more important person than those silly anemones and really I can no
longer control my buds.”
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” replied Dame Spring. “But you must give me a
little time.”
She went on through the wood. And, at every step, more anemones
appeared. They stood in thick bevies round the roots of the beech and
bashfully bowed their round heads to the ground.
“Look up freely,” said Dame Spring, “and rejoice in heaven’s bright
sun. Your lives are but short, so you must enjoy them while they last.”
The anemones did as she told them. They stretched themselves and spread
their white petals to every side and drank as much sunshine as they
could. They knocked their heads against one another and wound their
stalks together and laughed and were constantly happy.
“Now I can wait no longer,” said the beech and came into leaf.
Leaf after leaf crept out of its green covering and spread out and
fluttered in the wind. The whole green crown arched itself like a
mighty roof above the ground.
“Good heavens, is it evening so soon?” asked the anemones, who thought
that it had turned quite dark.
“No, it is _death_,” said Dame Spring. “Now _you’re_ finished. It’s the
same with you as with the best in this world. All must bud, blossom and
die.”
“Die?” cried some of the small anemones. “Must we die yet?”
And some of the large anemones turned quite red in the face with anger
and pride:
“We know all about it!” they said. “It’s the beech that’s killing us.
He steals the sunshine for his own leaves and grudges us a single ray.
He is a nasty, wicked thing.”
They stood and scolded and wept for some days. Then Dame Spring came
for the last time through the wood. She had still the oaks and some
other querulous old fellows to visit:
“Lie down nicely to sleep now in the ground,” she said to the anemones.
“It is no use kicking against the pricks. Next year, I will come again
and wake you to new life.”
And some of the anemones did as she told them. But others continued to
stick their heads in the air and grew up so ugly and lanky that they
were horrid to look at.
“Fie, for shame!” they cried to the beech-leaves. “It’s you that are
killing us.”
But the beech shook his long boughs, so that the brown husks fell to
the ground.
“Wait till the autumn, you little blockheads,” he said and laughed.
“Then you’ll just see.”
The anemones could not understand what he meant. But, when they had
stretched themselves as far as they could, they cracked in two and
withered.
3
The summer was past and the farmer had carted his corn home from the
field.
The wood was still green, but darker; and, in many places, yellow and
red leaves appeared among the green ones. The sun was tired of his warm
work during the summer and went early to bed.
At night, the winter stole through the trees to see if his time would
soon come. When he found a flower, he kissed her politely and said:
“Well, well, are you there still? I am glad to see you. Stay where you
are. I am a harmless old man and wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
But the flower shuddered with his kiss and the bright dew-drops that
hung from her petals froze to ice at the same moment.
The winter went oftener and oftener through the wood. He breathed upon
the leaves, so that they turned yellow, or upon the ground, so that it
grew hard.
Even the anemones, who lay down below in the earth and waited for Dame
Spring to come again as she had promised, could feel his breath and
shuddered right down to their roots.
“Oh dear, how cold it is!” they said to one another. “How ever shall we
last through the winter? We are sure to die before it is over.”
“Now _my_ time has come,” said the winter. “Now I need no longer steal
round like a thief in the night. From to-morrow I shall look everybody
straight in the face and bite his nose and make his eyes run with
tears.”
At night the storm broke loose.
“Let me see you make a clean sweep of things,” said the winter.
And the storm obeyed his orders. He tore howling through the wood and
shook the branches so that they creaked and broke. Any that were at all
decayed fell down and those that held on had to twist and turn to every
side.
“Away with all that finery!” howled the storm and tore off the leaves.
“This is no time to deck one’s self out. Soon there will be snow on the
branches: that’s another story.”
All the leaves fell terrified to the ground, but the storm did not
let them be in peace. He took them by the waist and waltzed with them
over the field, high up in the air and into the wood again, swept them
together into great heaps and scattered them once more to every side,
just as the fit seized him.
Not until the morning did the storm grow weary and go down.
“Now you can have peace for _this_ time,” he said. “I am going down
till we have our spring-cleaning. Then we can have another dance, if
there are any of you left by that time.”
And then the leaves went to rest and lay like a thick carpet over the
whole earth.
The anemones felt that it had grown delightfully warm.
“I wonder if Dame Spring can have come yet?” they asked one another.
“I haven’t got my buds ready!” cried one of them.
“No more have I! No more have I!” exclaimed the others in chorus.
But one of them took courage and just peeped out above the ground.
“Good-morning!” cried the withered beech-leaves. “It’s rather too
early, little missie: if only you don’t come to any harm!”
“Isn’t that Dame Spring?” asked the anemone.
“Not just yet,” replied the beech-leaves. “It’s we, the green leaves
you were so angry with in the summer. Now we have lost our green color
and have not much left to make a show of. We have enjoyed our youth and
danced, I may tell you. And now we are lying here and protecting all
the little flowers in the ground against the winter.”
“And meanwhile I am standing and freezing with my bare branches,” said
the beech, crossly.
The anemones talked about it down in the earth and thought it very
nice.
“Those dear beech-leaves!” they said.
“Mind you remember it next summer, when I come into leaf,” said the
beech.
“We will, we will!” whispered the anemones.
For that sort of thing is promised; but the promise is never kept.
THE QUEEN BEE
THE QUEEN BEE
1
The farmer opened his bee-hive.
“Out with you!” he said. “The sun is shining; the flowers are
blossoming everywhere and are a sheer joy to behold. Let me see you
industrious now and gather me a good lot of honey which I can sell to
the shopkeeper in the autumn. Many mickles make a muckle; and you know
that things are looking bad with agriculture.”
“What is agriculture to us?” said the bees.
But they flew out nevertheless, for they had been in the hive all
winter and were longing for a breath of fresh air. Buzzing and
humming, they stretched their legs and tried their wings. They swarmed
forth everywhere, crawled up and down the hive, flew off to the flowers
and shrubs and walked about on the ground.
There were many hundred bees.
The queen came last. She was bigger than the others and it was she that
reigned in the hive.
“Stop that nonsense now, children,” she said, “and begin to do
something. A decent bee does not idle, but turns to, in a capable way,
and makes good use of her time.”
Then she divided them into companies and set them to work.
“You, there, fly out and see if there is any honey in the flowers. The
second company can gather pollen; and, when you come home, deliver it
all nicely to the old bees indoors.”
They flew away. But all the young ones were still left. They formed the
last company, for they had never been out before.
“What are _we_ to do?” they asked.
“You? You’ve got to _sweat_!” said the queen. “One, two, three and to
work!”
And they sweated as best they knew how and the loveliest yellow wax
burst out of their bodies.
“That’s right,” said the queen. “Now we will begin to build.”
The old bees took the wax and started building a number of small
hexagonal cells, all alike and close together. All the time that they
were building, the others came flying up with pollen and honey, which
they laid at the queen’s feet.
“Now we’ll knead the dough!” said she. “But first pour a little honey
in; then it will taste better.”
They kneaded and kneaded and made nice little loaves of bee-bread,
which they carried to the cells.
“Now we’ll go on building!” commanded the queen-bee. And they sweated
wax and built away with a vengeance.
“I may as well begin my own work,” said the queen and heaved a deep
sigh, for this was the hardest of all.
She sat down in the middle of the hive and began to lay eggs. She laid
great heaps and the bees ran up, took the little eggs in their mouths
and carried them into the new cells. Every egg got its own little
room; and, when they were all disposed of, the queen ordered the bees
to put doors to the cells and to shut them tight.
“Good!” she said, when they had finished. “Now you can build me ten
big, handsome rooms at the outer edge of the hive.”
The bees did so in a trice and then the queen laid ten beautiful eggs,
one in each of the big rooms, and put a door before them.
Every day, the bees flew out and in and gathered great heaps of honey
and pollen; but, in the evening, when their work was done, they set the
doors a little ajar and peeped in at the eggs.
“Take care!” said the queen, one day. “Now they’re coming!”
And suddenly all the eggs burst and in each cell lay a nice little baby.
“What queer creatures!” said the young bees. “Why, they have no eyes;
and where are their legs and wings?”
“Those are grubs,” said the queen, “and that’s what you young
green-horns yourselves once looked like. You have to be a grub before
you can become a proper bee. Hurry now and give them something to eat.”
The bees hastened to feed the little young ones; but they did not all
fare equally well. The ten that lay in the large rooms got as much to
eat as ever they wanted and a big helping of honey was carried in to
them every day.
“Those are princesses,” said the queen. “Therefore, you must treat
them well. The others you can stint in their food; they are only
work-people and must accustom themselves to take things as they come.”
And the poor little creatures got a small piece of bee-bread every
morning and nothing more; they had to be content with that, even though
they were ever so hungry.
2
In one of the small hexagonal cells close to the princesses’ rooms lay
a tiny little grub. She was the youngest of them all and had but quite
lately come out of the egg. She could not see, but she could distinctly
hear the grown-up bees talking outside; and meanwhile she lay quite
still and just thought her own thoughts.
“I could do with a little more to eat,” she said and tapped at her door.
“You’ve got enough for today,” replied the old bee who crawled up and
down outside in the passage and had been appointed head-nurse to the
baby bees.
“Ah, but I’m hungry!” cried the little grub. “And then I want to have a
princess’s room; I feel so cramped in here.”
“Oh, just listen to her!” said the old bee, sarcastically. “One would
think she was a dainty little princess by the pretensions she puts
forward! You were born to toil and drudge, my little friend. A common
working-bee, that’s what you are; and you’ll never be anything else in
all your days.”
“Ah, but I want to be a queen!” said the grub and thumped on the door.
The old bee, of course, made no reply to such silly trash, but went
on to the others. Everywhere they were crying for more food; and the
little grub could hear it all.
“It’s really hard,” she thought, “that we should be so hungry.”
And then she tapped on the wall and called to the princess on the other
side:
“Give me a little of your honey! Let me come in to you in your room. I
am lying here and starving and I am quite as good as you.”
“Ah, you just wait till I’m queen-regnant!” said the princess. “Be sure
I shan’t forget your impudence.”
But she had hardly said this before the other princesses began to bawl
most terribly:
“You shan’t be queen! _I_ will! _I_ will!” they all yelled together and
began to thump on the walls and make a frightful din.
The head-nurse came running up at once and opened the doors:
“What are your Royal Highnesses’ commands?” she asked and curtseyed and
scraped with her legs.
“More honey!” they all cried together. “But me first, me first! I’m
going to be queen!”
“This minute, this minute, your Royal Highnesses!” she replied and ran
off as fast as her six old legs could carry her.
Soon after, she came back with several other bees. They dragged a
quantity of honey with them, which they put down the throats of the
angry little princesses, till gradually they grew quiet and all ten of
them went to sleep.
But the little grub lay awake and thought over what had happened. She
was yearning for honey and shook the door:
“Give me some honey! I can stand this no longer; I’m quite as good as
the others.”
The old bee told her to be silent:
“Keep still, you little squaller! Here comes the queen.”
And the queen-bee came as she spoke:
“Go away,” she said to the bees. “I wish to be alone.”
She stood long, silently, outside the princesses’ rooms.
“You’re lying in there now and sleeping,” she said at last. “Eat and
sleep, that’s what you do, from morn till night, and, every day that
passes, you grow stronger and fatter. In a few days, you will be
full-grown and you will creep out of the cells. Then my time is over. I
know it well! I have heard the bees saying among themselves that they
want a younger and prettier queen; and then they will drive me away in
disgrace. But that I will not submit to. To-morrow, I shall kill them
all, so that I can go on reigning till I die.”
Then she went away, but the little grub had heard all that she said.
“Goodness gracious!” she thought. “After all, it’s really a pity
for the little princesses. They certainly give themselves airs and
they have been nasty to me; but it would be sad, for all that, if the
wicked queen killed them. I think I shall tell the old grumbler in the
passage.”
Then she began to tap at the door again; and the old head-nurse came
running up; but this time she was really angry:
“Now, you had better mind yourself, my good grub!” she said. “You’re
the youngest of them all and the noisiest. Next time, I’ll report you
to the queen.”
“Ah, but first listen to me,” said the grub; and then she betrayed the
queen’s wicked plan.
“Heavens above! Is that true?” cried the old bee and struck her wings
together with horror.
And, without listening to any more, she hurried away to tell the other
bees.
“I do think I deserve a little honey for my goodwill,” said the little
grub. “But now I can go to sleep with an easy conscience.”
The next morning, the queen, when she thought that all the bees were
in bed, came to put the princesses to death. The grub could hear her
talking aloud to herself; but was very frightened of the wicked queen
and hardly dared move.
“If only she doesn’t kill the princesses,” she thought and crept closer
to the door to hear what was happening.
The queen-bee looked carefully round in every direction and opened the
first of the doors. But, as she did so, the bees swarmed up from every
side, seized her by the legs and wings and dragged her away.
“What does this mean?” she screamed. “Are you rising in rebellion?”
“No, your Majesty,” replied the bees, respectfully, “but we know
that you are thinking of killing the princesses; and that you cannot
possibly be permitted to do. How should we manage in that case in the
autumn, when your Majesty dies?”
“Unhand me!” screamed the queen and tried to tear herself free. “I am
still queen and have the right to do what I please. How do you know
that I shall die in the autumn?”
But the bees held fast and dragged her out of the hive. There they let
her go; but she shook her wings with rage and said:
“You are disloyal subjects, who are not worth reigning over. I will
not stay here another hour, but will go away and build a new hive. Are
there any of you that will follow me?”
Some of the old bees who had been grubs with the queen declared that
they would go with her, and soon after they flew away.
“Now we have no queen,” said the others. “We shall have to take good
care of the princesses.”
And so they stuffed them with honey from morning till night and the
princesses grew and thrived and squabbled and made more and more noise
day after day.
And no one gave a thought to the little grub.
3
One morning, the doors of the princesses’ rooms flew open and they all
ten came out as beautiful full-grown queen-bees; the other bees came
running up and looked at them with admiration.
“Oh, how lovely they are!” they said. “It is not easy to say which of
them is the prettiest.”
“I am!” cried one.
“You make a great mistake!” said the second and thrust at her with her
sting.
“You flatter yourselves!” cried the third. “I should think I am no less
beautiful than you.”
Soon they were all screaming together; and, a little later, they all
began to fight. The bees wanted to part them, but the old head-nurse
said:
“Just let them fight, then we shall see which is the strongest and we
will elect her to be our queen. After all, we can’t have more than one.”
The bees then formed a ring and watched the combat. It was long and
hard-fought. Wings and legs were bitten off and flew around in the air;
and, after some time, eight of the princesses lay dead on the ground.
The last two went on fighting for a long while. One had lost all her
wings and the other had only four legs left.
“It will be a pitiful queen, whichever of them we get,” said one of the
bees. “We had better have kept the old one.”
But she might as well have saved herself the observation, for at that
very moment the princesses suddenly gave each other so violent a
thrust with their stings that both of them fell stone-dead.
“Here’s a nice thing!” cried the bees and they all ran about in
consternation. “Now we have no queen! What shall we do? What shall we
do?”
They crept round the hive in utter bewilderment and despair. But the
oldest and wisest of them sat in a corner and held counsel. They
discussed at length what expedient they should resort to in this
unfortunate case; but at last the head-nurse spoke and said:
“Now I will tell you how you can get out of the dilemma, if you will
follow my advice. I remember that the same misfortune once happened
long ago in this hive. I was a grub at the time and I lay in my cell
and distinctly heard what was going on. All the princesses had killed
one another and the old queen had gone away, just as now. But then
the bees took one of us grubs and put her in one of the princesses’
cells. They fed her every day on the best and finest honey that the
hive contained; and, when she was full-grown, she was a really good
and beautiful queen. I remember the whole story clearly, for I thought
at the time that they might just as well have taken me. But never mind
that at present. I propose that we should behave in just the same way.”
The bees gladly cried that they agreed, and they ran straight off to
fetch a grub.
“Stop a bit,” cried the head-nurse, “and take me with you. After all,
I have managed to help you. Now, look here: it must be one of the
youngest grubs, for she must have time to think of her new position.
When you’ve been brought up to be a common worker, it’s not so easy to
accustom yourself to wear a crown.”
The bees thought this sensible too, and the old bee continued:
“Just beside the princesses’ rooms lies a little grub. She is the
youngest of them all. She must have learned a deal from hearing the
princesses’ cultured conversation; and I have noticed that she is not
without character. Moreover, it was she who had the honesty to tell me
of the old queen’s wicked thoughts. Let us take her.”
They all went forthwith, in a solemn procession, to the narrow,
hexagonal cell in which the little grub lay. The head-nurse knocked
politely at the door, opened it carefully and told the grub what the
bees had decided upon. At first she almost refused to believe her own
ears; but, when they carried her carefully into one of the beautiful
large rooms and brought her as much honey as she could eat, she saw
that it was serious.
“So I am to be queen after all!” she said to the head-nurse. “You never
thought that, you old grumbler!”
“I hope your Majesty will forget my rude remarks at the time when you
lay in the hexagonal cell,” said the old bee and dropped a respectful
curtsey.
“I forgive you!” replied the new-fledged princess. “Get me some more
honey!”
Soon after, the grub was full-grown and stepped out of her room,
looking as large and beautiful as the bees could possibly wish. And she
did know how to command and no mistake!
“Away with you!” she said. “We want more honey for winter use and you
others must sweat more wax. I mean to build a wing to the hive. The new
princesses will live in it next year; it is much too unpleasant for
them to be so near the common grubs.”
“What next!” cried the bees to one another. “One would really think
that she had been queen from the time when she lay in the egg!”
“No,” said the head-nurse, “that she was not. But she has had
_queenly thoughts_; and that is the great thing.”
THE CATERPILLAR
THE CATERPILLAR
1
The whole kitchen-garden was full of caterpillars and one of them was
bigger than the others. Day after day, he crawled about on a head of
cabbage just at the edge of the walk. He was stout and fat and so green
that it hurt one’s eyes to look at him. He ate and ate, positively did
nothing else but eat.
“You stupid beast!” said the gardener. “You and your brothers and
sisters eat up half my cabbage. If there were not so many of you, I
would kill you.”
“The stupid beast!” sang the nightingale who sat in the syringa-bush.
“He does not care about flowers or music and singing. Nothing but eat,
eat, eat!”
“The stupid beast!” piped the swallow who swept over the kitchen-garden
on his long, pointed wings. “He has not the smallest taste for poetry:
never thinks of sunshine and summer air. There is not the least go in
him. Nothing but eat, eat, eat! And then, into the bargain, he is so
full of loathsome poisonous hairs that one can’t eat him one’s self.”
“The stupid beast!” snapped the ant, who ran past with a grain of corn
in her mouth. “Does he ever think of house and home? Of his children?
Of food for the winter? Nothing but eat, eat, eat!”
“Goodness me!” said the caterpillar.
And he said no more for the time being, so overpowered was he with all
this scolding. But, all the while that he was eating the green, juicy
cabbage, he pondered on what he had heard and most on what the ant had
said. And, when the ant next came by, the caterpillar had made it out:
“Hi, you ant!” he cried. “Stop a bit and explain to me what you said
about the children. Don’t you know that I am a child myself? I only
want time in order to grow big and pretty.”
The ant stood still and dropped the grain of corn she had in her mouth,
so great was her amazement:
“Are _you_ a child?” she asked. “A nice child you are! Why, you’re a
perfect elephant, fifty times as big as myself. And so you’re a child,
are you? Lord knows what you’ll look like when you’re grown up!”
“I don’t know for certain,” said the caterpillar, with an air of
mystery. “But I have a suspicion. If I could only tell you what I
sometimes notice inside myself! I am quite certain that I shall be
something great one day--if only you give me time to grow. I shall fly
away over the garden on beautiful wings; I shall be a butterfly: just
you wait and see! I know by my dreams that I am related to you others
and that I am quite as good as you.”
“Bah!” said the ant and spat on the ground. “It is simply disgusting
to listen to such balderdash. Dreams? Suspicions? No, there’s a thing
that’s called the family and the ant-hill: that’s what _I_ stick to.
Good-bye, you stupid caterpillar.”
Then she ran off, but stopped a little farther away and once more said:
“Bah!”
And the sun blazed and the caterpillar basked in its rays while he ate
the green cabbage.
2
It was now past mid-day and the nightingale in the syringa-bush
could not bear to sing in so great a heat. So he stopped and took an
afternoon nap. The swallow flew up aloft to get a breath of fresh air,
the ant carried her little white eggs up into the sun and the gardener
sat under the big walnut-tree and had his dinner with his wife and
children.
But the caterpillar went on eating indefatigably.
Suddenly a multitude of small black dots appeared in the air over the
kitchen-garden. They danced up and down and up and down. At last, they
hung low down, just above the caterpillar, and he could see that they
were nice little animals, with fine, bright wings.