Happy

We were not long in reaching home. Without ceremony I lit on the board and instantly my friend was beside me. At the same moment a guard accosted him and seized him, recognizing him as an intruder. I interfered, but almost unavailingly, for the guard was about to sting him. The two of us escaped this guard only to be attacked by another, which we beat off, and hurriedly entered the hive. I was almost certain that yet others would question the stranger, and sure enough, we had barely got inside before another guard summarily attacked him. Poor fellow, with only five legs and tired from the combats of the day, he could make but a poor fight. Again I rescued him, and again we raced into the interior. And now, happily, our troubles were over. Without thinking, I made straight for my cell, with “Crip,” as I began to call him, at my heels.

He seemed to realize that he was a stranger and that he owed his life to me, for he clung to me as closely as possible. He seemed to know, too, that the ground whereon I stood was sacred to me. He did not speak for a time, nor did I. We simply hung limp on the comb, and rested. He broke the silence:

“You have a wonderful colony, I can see. I hope I shall grow into it as though it were my own. Indeed, in a sense it is my own, for all bees are sprung from the same source, and the life of the bee is kept alive by us, each in his own cell. I know now that I shall grow into it. Listen to that voice! How long it is since I heard a Queen-Mother sing!”

I roused myself, somewhat confused. “Queen-Mother!” I stammered.

“Yes. Won’t you take me to her?”

I hardly knew how to answer; I had never seen her myself, although I knew from Crip’s story and from some unknown source that there was somewhere a reigning spirit. But my life had been so brief and I had already learned so many things, I said, as lightly as I might, “Let us go.”

He seemed to know the way to her. He hobbled along as best he might on his five legs. He was now no longer suspected as an intruder, and we marched without interruption. Presently we climbed through a hole in a comb and came face to face with our Queen-Mother.

I stopped, dazed, overcome by her serenity. The grace and magnificent proportions of her body and the fire of her eyes held me entranced. I shall not live long enough fitly to describe my emotions. There she was, queenly and wonderful, and yet simple as any one of us. She approached us and appeared to nod, as if to say, “I salute you, my children.” Then she went on with her labors.

I turned to Crip. He was speechless.

Immediately we started back to our cell, for it was henceforth to be his also.

“It is strange,” he said. “I do not understand it. Life and death are in her keeping, and yet she knows it not. You and I don’t count for much. We pass like the leaves, but life everlasting lingers in her body—the very spirit of things ranges through her. But I am content with my insignificant place, to live my life, doing my duty from day to day.”

I did not answer him. We fell silent as we made our way across the combs.

“Suppose we take a turn in the woods,” he suddenly suggested, wheeling about and heading for the door. “I have new bearings to get and you have new lands to explore.”

“I supposed you knew this country,” I ventured.

“I do, but the way to this new home of mine must be learned.”

Out into the air we hurried, but he flew back and forth many times before our door. He wanted to make sure that he knew it; then, flying round and round in ever wider circles, we mounted with ecstasy into the higher reaches. Lake Espantoso, with its border of great oaks, lay below us like a bar of silver; and the Master’s house stood like a sentinel beside the white hives which, row on row, spread beneath us in the sun.

“That prominent knoll,” said Crip, “is a thing to remember, if you are returning late and flying low. And remember, too, that in that window of the Master’s house a lantern burns. This may sometimes be a guide. But, mark you, never fly into it, though you may be tempted. Better still, get in before it is too dark. Just there by that row of hives is a tree to remember. It is a glory in the spring with its yellow flowers, until the cutting ants get it. They clip off the leaves and blossoms. But it is an excellent land-mark, nevertheless. And there’s the Master,” went on Crip, “and the Little One, and that horrid dog. That little boy sits by for hours while the great one labors with some of us. The horrid dog sleeps—I’d like to sting him. Things will go wrong—the Master sets them to rights. He seems to know everything; and yet, when he took away some of our honey, in spite of our having vast stores of it, we fought him. The little he took harmed us not at all, and I suppose we fight him because our brothers have done so for centuries. But I talk too much.”

After a rather long flight, and much interesting converse, we reached our door again. Crip’s experience with the guard was still fresh in his mind, for he clung closely to me for protection. But the guard this time passed him without a word. He had acquired the scent and the note of the hive, and henceforth his life and all the energies of his body would be merged with that of the colony.

“Why, laying eggs!” he said, right sharply, as though annoyed at my ignorance.

“Well, what are eggs?” for I was still no wiser.

“Come with me,” he said, and off we went across the combs.

He did not stop until he reached the very spot where we had seen the Queen. The odor of her was still strong thereabouts, but she had gone.

“Now look, stupid!” Crip said. “At the bottom of each of the cells in this section of comb is an egg.”

I looked down into one and, sure enough, a small, thin, yellowish-white egg was stuck squarely in the center of it. I looked into several other cells, and each had its one egg.

I shall never forget the story which he went on to unfold. The wonderful cycle from egg to larva, from larva to bee, he explained in fascinating detail. I saw at once that he was a real sage, that his knowledge was boundless, and then to crown it he told me that even the Queen-Mother herself had sprung from an ordinary egg, having been converted through miracle into a queen ruling over this empire. Simply by feeding and tending them differently—only the bees in their wisdom know how—the egg which might develop into a worker or a drone, passing through a metamorphosis, can be made to break from the dark cover of the cell the personification of life eternal, as exemplified in the body and the life of the Queen.

I could not quite understand all these things, but I felt sure Crip was telling the truth; and indeed I began to look up to him with increasing admiration and wonder on account of the worlds of things he knew.

We were silent awhile. There rose again for me the night hymn of the hive. It penetrated me as not before; it had a new significance, a new message—I had been visited with a revelation. The sight I had gained of the Queen-Mother woke new and tremulous emotions within me—there was a new meaning in life.

Crip stirred rather sharply, breaking my train of thought.

“What’s the matter?” I queried.

“I’m tired holding on. We must get another place to rest. You see, with only five legs the load of my body grows heavy.”

With that we moved up the comb to the top of it, and there he spread himself out with a little hum of content. And just then I developed a curiosity to know how he had lost his leg.

“You miss your leg, but do you suffer pain on account of it? And how did it happen?”

“That’s a short story. I was coming home late one day, well laden with honey, when, without warning, one of those terrible black bee-hawks darted for me and clutched me, sailing away to the nearest bush. He had quickly rolled me up with his powerful legs and almost by the time he lit he was ready to kill me with one thrust of his proboscis. Of course I had struggled, but when one of those fellows gets his claws on you it’s good-by. I had about ceased to struggle when suddenly there came a tremendous shock, and the next moment I was rolling on the ground and shaking myself free from the mutilated hawk. He had been torn to pieces by some mysterious force, and my leg, my bread-basket leg, was gone. At that moment the Master approached me; in his hands he held a long black thing which I had seen emit fire on other occasions, and somehow I suspected at once he had saved me. The little boy came hurriedly up, stooped over me and helped release me, and in a moment I was circling round to get my bearings. The little boy and the Master—and even the dog—watched my movements with an expression of satisfaction on their faces. I flew straightway home and was thankful still to be alive.”

“Tell me more about this Master,” I begged, for I was now growing vastly interested in his activities and in those of the Little One, and even the dog which once I tried to sting, because he came so close to our hive.

“Some say he is good—some say that he is bad. I only know him as the chopper of weeds about our home and as my rescuer. Many times since the day he saved me have I heard him shooting bee-hawks. Indeed, I had heard the little thunder of his gun before that day, but I did not understand its meaning. They say, too, that he takes away our honey—and he did take some of ours once—and frightens us nearly to death with the prospect of starvation. And they fall upon him and sting him, trying to drive him away. But all this is useless, they report, since he comes armed with fire and smoke.

“Others tell of him that in the dark, cold days, if provisions run low, he brings honey and closes the door against blizzards. But I know nothing of this. I have not lived through a winter and I fear I shall never know what it means.”

Thus I became infinitely interested in the Master who passed from day to day about the yard. But I was confused in mind about him. Somehow I instinctively feared him and I always found myself ready to attack him, as I explained to Crip.

“There would be no use in that,” answered he. “Should you sting him, you would achieve nothing. Instead, you would lose your life.”

“How is that?” I cried, for I did not till then know I had a life—at least I had never thought of it.

“You can sting once, but unless you escape with your stinger, which is rare, your life is sacrificed.”

I seemed to know this and answered him nothing.

“Is it not a strange fatality,” he continued, “that we should be given stingers with which to defend ourselves and our homes, and yet, when we make use of them, we lose our lives! Still, we are always ready to strike, with no thought of death.”

“What is death?” I asked of Crip.

“I don’t know, except that once when the bee-hawk caught me I felt myself going away. It grew dark and I heard the hum of wings that were strange and wonderful. Somehow you go to sleep and forget.”

“I have thought of death,” he went on. “I am old and battered, my days are as the falling flowers when the frost is upon them, and the frost soon will fall.”

I waited awhile in silence, but he spoke no more. Soon he lay in that buzzing hive, asleep, and I was not long in following him to where the golden honey dripped in the garden of dreams.

“They won’t bother with me much longer,” said Crip, sadly. “You see, when one becomes old the wax grows thinly—so the pickers give over. But you! They’ll get you. I have noticed that you are rather greedy about eating honey. This means you’ll get fat and produce lots of wax.”

“Tell me about wax and comb,” I begged of him.

“Comb, my child, is made of wax; this is comb on which you are standing. It is everywhere about you. The cups that hold our honey and our bread are made of it. The cell in which you were born is of wax; and, besides, it is used to stop the holes in our house. Of course there are different kinds of comb, depending on the use to which it is put. Why, these sheets of comb with their six-sided cells are wonderful in their economy, in their plan and symmetry. The cell we build is perfect. No other structure would serve our purposes, combining such strength and capacity. The cell is indispensable to the life of the bee!—otherwise he could not exist. So don’t let me see you make ready to fight the next time the wax-pickers approach, and they’ll soon be after you again.”

I answered nothing. I was wondering in what far age we had learned to build the six-sided cell, and in what tiny brain it had been conceived. They fit so perfectly, I stood quite still marveling at the harmony of it all and wondering how many things there remained for me to learn. At every turn I had been confronted with something new. And was it to be so to the end? What could the end be, of which Crip frequently spoke?

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Two months—glorious with flowers, but ending in disaster.”

“What disaster?”

“Well, you saw the close of it—the death of our colony.”

“Yes, I remember,” I said. But he was so wise I could scarcely believe that he was but two months old, for he seemed so tattered of wing and battered of body!

Without thinking what we were about, we drew near the door. Groups of workers were banked about the entrance, waiting impatiently to be away at the first streaks of dawn. Presently a note like a bugle-call sounded, and immediately the face of things was changed. By twos and threes and fours the workers took wing and scurried into the fields.

A dull gray light lay on the world; the air was damp and moved lazily out of the east; the dew had fallen thick on the flowers and now began to twinkle from myriad angles. Crip and I had left the hive at the same instant, but once on the wing I forgot all about him and flew like mad this way and that until I caught a whiff of fragrance from an unexplored meadow, and thither I hastened. Strange and thrilling sensation! I had not until now felt the joy of dipping into the flowers and searching out their honey-pots. It was a field of late sunflowers, and all of them had their faces toward the east, eager to look upon the sun. Joyfully they waved in the breeze and beckoned to one another as if to say: “Good morning. How glorious is the sun, our king!” In spite of the dew on their faces, some of them already were wearing the brand of the hot summer, which had all but gone and left them beseeching of autumn her tender graces.

“I am old and frayed,” I heard one say, “and these mornings chill me, but my work is done. The heart and soul of me are here; I shall not pass; I shall endure; my seed shall spring up to brighten the world.”

“But I am young,” a tender blossom said, “and I shall be cut off. The frost will slay me and I shall have rattled down to dust ere my soul has developed its immortal parts.”

At the moment I was taking honey from its lips, and I felt a quivering as if its heart fluttered.

“Dear little flower,” I said, “you are living your life; you cannot die; you will be swallowed up in the universal spirit of things. Your face has spread a glamour of gold in the world; your honey has nourished a thousand winged things; your scented breath has floated far and has carried blessings into silent places. Memory of you will linger; it will be preserved by the things you have fed, by the things you have gladdened. And, too, I promise that I shall remember you!”

“How can you remember me,” the flower asked, “when you, too, are doomed?”

“What!” I cried. “Doomed! Why, I am young, I am swift, I am beautiful, I am glorious!”

“Yes, and so am I. But we pass.”

“You are wise for so young a flower,” spoke up the elder blossom. “Both of you are of the heavens; both have your lives before you in this tiny garden, ere you return to the golden fields that spread out toward the sun. You are immortal.”

Just then I saw one of the petals blow away from the face of the elder flower. It fluttered and fluttered and finally fell to the earth. Scarcely had it struck the ground when something with a long, thin body and active legs seized it and began struggling to draw it through the grass, intent on some mysterious purpose. I was quite absorbed, and from my post of vantage on the breast of the floweret I followed the movements of the thing that tugged at the petal. I had never seen this thing before and I was wishing for Crip, when, behold! he appeared.

“What are you doing?” he cried at me. “How many loads have you gathered? What are you staring at?”

He had submerged me with questions. I answered none of them. I had, indeed, forgotten my work momentarily, so absorbed had I been in the talk of the flowers.

“Have you a load? Let’s go,” cried he.

I was ready, truly, but I could not refrain from asking him about this strange animal that pulled the leaf so sedulously through the grass.

“An ant!” Crip answered, rather glumly.

“Do you see what he is about?”

“Yes he is gathering his winter stores. A time comes when he must go indoors and he must have food even as you and I. Come now, let’s be off.”

I looked down at the ant struggling with his burden and then at the disheveled flower, casting a last glance at the tender face which had yielded up honey to me, wondering at the strangeness of it all.

“Come on,” cried Crip, rising on wing.

I did not speak, but followed him. I flew at his heels until he began to fag a bit and then I came up alongside, careful, however, not to outdistance him. I soon saw that he had a heavier load than I, and I felt ashamed, but I knew this had come through my having wasted a few minutes, and I resolved then and there that the next time I should be first.

Another thing I noticed, we were flying very low, so near the earth we almost brushed the tops of the bushes. I asked Crip the reason.

“The wind,” he answered, in better humor than could have been expected. “Don’t you feel that heavy head current? If you should go up it would be a hard fight home with these loads. You see, there are currents and currents,” he went on, “and you must use your wits. Take the current that blows your way. Profit by whatever nature bestows.”

Almost at once I saw the yard with its white hives, like dots, and the Master with the Little One and the dog that seemed always with them. The next moment Crip and I were dropping down to our hive. I was overjoyed when I fell upon the alighting-board, and could not restrain my exuberance of feeling. So I bowed my head humbly as best I might with the load I carried, uttering a hymn of thanksgiving—the very hymn, Crip told me, that every worker for a million years had uttered on returning to his hive with his first load of honey. I cannot explain, but some mysterious force seized me, compelling me to bow my head and to sing. I should have done it had it cost my life. Such is the law of the hive, just as there is the law of the jungle. I did not know why I was so happy, but something bubbled over in me, and the very intoxication of it finally sent me running madly to deposit my load in a waiting cell, and once more to take wing for the field of the flowers of the sun.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, sweetly. “All that I have I yield up to you gladly. This is my end. Oh, how glorious is life! How splendid to be able to give of one’s store so that life shall go on eternally!”

“Yes, eternally,” echoed the elder blossom. “Even I, in dying, leave my seed behind to follow the summer suns through numberless ages; and I breathe into the world an imperishable fragrance. It shall be wafted to the utmost bounds; it shall gladden the hearts of the lowliest. Though it be scattered by the winds, it shall not cease to exist.”

By this time I had filled my honey-sac, and, after flying three times around these two well-beloved blossoms, I made for home. I was depressed by the talk which I had heard. I could not wholly comprehend it, and I wanted to consult Crip.

I was not long reaching our hive, for the wind seemed to get under me and literally to blow me on. I deposited my treasure, hurried out again, and once more headed for the sunflower-field, where I quickly gathered a load. Then straight for home. It was difficult flying now, because the wind was in my face. I rose higher, following Crip’s advice, but still it blew and almost beat me back. The black clouds which I remembered having seen in the west seemed almost over me, and suddenly terrific noises crashed around. It grew dark and great flashes of fire tore the heavens apart and blinded me.

This terrified me. I knew not its meaning, but instinctively I fled homeward. But my progress was slow, and I had not gone far when again the whole world seemed to tremble, shaken through and through by the most violent rumblings conceivable. It grew so dark I almost stopped in my flight, not sure of my way. At this moment of hesitation something struck me squarely in the back, almost knocking me down. It had been a great drop of water, and almost immediately others began to pelt me. Soaking wet and tossed by the gale, I was forced to alight. As I dropped downward I saw nothing but black shadows, and presently I was dashed into a great tree. I seized a branch that offered shelter, which proved to be none too well protected against the blast that now drove the rain in solid sheets. I was cold, and clambered around to the under side of the limb, and there, feeling none too secure, I grudgingly deposited some of my honey in a crevice. By lightening my load I was better able to keep my balance; but so gusty was the blast that it whipped the rain all over me, and I was unable to find a spot that was dry. I began to climb from one branch to another in the hope of reaching a safer haven, but, alas! none was to be found.

Worse things, too, were awaiting me. I was crying for Crip when the branch to which I clung suddenly snapped. Down and down it fell while I clung to it. I was too cold and wet to try to take wing, and presently the branch crashed into a swirling stream of water. At first I was entirely submerged. It seemed an interminable time that I stayed under the water; but presently I came to the surface and caught my breath. Cold as I was, I still clung with all the tenacity of my being to the floating branch that was hurried onward by the raging torrent. I was beginning to feel a little more comfortable when over went the branch again in the seething water, and again I seemed to go down to immeasurable depths. This time I felt my legs giving way in the rush of the waters. My head swam and I strangled, but just as it seemed all over with me the branch again came to the surface. I caught my breath, shifted slightly my footing, and hurriedly emptied my honey-sac. This gave me more confidence in spite of the numbness that had nearly overcome me from the cold and water. There I sat shaking, awaiting the next turn of the branch, which now seemed merely to be bobbing up and down in the waters. The wind was still whistling through the trees, the rain was falling in torrents, and the thunder rumbled in unabated violence.

How long I clung to the branch in desperation I do not know. But after a time the rain ceased, the wind fell to a whimper among the bushes, and the darkness broke along the horizon. It began to grow a little brighter. Imagine my joy, therefore, to find that my perch was now quite clear of the flood waters, the branch safely nestling in the top of a bush. In a short space it grew warmer, and I took courage; I began to dry myself and to preen my wings. The light gained, and before long, after trying out my strength, I found that I could again mount into the air, and with one wide sweep I made for home.

Then I bolted straight for my cell to find my beloved Crip. He welcomed me with joy.

“Well,” said he, “I feared you were lost. You ought to have come home before the storm broke. But I’m happy you escaped. The next time you see great piles of cloud, make haste homeward. Your life is too precious to lose through stupidity.”

He came close and gave me a kiss, drawing his tongue across my mouth. The taste of honey excited me, and immediately I dropped into a cell and helped myself. I still felt stiff and cold from my experiences, and complained to Crip.

“It might have been worse,” he said, when I had told him all that had befallen me. “If you live long enough you will have some real adventures,” he concluded.

I was inclined to resent his comment, for I felt that I should never again pass through such a storm and survive.

“Do you know what a real storm is, Crip?” I asked, with offended pride. But he ignored my query.

“Listen,” he said, suddenly. “Do you hear that alarm?”

A note I had heard before suddenly ran through the hive. I could not at first remember the occasion, but instantly both Crip and I were off. By the time we were out I remembered what the sound meant. It was the robber-call. There was honey at hand—pure honey for the taking, and off we went.

It was just where the Master stood. He had righted a hive which had blown down in the storm, and was endeavoring to place a net over it, but already thousands of bees were swarming about.

“It is too late,” Crip said to me, as we lit on the bottom-board and hurried into the hive. “They are dead. I see it all. The rains undermined the foundations and the hive toppled over into the ditch. The storm waters crept up and up, submerging it.”

A little honey remained in the old combs, and we were soon busy with its salvage. We helped ourselves to one load only, for when we returned the Master had covered over the hive with his net. We flew about the place for a while, hoping to find some tiny hole through which we might creep; but none could be found. The net was covered with scrambling bees.

“Did all the bees drown?” I asked.

“Probably,” he answered.

“Here’s one on the ground that seems to be alive.”

We both lit beside the little fellow struggling to dry himself. We approached and licked him all over, and when he could fly Crip begged him to come home with us, since his own colony had ceased to exist.

Right gladly he followed us; but when we had reached the entrance he seemed to realize the seriousness of daring to enter a strange hive. He drew back, but we urged him, standing one on either side. Almost immediately, however, a guard scented him and flew at him. Crip headed him off, but another quickly attacked from the same quarter. He caught the stranger, and it was all I could do to save him. When we finally freed him of the advance guards, we said to the stranger, “Run for your life!”

We three rushed like mad into the hive and escaped further interference, and never again was he questioned as to his identity.

He marched with us straight up to our cell, and thenceforward he claimed it for his own.

“What shall we call him?” I asked of Crip, when we had left him to recover and were once more on our way to the fields.

“Let’s see. Suppose we call him Buzz-Buzz.”

“Excellent!” I cried.

So, Buzz-Buzz it was, then and ever after.

Crip and I reached the entrance and looked about us. Mountainous black clouds still frowned, and in the distance thunder rumbled. It was much brighter, but still the sun was hid and a haze of mist hung about the world as far as eye could see.

“We cannot safely go yet,” cried Crip. “The storm might break again. Besides, there is no honey in the fields; it has been washed away by the rains. It will be several hours before a trace can be found; even a day or two will pass ere some of the flowers fill their cups. The rain destroys the flow of honey for a time, and too much rain will cut off the crop entirely.”

While we were talking Buzz-Buzz approached. “Well,” he said, “you ran away and left me, but I warn you that when there are things to do you will find me close to you.”

Presently we all rose on our wings, for the rain seemed to have spent itself and the wind in the catclaw tree had fallen to a whisper. The three of us flew, for a while keeping closely in touch, but I was determined to guide, and had set my mind on seeing my sunflower-field. I feared, and, as it proved, rightly, that the floods had swept them away. On reaching the spot where the beautiful flowers had grown, we found it a quagmire full of broken stalks. Nothing was there to remind of the fragrant and glorious garden which only this day had displayed its choicest blossoms to gladden the earth. And now all had vanished.

I said not a word, but Crip seemed to divine the reason which inspired my flying round and round about the spot where I had gathered my first load of honey and where I had heard the fascinating speech of the flowers of the sun. He circled about with me, while Buzz-Buzz, puzzled at our actions, sailed in wider curves. He did not lose sight of us, however, and presently joined us again.

“What’s all this about?” he queried.

“Why, only to-day this spot was wonderful with flowers. Look at it now!” I had spoken.

“That is nothing extraordinary,” observed Crip. “It is only a chapter out of any life you choose. They had achieved all the things for which they were sent into the world. They were ready to go.”

It was hard for me to think that the tender little blossom which had given me honey had filled its full scope of existence. It seemed fit for days of service. What a pity that it was not permitted to radiate its beauty in a world all too barren!

We said very little more, but made for home. This must have been instinctive, for suddenly we found the darkness descending upon us like a flood.

“It’s your turn to nurse. Come with me. This shall be your section. These little ones are to be fed to-night.”

“Well, with what shall I feed them?” I asked, impulsively, somewhat irritated to think that I, a honey-gatherer, should be set at such a task.

In answer to my question I got only a look; but I shall not forget it—it was withering. I felt ashamed of myself; and I resolved never again to question an assignment of duty.

Immediately I set about my task. Without thinking, I peeped into two or three cells and found that the bees allotted to me were but four days old. Miraculous as it may seem, while I knew nothing about preparing food for the young, I fell to it with zest. Taking a supply of honey from one cell, I sought one stored with pollen; and there, without ceremony, I began to mix honey and bread, making a thin paste to which I had to add ever so little water. Then I placed the least bit of it in each of the cells of my section. The tiny worm-like bees began to wriggle, so I knew at once that I had succeeded in my task.

Several days now rolled away in comparative idleness. The great storm had completely washed out the supplies of honey, leaving the flowers draggled and broken. We busied ourselves with chores about the hive and with flights into the fields, ever on the scout for sweets. For my part, I was set to filling up a hole in the uppermost corner of the hive. At the moment it was serving as a ventilator. A little stream of air was constantly flowing out of it; but the cold weather was on its way and the time had come to stop the hole. With winter once fallen, it would be too late.

“The mesquite-trees are full of gum,” said the dear old fellow who set me to my task. “Hurry and bring home a good supply. I hear you are a capital hand at this sort of thing.”

So I went swiftly forth, and soon I found a crystal drop of gum on a mesquite-tree. I bit off scraps of it quite easily, and soon had my basket-legs filled with the gum; and it required only a moment to return and pack it in the hole in the hive.

“You’re a clever fellow,” said the old director. “But I see bits of gum have fallen on the bottom-board and already there are accumulations which afford excellent hiding-places for web-worms. Go and clean them out, if you please.”

I went promptly, and sure enough, chips from my patching and from many others and scraps of comb had gathered in the corner, and I found myself facing a considerable undertaking. Time after time I seized scraps in my mandibles and flew away with them, dropping them outside.

I was far from the end of my labors when suddenly the ugliest thing I had ever seen burst out on me. It was a long, white-brown worm, which I had uncovered in the débris. It wriggled away as though aware of danger.

I was standing by, irresolute, when I heard a call, from I knew not what source.

“Why don’t you seize him, coward!”

I was not a coward, but I could not make up my mind what to do. But the little rascal that had scolded me knew, and fell upon the monster manfully.

Over and over the worm turned, writhing like a beast in torment, and suddenly it twisted itself quite out of the clutches of its enemy and made for a cell in the nearest comb.

Up to this point I had taken no hand in the fight, but now I joined in the pursuit. In the mean time the worm had escaped and was trying to hide in a cell.

We stopped for a moment, the two of us, peering at him, wondering what next to do. At least I was wondering, when my mentor spoke out sharply.

“You’re a poor excuse for a bee! If you had helped we should have done for him by this time. We have still a chance to save ourselves. Now, when I dive in upon him, he will probably rush out, throwing me from the combs. Then you must do your work. Hold him until I come, and between us we can manage him.”

“Shall I sting him?” I asked.

“No, you idiot! It’s not so desperate as that. You ought to know that only in a great emergency should a bee sacrifice his life. Now mind you; here I go!”

With that he lurched forward, and instantly back he came, the worm plunging along with him. I also seized the intruder, and the three of us dropped to the floor. Round and round we were thrown until I thought I was about to be beaten to death, but I had made up my mind to die rather than have fresh slurs cast upon my courage. I am doubtful whether we could have won the battle if two other active bees had not come to our assistance. The four of us soon had the breath out of the worm’s wriggling body, and then we dragged him to the front of the hive. After vain efforts to fly away with him in the burial fashion of our people, we found the best we could do was to drop him to the ground from the edge of our board.

I was quite out of breath, and stood panting on the spot, when, lo! from the clouds dropped Crip.

“What’s the matter?” he inquired.

“Nothing much. We’ve just captured a great worm—one of our enemies. There he lies on the ground.”

Crip walked to the edge of the board and looked down. “Why, he isn’t dead.”

I looked, and, sure enough, he seemed to be alive. But on closer inspection I saw that a multitude of small black creatures had taken possession of the body.

“He is dead for certain,” I said. “Some bugs have seized him for prey.”

Crip looked again. “Why, those are black army ants,” he exclaimed; “one of the worst enemies a bee can meet. Sometimes, when they are hungry, they rush into the hive and help themselves. It is most difficult to deal with them. They nab you by the leg, when they do not sting you, and you cannot free yourself from their deadly grip.”

I looked at Crip in silence. Was there no end to perils?

“Let us hope they’ll travel on,” he added. “There’s plenty of food abroad for them. But tell me, where did you find that worm?”

“Back in the far corner. Come with me. I was cleaning out the débris when I came upon him.”

“Well, did you finish your task?”

I had quite forgotten it. I had been so absorbed in the fight that the original undertaking had gone out of mind.

“Then come on. I’ll help you.”

With that Crip led off, limpingly. I followed by his side, amazed at his speed.

Soon we came to the place. Each of us seized a bit of the débris, and away we went to deposit it far from the entrance to our home.

“I see where your worm came from,” Crip observed. “There’s a hole in the board, and he found it, then crept in stealthily and hid in this little heap of rubbish. I’m a bad guesser, or we’ll find another here any minute.”

And sure enough. Crip seized a piece of comb, and, upon dragging it away, out sprang another worm, even more forbidding than the other.

Crip was the first to spy him, and, valiant warrior that he was, seized him instantly. I attacked him, also, with all my might. But the worm, a full-grown one, and twice as big as both of us, simply flung us about and thrashed us unmercifully. He quite knocked me to bits; but I never relaxed my hold, nor did Crip. It was a poor showing that we were making, when several guards rushed to our assistance. The fight was soon over and the monster lay still.

“He’s dead,” said one of the new-comers. “Out with him.”

We all fell to, dragging him along. It took the combined energies of four of us to move his huge form.

At last we arrived at the edge of our alighting-board, and down we dropped him to the tender mercies of the black ants, who immediately swarmed over him. One could almost imagine that they thanked us for the delicacy we had tossed them. I wondered what the ants thought of us, if they thought at all. I had become particularly interested in those big red ones that ran along the tiny trail skirting our home.

I was looking down at the worm, covered with the little black ants, when, in a final paroxysm, he flounced violently, scattering the little army that beset him. But once again they fell upon him, and presently they had cut him entirely to pieces, carrying away every scrap for a feast.

In the economy of things, these worms had grown and fattened on the refuse of our hive, and now they had become food in their turn for a host of tiny creatures which roamed the earth below, all this seemingly in accordance with some unknown law.

I stood there watching them for some time, until the last ant made off, following with unerring aim the trail of his fellows. Soon they were lost to sight. It seemed to me that this last one disappeared under a log where the Master often sat. I wondered what relation there might be between them, if in some mysterious way they worked together, for I remembered that Crip had told me that not only the Master, but even the ants, sometimes raided our hives, taking our honey. I turned to ask him to explain, but he was not to be seen among the bees swarming upon the board. I must find him.

“Tell me,” I cried in distress, for Crip was lying quite still on the floor, “what is the matter?”

“Ah, I fear I am done for at last.”

Grieved by his words, I rushed up to him, saluting him, pressing my tongue to his lips, praying for his life. I felt him all over, and at last came to a little moist spot on his body, and realized that he had lost his last basket-leg. I wiped his eyes, and came close to him to warm him a bit, for he seemed cold and almost lifeless.

“Go your way,” he murmured, dejectedly. “Leave me quite alone. My work is done; I shall pass. Remember me sometimes when you cleave the air and salute the sun and our mysterious Master.”

By this time I was overcome with sorrow. My poor dear friend, the very personification of wisdom, seemed passing out of my life.

“No—don’t—please—don’t talk so mournfully!” I cried. “You will get well. Do! I so want you to stay with me.”

At this he seemed to stir a little and, with an effort, raised himself on his remaining legs.

“I cannot walk, you see. I cannot be sure of holding my weight on the combs, even if I am not bleeding to death.”

I was so shocked that it had not occurred to me to stanch his wound; but instantly I fell to it most vigorously.

“That will help,” he said. “Do you think I have done well with my life?” Crip asked. “Do you think I have helped our people?”

I answered that he had been wonderful—that he had worked faithfully for two houses, and all for the betterment of our race—the Bee.

“You really think me deserving? Then I am happy.”

He seemed suddenly to take on new life, and began to flap his wings for joy.

After a little pause he again flapped his wings violently. I did not understand.

“I still can fly!” he exclaimed. “I can fly! Go now, finish your work,” he commanded. “Perhaps I shall yet be able to labor for a little; but I want to be as much as possible with you. Go now.”

I went at his word, but when I came to the place of the débris, no scrap remained. My fellow-workers, alarmed at the news of the worms, had fallen upon it and borne it all away.

Almost without thinking, I moved slowly toward the door of the hive, for the afternoon was sultry and there now seemed nothing to do. Indeed, when I reached the outside the bees were heaped on the board, and they clung in great masses to the front of the hive.

“What idlers!” thought I. But I quickly realized that there was nothing in the fields to gather, and further, I knew that our hive was well stored with bread and honey against any possible contingency.

I made my way through the crowd, and presently I, too, was seized with the fever of sleep, and, taking my place among a group that clung to the uppermost front of the hive, I soon fell asleep.

How long I slept I know not, but when again I roused myself a summer moon was streaming above us, big and gloriously bright. The little dots of stars that glinted through were almost lost in the sea of light. I could hear the night hymn of the hive clearly, just as long ago I heard it for the first time. It was the low, murmured music of a thousand voices. This hymn of the night was like the throbbing of a muffled Æolian harp. Mingling with its harmonies rose the dull whirring of many wings set to the task of driving the sweet night air into the heart of the hive, to render it tolerable for the little ones dreaming in their cells against a day of awakening, and for our precious Queen-Mother, brooding through her watches without end.

Late in the night the air grew chilly, and one by one we drifted inside. I had been one of the first, for I bethought me of Crip, whom I had left disconsolate and battered from his fight with the worm. Returning to our old haunt, he was nowhere to be found. Then I went to the spot of the combat and there he was, more or less chilled and still sore from the loss of his leg.

“I thought you had forgotten me,” was his greeting.

“I forget you? Not while I live. I was outside in the night.”

“And the south wind blew? And there were stars?” he asked. “I want to look upon them once more. Help me, for I can only crawl now. My body can scarcely be carried by those four little legs, all that I have left. I don’t know how soon I shall be done for, and then—and then—”

He struggled pitifully in order to reach the front. Try as I might, I could be of no assistance to him. But by dint of perseverance he finally gained the threshold and gazed into the night. The moon had drifted far toward the west, and already the morning star shone with transcendent brilliancy. The south wind breathed ever so softly through the chaparral, as it made its way to some hidden goal; and near the borders of the lake a coyote, in staccato treble, gave warning that the dawn was near.

Crip said nothing, nor did I. How useless are words when there is perfect understanding. He came close to me, however, and put his face as near mine as he might, as though he wished to look into the very depths of my eyes.

“It is well,” he said. “I know.”

Then he turned and dragged himself into the hive. I followed closely. How sad it was to see so great a soul chained in so broken a body. I stayed by him, cheering him and encouraging him, until the bugle of the morning sounded.

“Now you must go,” he commanded. “You have your work to do. Mine is nearly finished.”

I took a turn in the fields, but there was nothing to report, save the discovery that the white brush was ready to bloom, and that the sage-brush and the broomweed promised honey.

Again, for a number of days there was little to do. Toward the noon hour the September sun blazed with midsummer intensity and the winds were stifling. This meant that a deal of water was consumed. I was assigned to help. So, back and forth to the lake I went, ever returning with my sac filled to bursting. The young bees clamored for water, and it was a delight to see them scramble for a drink. Again, the front of the hive was packed with bees idling their day away, if, indeed, it can be said that they were idle when there was nothing to be done.

Another night passed as before and still another day. Then the news resounded over the hive that the white brush was opening and that honey was in the field! There was only the meagerest supply the first day, but hungry tongues searched out the white tiny bell-shaped flowers. The next day the flow was heavier, and the third day we began to carry such quantities that the colony began “to develop a sort of delirium. Every nook and cranny was being filled, when a strange sound echoed over the hive.

“What does this mean?” I queried of Buzz-Buzz.

“I don’t know. Let’s find Crip. He can tell us.”