herself, "he would have gone anywhere with me."
And the Drone said to himself, "Now, isn't that just like a Queen
Mother! She has known all the time that there would be young Queens
coming on, and that she would have to leave, yet here she is, making the
biggest kind of fuss about it. She ought to remember that it is the
law."
Indeed she should have remembered that it was the law, for everything is
done by law in the hive, and no one person should find fault. The law
looks after them all, and will not let any one have more than his
rightful share.
That same afternoon there was a sudden quiet in their home. The Workers
who had been outside returned and visited with the rest. While they were
waiting, a few who were to be their guides came to the door of the hive,
struck their wings together, and gave the signal for starting. Then all
who were going with the Queen Mother hurried out of the door and flew
with her in circles overhead. "Good-bye!" they called. "Raise all the
young Queens you wish. We shall never come back. We are going far, far
away, and we shall not tell you where. It is a lovely place, a very
lovely place."
"Let them go," said the Drones who stayed behind. "Now, isn't it time to
let out the young Queen?"
"Not yet," answered a Worker, who stood near the door. "Not one feeler
shall she put outside her cell until that swarm is out of sight."
The tender-hearted Worker came up wiping her eyes. "Oh, that poor Queen
Mother!" said she. "I am so sorry for her. I positively cannot gather
honey to-day, I feel so badly about her going."
"Better keep on working," said her friend. "It's the best thing in the
world for that sad feeling. Besides, you should try to keep strong."
"Oh, I will try to eat something from the comb," was the answer, "but I
don't feel like working."
"Zzzt!" said the other Worker. "I think if you can eat, you can hunt
your food outside, and not take honey we have laid up for winter or food
that will be needed for the children."
The Drones chuckled. It was all right for them to be lazy, they thought,
but they never could bear to see a Worker waste time. "Ah," cried one of
them suddenly, "what is the new swarm doing now?"
The words were hardly out of his mouth when the Queen Mother crawled
into the hive again. "Such dreadful luck!" said she. "A cloud passed
over the sun just as we were alighting on a tree to rest."
"I wouldn't have come back for that," said a Drone.
"No," said she, in her airiest way, "I dare say you wouldn't, but I
would. I dare not go to a new home after a cloud has passed over the
sun. I think it is a sign of bad luck. I should never expect a single
egg to hatch if I went on. We shall try it again to-morrow."
All the others came back with her, and the hive was once more crowded
and hot. "Oh dear!" said the tender-hearted Worker, "isn't it too bad to
think they couldn't go?"
The next morning they started again and were quite as excited over it as
before. The Queen Mother had fussed and fidgeted all the time, although
she had laid nine hundred and seventy-three eggs while waiting, and that
in spite of interruptions. "Being busy keeps me from thinking," said
she, "and I must do something." This time the Queen Mother lighted on an
apple-tree branch, and the others clung to her until all who had left
the hive were in a great mass on the branch,--a mass as large as a small
cabbage. They meant to rest a little while and then fly away to the new
home chosen by their guides.
While they were hanging here, the farmer came under the tree, carrying
a long pole with a wire basket fastened to the upper end. He shook the
clustered Bees gently into it, and then changed them into an empty hive
that stood beside their old home.
"Now," said the Workers who had stayed in the old hive, "we will let out
the new Queen, for the Queen Mother will never return."
It did not take long to bite away the waxen wall and let her out. Then
they gathered around and caressed her, and touched their feelers to her
and waited upon her, and explained why they could not let her out
sooner. She was still a soft gray color, like all young Bees when they
first come from the cell, but this soon changed to the black worn by her
people.
The Workers flew in and out, and brought news from the hive next door.
They could not go there, for the law does not allow a Bee who lives in
one home to visit in another, but they met their old friends in the air
or when they were sipping honey. They found that the Queen Mother had
quite given up the idea of living elsewhere and was as busy as ever. The
farmer had put a piece of comb into the new hive so that she could begin
housekeeping at once.
The new Queen was petted and kept at home until she was strong and used
to moving about. That was not long. Then she said she wanted to see the
world outside. "We will go with you," said the Drones, who were always
glad of an excuse for flying away in pleasant weather. They said there
was so much noise and hurrying around in the hive that they could never
get any real rest there during the daytime.
So the young Queen flew far away and saw the beautiful world for the
first time. Such a blue sky! Such green grass! Such fine trees covered
with sweet-smelling blossoms! She loved it all as soon as she saw it.
"Ah," she cried, "what a wonderful thing it is to live and see all this!
I am so glad that I was hatched. But now I must hurry home, for there is
so much to be done."
She was a fine young Queen, and the Bees were all proud of her. They let
her do anything she wished as long as she kept away from the royal
cells. She soon began to work as the old Queen Mother had done, and was
very happy in her own way. She would have liked to open the royal cells
and prevent more Queens from hatching, and when they told her it was the
law which made them keep her away, she still wanted to bite into them.
"That poor young Queen Mother!" sighed the tender-hearted Worker. "I am
so sorry for her when she is kept away from the royal cells. This is a
sad, sad world!" But this isn't a sad world by any means. It is a
beautiful, sunshiny, happy world, and neither Queen Bees nor anybody
else should think it hard if they cannot do every single thing they
wish. The law looks after great and small, and there is no use in
pouting because we cannot do one certain thing, when there is any amount
of delightful work and play awaiting us. And the young Queen Mother knew
this.
THE BAY COLT LEARNS TO MIND
The span of Bays were talking together in their stalls, and the other
Horses were listening. That was one trouble with living in the barn, you
could not say anything to your next-door neighbor without somebody else
hearing. The farmer had solid walls between the stalls, with openings so
far back that no Horse could get his head to them without breaking his
halter. This had been done to keep them from biting each other, and as
nobody but the Dappled Gray ever thought of doing such a thing, it was
rather hard on the rest. It made it difficult for the mothers to bring
up their children properly, for after a Colt was old enough to have a
stall to himself, his mother had to call out her advice and warnings so
loudly that everybody could hear, and you know it is not well to reprove
a child before company if it can be helped. Indeed, it was this very
question that was troubling the span of Bays now. Each of them had a
two-year-old Colt, and they knew that it was nearly time for the farmer
to put these Colts to work. The span of Bays were sisters, so of course
their children were cousins, and they were all very fond of each other
and of the Blind Horse, who was the uncle of the Bays and the
great-uncle of the Bay Colt and the Gray Colt.
"I am worried about the Bay Colt," said his mother. "Since he was
brought into the barn last fall and had a stall away from me, he has
gotten into bad ways. I have told him again and again that he must not
nibble the edge of the manger, yet the first thing I heard this morning
was the grating of his teeth on the wood."
"Well," said his aunt, "you know he is teething, and that may be the
reason."
"That is no excuse," said his mother sternly. "He has been teething ever
since he was five days old, and he will not cut his last tooth for three
years yet. I don't call it goodness to keep from cribbing when you don't
want to crib, and the time to stop is now. Besides, if he waits until he
has all his teeth, he won't be able to break himself of the habit when
he does try."
"That is so," said his aunt, "and he will ruin his teeth, too."
"Pooh!" exclaimed the Bay Colt, who had heard what they were saying. "I
can stop whenever I want to, and they're my own teeth, anyway. It isn't
anybody else's business if I do ruin them."
"There!" said his mother to his aunt, "you see what I mean. That is just
the way he talks all the time. Now what would you do?"
"Let him alone," snorted the Dappled Gray. "Let him alone, and he will
get some Horse sense after he has been broken. He'll have a hard time of
it, but he'll come out all right."
The Bay Colt kicked against the side of the stall, he was so vexed.
"I'll thank you to let me alone," said he. "I don't see why everybody
tells me what I ought to do. Guess I know a thing or two."
"I'll tell you why," said the Dappled Gray, in a voice that sounded as
though he were trying very hard not to lose his temper. "It is because
you are young and we like you, and we can save you trouble if you mind
what we tell you. I had lost the black pits in my front teeth before you
were born, and when a Horse has lived long enough to lose the black pits
from his front teeth, he knows a good deal. You don't know a curb-bit
from a snaffle now, but you will learn many things when you are
broken--a very great many things."
The Bay Colt tossed his head and did not answer. When he was led out to
drink, the Dappled Gray spoke quickly to his friends. "We will let him
alone," said he, "as he wishes. We will not advise him until he asks us
to do so." They were all whinnying "Yes" when the Bay Colt came back.
Then it became so still that you could have heard a stem of hay drop.
For a few days after this, the Bay Colt had a very good time. Nobody
gave him any advice, and even when he gnawed at the edge of the manger,
his mother did not seem to notice it. After he found that she didn't say
anything, he didn't gnaw, or crib, so much. He was such a foolish and
contrary young fellow that when people told him not to do a thing, he
always wanted to do that thing worse than anything else in the world.
His cousin, the Gray Colt, was not at all like him. She was a gentle
little two-year-old whom everybody loved. She was full of fun and was
the gayest possible companion in the meadow, yet when the older Horses
gave her advice, she always listened and obeyed.
The Bay Colt was very fond of his cousin, but he did like to tease her,
and once in the fall, before they came to stay in the barn, he called
her a "goody-goody" because she wouldn't jump the fence and run away
with him. He said she wouldn't do such things because she didn't know
what fun was. Then she did show that she had a temper, for her brown
eyes snapped and her soft lips were raised until she showed all her
biting teeth. "I'm not a 'goody-goody,'" she cried, stamping the ground
with her pretty little hoofs, "and I just ache to go. I feel as though
there were ropes that I couldn't see, pulling me toward that fence
every time I think of it, but I won't go! I won't go! My mother says
that she jumped a fence and ran away when she was a Colt, and that she
felt as mean as could be afterward."
"I don't care," said her cousin, "I'm going anyway, and you can stay at
home if you want to. Good-bye!" He ran and leaped over the fence, and
trotted down the road with his head well up and his tail in the air. And
then how the Gray Colt did want to follow! "I won't!" she said again. "I
won't do it. I'll look the other way and try to forget it, but I wish he
knew how hard it is to be good sometimes."
The next morning the Bay Colt was in the pasture again. The farmer and
his man had found him far away and led him back. "I had a fine time," he
said to his cousin, "and I don't feel a bit mean. I'm going again
to-day, but don't you tell." When his mother scolded him as he
deserved, he just switched his tail and thought about something else
until she stopped talking. Then he ran away again.
The next morning when the Gray Colt saw him, he had a queer wooden thing
around his neck, and fastened to this was a pole that stuck out ahead of
him. It tired his neck and bothered him when he wanted to run. If he had
tried to jump the fence, it would have thrown him down. When the Gray
Colt came toward him, he pretended not to see her. He might just as well
have looked squarely at her as soon as she came, because, you know, he
had to look at her sometime, but he had a mean, slinking, afraid
feeling, such as people always have when they have done something wrong
and have had time to think about it. Besides, he had changed his mind
since the wooden poke had been put on him, and somehow his running away
seemed very foolish now. He wondered how he could ever have thought it
any fun, and he was so disgusted that he couldn't keep his ears still,
but moved them restlessly when he remembered his own silliness.
The Gray Colt was too polite to say anything about his wearing the poke,
and she talked about the grass, the sky, the trees, and everything else
she could think of. Once she was about to speak of the fence, and then
she remembered and stopped short. The Bay Colt noticed this. "You might
just as well go on," said he. "You are very kind, but I know how foolish
I have been, and there's no use in keeping still. You were right, and it
doesn't pay to jump fences for a few minutes of what you think will be
fun. I feel sick all over when I think about it."
"It's too bad," whinnied the Gray Colt. "I'm very sorry for you."
"And what do you think?" said the Bay Colt. "I heard the Dappled Gray
say this morning that I was like a Pig! Imagine a Colt being like a Pig!
He said that it didn't make any difference on which side of a fence Pigs
were, they always wanted to be on the other side, and that I was just as
stupid."
This was all in the fall, before the cold weather had sent them to live
in the barn, and while the Bay Colt was wearing the poke he could not
well forget the lesson he had learned about jumping and running away.
His mother grew quite proud of him, and the Dappled Gray had been heard
to say that he might amount to something yet. That was a great deal for
the Dappled Gray to say, for although he had a very kind heart, he did
not often praise people, and hardly ever said such things about
two-year-olds. That made it all the harder for him when the Bay Colt
became cross over being told to stop cribbing.
You know there are some Colts who learn obedience easily, and there are
others who have one hard struggle to stop jumping, and another to stop
cribbing, and another to stop kicking, and so on, all through their
Colthood. The older Horses are sorry for them and try to help them, for
they know that neither Colt nor Horse can really enjoy life until he is
trying to do right. To be sure, people sometimes do wrong even then, but
if they will take advice and keep on trying they are certain to turn out
well.
And now, when the Bay Colt seemed to have forgotten the lesson he had in
the fall, and after he had told the other Horses to let him alone, very
strange things began to happen. The farmer took him from his stall and
made him open his mouth. Then a piece of iron was slipped into it, which
lay on top of his tongue and fitted into the place on each side of his
jaw where there were no teeth. Long lines were fastened to this iron on
either side, and when he tossed his head and sidled around, these lines
were gently pulled by the farmer and the iron bit pressed down his
tongue.
The farmer was very kind, but the Bay Colt did not want the bit in his
mouth, so he acted as ugly as he knew how, and kicked, and snapped with
his jaws open, and tried to run. The farmer did not grow angry or cross,
yet whenever the Bay Colt showed his temper, the bit would press down
his tongue and stretch the corners of his mouth until he had to stop.
Once in a while the farmer would try to pat him and show him that it was
all right, but the Bay Colt would not have this, and he was a very cross
and sweaty two-year-old when he was taken back to his stall.
He missed the Gray Colt from her usual place, but soon she came in with
one of the farmer's men. She had been driven for the first time also.
"Hallo!" said he. "Have you had a bit in your mouth too? Wasn't it
dreadful? I am so angry that my hoofs fairly tingle to hit that farmer."
"It was hard," said the Gray Colt, "but the man who drove me was very
kind and let me rest often. He patted me, too, and that helped me to be
brave. My mother says we won't mind the bit at all after we are used to
it."
"Well," said the Bay Colt, "I'm never going to be used to it. I won't
stand it, and that's all there is about it." He stamped his hoofs and
looked very important. Two-year-olds often look quite as important as
ten-year-olds, and they feel much more so. The Bay Colt was rather proud
of his feet, and thought it much nicer to have solid hoofs than to have
them split, like those of the Cows, the Hogs, and the Sheep.
[Illustration: HAD A SORE MOUTH FROM JERKING ON THE LINES.]
When he said that he would not stand it to be driven, a queer little
sound ran through the stalls. It was like the wind passing over a
wheatfield, and was caused by the older Horses taking a long breath and
whispering to themselves. The Bay Colt's mother was saying, "Poor child!
What hard work he does make of life!"
The next day both Colts were driven again, and the next day, and the
next, and the next. By this time the Gray Colt was quite used to it. She
said she rather enjoyed knowing what the man was thinking, and that she
could tell his thoughts by the feeling of the lines, much as she used to
understand her mother by rubbing noses when she was a tiny Colt. Her
cousin had a sore mouth from jerking on the lines, and he could not
enjoy eating at all. That made it even harder for him, because he got
very hungry, and it is not so easy to be sensible when one is hungry.
When the Gray Colt learned to walk steadily and turn as her driver
wished, she was allowed to draw a light log through the furrows of a
field. This tired her, but it made her very proud, and she arched her
neck and took the daintiest of steps. It was not necessary that the log
should be drawn over the field; still, she did not know this, and
thought it was real work, when it was done only to teach her to pull.
The man who was driving her patted her neck and held her nose in his
hand. When he stopped to eat an apple, he gave her the core, and she
thought she had never tasted anything so good. As she went back to her
stall, she called to the Horses near, "I have been working. I have drawn
a log all around a field."
The Blind Horse spoke softly to her. "You will have a happy life, my
dear, because you are a willing worker."
Although the Bay Colt didn't say anything, he thought a great deal, and
about many things. While he was thinking he began to crib, but the
noise of his biting teeth on the wood startled him, and he shook his
head and whispered to himself, "I will never crib again." When he ate
his supper, his sore mouth hurt him, but he didn't whimper. "You deserve
it," he said to himself. "It wouldn't have been sore if you had been
steady like your cousin." The Bay Colt was growing sensible very fast.
The Dappled Gray had noticed how suddenly he stopped cribbing, and so
watched him for a few days. He saw that the Bay Colt was in earnest,
that he drew the log up and down without making any fuss, and was soon
hitched with his mother to a plow. The Dappled Gray and the Blind Horse
were also plowing that day, and they called across from their field.
"Fine day for plowing," they said.
"Perfect," answered the Bay Colt. "Did you notice the last furrow we
turned? Can you do any better than that? If I had jumped, it would have
been crooked instead of straight; and if I had stopped, it would not be
done yet."
"Good furrow! Wonderful furrow!" answered the Dappled Gray. "Always knew
you'd be a good worker when you got down to it. You are one of us now,
one of the working Horses. Glad of it. Good-bye!" And he turned away to
start his plow across the field again.
"Do you like being grown up?" said the Bay Colt's mother to him.
"Like it?" he answered with a laugh. "I'm so proud that I don't know
what to do. I wouldn't go back to the old life of all play for anything
in the world. And my little cousin made me see my mistakes. Was there
ever another Colt as foolish as I?"
"A great many of them," said his mother. "More than you would guess.
They kick and bite and try to run because they cannot always have their
own way; and then, when they have tried the farmer's way, and begin to
pay for his care of them, they find it very much better than the life of
all play. Colts will be Colts."
THE TWIN LAMBS
There was a Lamb, a bright, frisky young fellow, who had a twin sister.
Their mother loved them both and was as kind to one as to the other, but
the brother wanted to have the best of everything, and sometimes he even
bunted his sister with his hard little forehead. His mother had to speak
to him many times about this, for he was one of those trying children
who will not mind when first spoken to.
He did not really mean to be naughty--he was only strong and frisky and
thoughtless. Sometimes he was even rude to his mother. She felt very sad
when this was so, yet she loved him dearly and found many excuses for
him in her own heart.
There were three other pairs of twins in the flock that year, and as
their mothers were not strong enough to care for two Lambs apiece, the
farmer had taken one twin from each pair to a little pen near the house.
Here they stayed, playing happily together, and drinking milk from a
bottle which the farmer's wife brought to them. They were hungry very
often, like all young children, and when their stomachs began to feel
empty, or even to feel as if they might feel empty, they crowded against
the side of the pen, pushed their pinkish-white noses through the
openings between the boards, and bleated and bleated and bleated to the
farmer's wife.
Soon she would come from the kitchen door and in her hand would bring
the big bottle full of milk for them. There was a soft rubber top to
this bottle, through which the Lambs could draw the milk into their
mouths. Of course they all wanted to drink at once, though there was
only a chance for one, and the others always became impatient while they
were waiting. The farmer's wife was patient, even when the Lambs, in
their hurry to get the milk, took her fingers into their mouths and bit
them instead of the top of the bottle.
Our twin Lamb wanted to have his sister taken into the pen with the
other three, and he spoke about it to his mother. "I know how you can
manage," said he. "Whenever she comes near you, just walk away from her,
and then the farmer will take her up to the pen."
"You selfish fellow!" answered his mother. "Do you want your dear little
twin sister to leave us?"
He hung his head for a minute, but replied, "She'd have just as good a
time. They have all they can eat up there, and they have lots of fun."
[Illustration: FEEDING THE LAMBS.]
"If you think it is so pleasant in the pen," said his mother, "suppose I
begin to walk away from you, and let the farmer take you away. I think
your sister would rather stay with me."
"Oh, no!" cried her son. "I don't want to leave my own dear woolly
mother! I want to cuddle up to you every night and have you tell me
stories about the stars."
"Do you think you love me very much?" said she. "You don't know how to
really love yet, for you are selfish, and there is not room in a selfish
heart for the best kind of love."
That made the Lamb feel very badly. "I do love her dearly," he cried, as
he stood alone. "I believe I love her ever so much more than my sister
does."
That was where the little fellow was mistaken, for although his sister
did not talk so much about it, she showed her love in many other ways.
If she had been taken from her mother for even a few days, they could
never again have had such sweet and happy days together. Sheep look
much alike, and they cannot remember each other's faces very long. If a
Lamb is taken away from his mother for even a short time, they do not
know each other when they meet afterward. Perhaps this is one reason why
they keep together so much, for it would be sad indeed not to know one's
mother or one's child.