A FLATTERING INVITATION.
Waxywill and Honeyball had both come to the assistance of Silverwing,
and she buzzed her thanks in a grateful way to both, though different
motives had brought them to her aid, for they were very different bees
in their dispositions.
Honeyball was a good-humoured, easy kind of creature. Very ready to
do a kindness if it cost her little trouble, but lazy as any drone in
the hive. Honeyball would have liked to live all day in the bell of a
foxglove, with nothing to disturb her in her idle feast. It was said in
the hive that more than, once she had been known to sip so much, that
at last she had been unable to rise, and for hours had lain helpless on
the ground. Sipsyrup, who, like other vain, silly creatures, was very
fond of talking about other people’s concerns, had even whispered that
Honeyball had been seen busy at one of the provision-cells stored for
the winter’s use, which it is treason in a bee to touch; but as those
who talk much generally talk a little nonsense, we may hope that there
was no real ground for the story.
Waxywill was one of whom such a report would never have been believed;
there was not a more honourable or temperate worker in the hive. Yet
Stickasting herself was scarcely less liked, so peevish and perverse
was the temper of this bee. If desired to do anything, it was sure to
be the very thing which she did not fancy. Were cells to be built--she
could not bear moping indoors; if asked to bring honey--she always
found out that her wings were tired. She could not bear submission to
the laws of the hive, and once actually shook her wings at the queen!
When she flew to help Silverwing, it was less out of kindness to her
than the love of opposing Stickasting. And yet Waxywill was not an
ungenerous bee; she had more sense too than insects generally possess;
she would have been respected and even loved in the hive, had not her
stubborn, wilful temper spoilt all.
We will now follow Sipsyrup in her hasty flight, as, leaving both her
friend and her charges behind, she made her retreat from Stickasting.
How delightful she found the fine fresh air, after the heated hive!
Now up, now down, she pursued her varying course, sometimes humming
for a moment around some fragrant flower, then, even before she had
tasted its contents, deserting it for one yet more tempting. Deeply she
plunged her long tongue into its cup; her curious pliable tongue, so
carefully guarded by Nature in a nicely fitting sheath. “_Sheathe your
tongue!_” was an expression which the gossipping little bee had heard
more often than she liked, especially from the mouth of Waxywill. It
might be an expressive proverb in other places than Bee-land, for there
are tongues whose words are more cutting than swords, that much need
the sheath of discretion.
The movements of the lively insect were watched with much interest
by Spinaway the spider, from her quiet home in a rosebush. Sipsyrup,
disdaining the narrow garden of the school, had winged her way over
the wall, and turning into a narrow green lane that was near, was now
sporting with the blossoms by Mrs. Wingfield’s porch. Spinaway was a
clever, artful spider, somewhat ambitious too in her way. She had made
her web remarkably firm and strong, and expected to be rewarded by
nobler game than the little aphis, or bony gnat. She had once succeeded
in capturing a blue-bottle fly, and this perhaps it was that raised
her hopes so high, that she did not despair of having a bee in her
larder.
“Good-morning,” said Spinaway in a soft, coaxing tone, as Sipsyrup came
fluttering near her. “You seem to have travelled some distance, my
friend, and if you should like to rest yourself here, I am sure that
you would be heartily welcome.”
Sipsyrup was a young, inexperienced bee, but she did not much fancy
the looks of the spider, with her hunchback and long hairy legs. She
politely, therefore, declined the invitation, and continued her feast
in a flower.
“I am really glad to see a friend in a nice quiet way,” continued the
persevering spider. “I find it very dull to sit here all day; I would
give anything to have wings like a bee.”
Sipsyrup, who loved gossip, advanced a little nearer, taking care to
keep clear of the web.
“I do long to hear a little news of the world, to know what passes
in your wonderful hive. I am curious to learn about your queen; your
manner and style of dress is such, that I am sure that you must have
been much about the court.”
Settling upon a leaf, still at a safe distance, Sipsyrup indulged her
taste for chit-chat, glad to have so attentive a listener. Spinaway
soon heard all the gossip of the hive,--how the present queen had
killed in single combat the queen of another swarm, whilst the bees of
both nations watched the fight; and how the hostile band, when they
saw their queen dead, had submitted to the conqueror at once. How a
slug had last morning crept into the hive and frightened her out of her
wits, but had been put to death by fierce Stickasting before it had
crawled more than an inch. Sipsyrup then related--and really for once
her conversation was very amusing--all the difficulties and perplexity
of the people of the hive as to how to get rid of the body of the
intruder. She herself had been afraid to venture near the monster, but
Silverwing and the rest had striven with all their might to remove the
dead slug from their hive.
“And did they succeed?” said Spinaway, much interested.
“Oh, it was quite impossible to drag out the slug! We were in such
distress--such a thing in the hive--our hive always kept so neat and
clean that not a scrap of wax is left lying about!”
“What did you do?” said the spider; “it really was a distressing
affair.”
“Waxywill thought of a plan for preventing annoyance. She proposed that
we should cover the slug all over with wax, so that it should rather
appear like a piece of the comb than a dead creature left in the hive.”
“A capital plan!” cried Spinaway. “And was the thing done?”
“Yes, it was, and before the day was over.”
“So there Mrs. Slug remains in a white wrapping,” laughed the spider;
“a warning to those who go where they are not wanted. You were, I
daresay, one of the foremost in the work.”
“Not I; I would not have touched the ugly creature with one of my
feelers!”
“I beg your pardon!” said the spider; “indeed, I might have judged by
your appearance that nothing but the most refined and elegant business
would ever be given to you. You look as though you had never touched
anything rougher than a rose.”
This speech put Sipsyrup in high good-humour; she began to think that
she had judged the spider harshly, and that she really was an agreeable
creature in spite of her ugly hunch.
“If you speak of delicate work,” observed the bee very politely, “I
never saw anything so fine as your web.”
“It is tolerably well finished,” said the spider with a bow; “would
you honour me by a closer inspection?”
“Oh, thank you, I’m not curious in these matters,” replied Sipsyrup,
still feeling a little doubtful of her new friend.
“You have doubtless remarked,” said Spinaway, “that each thread is
composed of about five thousand others, all joined together.”
“No, really, I had no idea of that--how wonderfully fine they must be!”
“I am surprised that you did not see it; at least if the powers of
your eyes equal their beauty. I never beheld anything like them
before--their violet colour, their beautiful shape, cut, as it were,
into hundreds of divisions, like fine honey-comb cells, and studded all
over with most delicate hair. I would give my eight eyes for your two!”
“Two!” cried Sipsyrup, mightily pleased; “I have three more on the back
of my head.”
“I would give anything to see them, if they are but equal to the
faceted ones. No creature in the world could boast of such a set!
Might I beg--would you favour me?”--
Silly Sipsyrup! foolish bee! not the first, however, nor, I fear, the
last, to be caught by sugary words. Blinded by vanity, forward she
flew--touched the sticky, clammy web--entangled her feet--struggled
to get free--in vain, in vain!--quivered her wings in terrified
efforts--shook the web with all her might--but could not escape.
Her artful foe looked eagerly on, afraid to approach until the poor
bee should have exhausted herself by her struggles. Ah, better for
Sipsyrup had she kept in her hive, had she spent all the day in making
bee-bread, to feed the little larvæ in their cells!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]