women of real 
intellect as from the unthinking. I suppose it is 
what people generally associate with a bee—a sting. 
And I feel sure it is always asked with a hope that 
the answer may be, “Never,” thus stamping me as 
something unusual, with some strange charm, where 
bees are concerned. 
If I answer honestly, “Oh, yes, I get stung some¬ 
times, but it doesn’t amount to anything,” they snort 
half incredulously. 
Then, “What do you do for the stings?” 
Patiently, “Nothing. There isn’t anything that 
really does much good ” 
This is the real way most real beekeepers feel, 
but I strongly suspect it is not quite satisfactory to 
the layman. And often the latter seems to forget 
the answers from one meeting to the next. 
Many people, however, ask questions which show 
