THE HONEY MAKERS
Gaily we fly, my fellows and I,
Seeking the honey our hives to supply.
“I am an American,” he went on, in a voice which all could hear. “A
native of this great and glorious country, and I have a right to buzz,
or make any noise I please. Those little bees who make honeycomb are
foreigners—immigrants. Useful citizens, I will grant, but still
immigrants. Now, _my_ ancestors were here when Columbus discovered
America. Do you know that my name is Bombus, spelt with a big ‘B’? Now,
to show you how useful we bumble bees are, I shall tell you a story.
Once upon a time—are you all listening?”
“I am,” answered Ruth, quickly. “Please go on.”
“Well, once upon a time there was no red clover in Australia, and the
farmers of that country decided to take American seed there and plant
it. The first year the crop grew finely. There were plenty of flowers,
but no seeds. Of course that was bad, they needed seed for the next
year’s sowing. Well, once more they brought seed from America, and once
more the crop grew finely, but not a seed came from it. Then the people
began to think, and after a while they found out the trouble. They
hadn’t the American bumble bee and they had to have him, for, my
friends, we, only, of all the bees, can fertilize the red clover
blossom, for only we have tongues long enough to reach its nectar cups
and the cell where its precious pollen is hidden. You may not think our
tongue so long, because it is rolled up when we are not using it, but
look!” And he unrolled a long brown tongue, which, in a moment, seemed
gone again.
“Gracious!” said Ruth.
“Now do you wonder that we can reach down into the red clover? When _we_
went to Australia the clover not only grew, but set seeds too.”
“But,” questioned Ruth, “do different flowers have different bees to
come to them, and how do you know?”
“Ah, that’s just it. A voice within us seems to whisper, ‘Go to the
blossom whose heart you can best reach, feed upon its honey and take
your fill of its golden dust.’ We know it to be the law, and we obey,
and, even as we obey, the pollen clings to our hairy bodies, and we bear
it to the next flower we visit. This is what usually happens, but
sometimes,” he added, as though ashamed, “I must say, we break the law,
and, finding a flower whose honey we cannot reach, we use our tongues to
cut a hole in the spot where we know the nectar is hidden and enter from
the outside. Plainly speaking, it is the way of the thief, getting our
feast without paying for it. For the bee who takes it so carries away no
pollen, and an honest bee should never act so. Now perhaps you would
like to know how we bumble bees began life? I am sure the little girl
would.” And Ruth nodded an emphatic “Yes.”
“We do not live all Winter, as honey bees do. Only a few queens sleep
through the cold months, and they do not need food; so while we make a
little honey to eat in Summer, we do not lay by any stores for Winter,
and naturally we make no combs. What looks like them are the silken
cocoons our babies spin. If I were a queen, I wouldn’t be here. Queens
have too much work to do to be abroad in Summer. You may see them in the
early Spring flying about and hunting up good home sites. A hole under a
log is often chosen, and gathering nectar and pollen the queen carries
it to this underground palace. In the mass she lays an egg, then gathers
more, in which she also lays an egg. In this way her house is soon full.
When the eggs hatch, the babies eat the pollen and nectar they find
around them. I was just such a baby, and, being a gentleman, I haven’t
much to do. I shall probably marry a queen some day, but now I simply
play in the sunshine. We bumble bees belong to the social branch of the
family, but there are many bees who live alone. They all follow trades.
There is the carpenter, who isn’t furry like us, but black and shiny.
She can bore right into solid wood and make cells for her eggs. Then
there are the miners, who burrow into the ground, and the masons, who
make nests out of grains of sand glued together, or out of clay or mud.
Some of the carpenters line their nests with pieces of leaves, which
they cut out with their sharp jaws. They have been called upholsterers
and they——”
“This is all very interesting,” interrupted a honey bee, “but really I
must speak now. I have so much to say, and my work is waiting.”
“Talk, by all means,” answered Sir Bumble Bee, gallantly. “I am a
gentleman, and I always yield to ladies.”
“Thank you, but I can’t call myself a lady. I am just a worker honey
bee. My name is Apis Mellifica, but I do belong to a wonderful family. I
will admit that. We are the greatest wax makers in the world. I heard
somebody once say that bees are always in a hurry, while butterflies
seem to take their time. Now there’s a good reason for that. Butterflies
haven’t any work to do. They do not even see their children, and never
take care of them, while bees have thousands of babies to feed and look
after. Then you must know we clean house every day, for we are extremely
neat housekeepers. We clean ourselves also, and we have combs and
brushes for that purpose.”
The words combs and brushes seemed to have quite an effect on the bees
and ants in the audience, and many began to make their toilets, Miss
Apis among them. They looked so very funny that Ruth laughed outright,
but she quickly settled down to listen, as Miss Apis, feeling herself
quite clean, said briskly:
[Illustration: THE QUEEN BEE AND HER BODYGUARD OF DRONES]
“Now I will tell a story. Once upon a time there was a large hive under
an apple tree. A hedge sheltered it from the wind, and the tree shaded
it from the sun, which made it very pleasant for the family who lived
there. It was a very large family, for there were thousands and
thousands of members, but they lived together in peace, each doing her
own share of work. Of course there was a queen. She had a long, slender
body and short wings. This did not matter, for she had only flown from
the hive once, and then she had a bodyguard of drones. Maybe you think
that because she was a queen she had nothing to do. It is true, she was
not obliged to gather honey, make wax, clean house, nurse the children,
or anything of that sort, but she was kept busy laying eggs. She laid
thousands every day.”
Ruth opened her eyes wide. “Think of it, Belinda!” she said. “Thousands
of eggs a day! Just suppose she was a hen.”
“She is something far more important,” answered Miss Apis, “and her eggs
are of much more consequence. Besides the queen there were drones and
workers in this big family. The drones did no work at all, though they
were large and thick-bodied. Indeed, all they seemed fit for was to fly
with the queen when she took her one trip abroad, and to eat what the
workers gathered.”
“See here!” said a drone from the back of the assembly. “I am getting
tired of being called lazy. I should like to say right here that we
drones haven’t any honey sac nor any pollen baskets, not even a pollen
brush, like Mrs. Carpenter Bee, so how can we gather pollen or honey?
Besides, we haven’t any sting to defend ourselves with.”
“We will not argue the point,” said Miss Apis, “but go on to the
workers, who formed the largest part of the colony. They were hatched to
work, and they were willing to work until they died. They had strong
wings, lots of eyes, and three stomach sacs.”
“Well, I can’t see any use in so many stomachs,” said Mrs. Horntail, and
Ruth agreed with her, though she did not say so.
“You would if you were a bee,” said Miss Apis, mildly. “You see, or
maybe you don’t, that eating honey, and just swallowing it, are two
different things. When a bee just swallows honey it passes through the
strainer, or fine hairs, in the first sac, so that every speck of pollen
may be taken out, and into the second one, where it remains until the
bee is ready to unswallow it in the hive. But when a bee wishes to eat
this honey it passes on into the third sac, or the real stomach, and is
digested.”
“Well, I am sorry I spoke,” said Mrs. Horntail, “for I certainly do not
enjoy these details.”
“I can’t help that,” answered Miss Apis, undisturbed, “I am telling
facts. Not only had these workers three stomach sacs, but they also had
pollen baskets on their hind legs, for it is from the pollen gathered in
the flowers and mixed with honey and water that the bee bread fed to the
baby bees is made. Not all the workers gathered honey, though. Some made
wax and built combs, and this was a very hard job, for they were obliged
to hang from the ceiling and pick wax from the under side of their
bodies, then chew it and plaster it to the walls. This wax is in eight
scales, or pockets, on the under side of the worker bee’s body, and it
is made by what she eats. When the pockets of one bee were emptied, the
next one took her place, and when the lump on the side of the wall was
large enough another set of bees formed it into cells. Of course you
know that the cells in a beehive are always six-sided. That is because
six-sided cells use all the space, and are also strongest. At least the
wise men say that is probably the reason why we make them so, and they
think they know. Other of the workers took care of the babies. They fed
them and kept them clean, and some aired the hive.”
Ruth’s eyes were big with questions. Miss Apis saw and continued:
“They did this by moving their wings rapidly as if they were flying, and
when many did it at the same time the good air was driven around the
hive and the bad air out. Then, of course, there had to be sentinels to
speak to every bee who passed in, and make sure she had the right to
enter, for human people are not our only robbers. There are flies that
look much like us, but ask them to show their pollen baskets, and they
can’t do it. Now it happened one Spring in the hive I am telling you
about that the queen heard a sound that she didn’t like at all. It was a
thin piping, and it came from one of the brood cells, which is the
nursery of the hive.”
“‘It sounds like a young queen,’ she said, ‘but I have laid no queen
eggs.’ The workers stopped their tasks long enough to talk about it.
They knew perfectly well that it was a young queen, and they also knew
how she happened to be there, even though the old queen had laid no eggs
in the cells on the edge of the comb meant for queen eggs. The old queen
did not wish another royal lady, but the workers knew that if anything
happened to the old queen there would be none to take her place, and
such a thing must not be allowed. So they had taken down two waxen walls
between three small brood cells, where a worker egg lay, and so made it
into a royal cell. They bit away the wax with their jaws, and pressed
the rough edges into shape with their feet, and when the egg within
hatched, instead of feeding the baby with flower dust and honey and
water, as they would have done had they intended it to grow into a
worker, they fed it royal jelly. And so after it had grown and spun a
cocoon, within which it had lain for sixteen days, it had become a young
queen, ready to leave her cell. But the workers knew it would never do
for her to come out just yet, for she and the old queen would have to
fight, and one would surely die.”
“Oh, how dreadful!” cried Ruth. “Why should they?”
“Because only one queen may reign in a hive.”
“‘We will keep her in her cell a little longer,’ the workers said to
each other. And they built a wall of wax over her door, leaving only a
hole large enough for her to thrust out her tongue so that they might
feed her. But though she couldn’t get out, she could complain.”
“I should have complained too,” said Ruth.
“Well this young queen complained in earnest, and the old queen heard
her, and of course she tried to get to the cell of this pert young one,
and settle her for all time. This the workers would not allow. They
would not touch their old queen, but they formed a bodyguard about the
cell of the new one, and so protected her.”
“‘Well,’ said the old queen at last, ‘I can’t stand this. I will not
stay here. I shall take my friends with me and fly away to a place where
only I shall be queen.’”
“She grew more and more excited, as time passed, and, as many of the
workers were excited too, the hive was in much confusion.”
“‘We are much too crowded,’ said some of the workers.”
“‘I can’t seem to settle down to work,’ answered others. ‘What can you
expect when thousands of children are added to a family in a week? The
time comes when the house must be made larger, or some of the members
must move.’”
“‘We will _move_,’ said the old queen in a tone of decision. ‘We will
move right now. Those who are my friends, come. The others may stay with
the piping thing in yonder cell.’”
“And without further words, the old queen flew away, followed by a great
many workers.”
“Now I know what swarming means!” cried Ruth. “I used to wonder about
it.”
Miss Apis nodded.
“When the swarm was well away, the workers who were left in the hive
hastened to let out the new queen.”
“She must have been glad,” said Ruth.
“Very likely,” agreed Miss Apis. “She began her reign with a flying trip
into the world with the drones. But after this, she came back to the
hive, and settled down to the business of egg-laying. Of course the
workers took up the same old tasks, for whatever happens, workers will
work. That is why they have no love for the drones, and when Winter
comes they drive these lazy ones from the hive.”
“I think I feel a little bit sorry for the drones,” said Ruth, “if they
can’t help being lazy, as that drone said a while ago.”
“Well, it is our way,” answered Miss Apis. “Only those who have worked
in the Summer have a right to eat in the Winter. Now my work is calling
me, and I must leave. This story of one hive is true of all. I hope you
have enjoyed it, and so good-by.”
“There, she is finished at last,” said Mrs. Horntail. “I think this
whole meeting has been most tiresome.”
But Ruth did not agree with her.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]