A TALK ON BEES
Steve and his friends were received with the greatest cordiality;
first, because Steve was known to the family and liked by them, and
secondly, because hospitality is natural--in fact, seems born in a
Boer. You will arrive at a farmhouse--poor or rich--you are one of the
so-called hated nation--a _rooi nek_ (nickname given to Englishmen
because their tender skin causes their necks to blister and turn red
in the hot South African sun, literally meaning ‘red nek’)--unknown;
at the door you meet a youngster just able to talk. You will dismount.
This premature young man will come up to you with an air of--_playing
the host_ about him, will take hold of your hand, give it a shake, and
say,--
‘Wil Oom nie afzaal nie?’ (Will uncle saddle off?)
Yes you will.
‘Well, then, uncle can walk just right in and have a cup of coffee; I
will see to the horse.’
Well, as I said, our young friends were well received, and soon found
themselves seated around a supper table, as well laid and as well
provisioned as man’s heart could desire in such a locality. Roast
beef, stewed guinea-fowl, leg of venison, stuffed with bacon and baked
vegetables, salads, etc., custard pudding, blanc mange, fresh butter,
cheese, etc., washed down with coffee, and such coffee as only a
_Tante_ knows how to brew, and that Java coffee too. After supper, the
party adjourned to the sitting-room, where they were soon followed by
the _Tante_, after she had seen to the servants getting their food, and
the remnants of the supper had been safely put away.
‘Now, Stephaans,’ said she to Steve, ‘you or your friends must come and
look at a bee-hive that a _winkelier_ (shopkeeper) made me buy in town
last week. It is one of those new-fangled patent things. Its inside is
full of pieces of wood--goodness only knows what for. They say it is
better than just an empty box for the bees. I don’t understand it. Do
you or any of your friends understand it?’
Now Steve saw a chance to distinguish himself in the way he liked
to do--by being useful. Apiarian books had been among his favourite
studies, so he knew all about it, having always kept one or more hives
for study and also for--honey.
‘Well, _Tante_, if you will send for the hive, I shall explain all
about it to you.’
The hive came, and Steve surprised even his companions by the learned
dissertation he gave on bees and bee-keeping. He surprised the simple
old gentleman and his lady almost into disbelief, when he told them
the queen was the mother of all the bees in the hive; that she was
only a fully developed female bee, reared from the self-same egg from
which the worker bee is raised, and that she is only made a queen by
over feeding and by giving her more space to grow out in in the cell.
That the drones, or, as they called them in Dutch, _water-carriers_,
are not water-carriers, but that they are, in fact, great, lazy,
good-for-nothing male bees, who love to live on what the females
earned in the fields, and absolutely refuse to do any work (as so many
of their sex, even in the human race, delight to do); that, in fact,
they were unable to do any work--not being built that way; but were
only called into existence to be husbands to the young queens, which
may be raised during the season for the purpose of sending out swarms,
and thus obey the command of the Creator when He said, ‘Go forth and
multiply.’
But their surprise reached its climax, when he told them that he
could make the bees manufacture a queen for themselves, should they
be queenless, by simply giving them eggs or larvæ to make her from;
that, in fact, he could force them to make as many queens to his order
as he liked by simple manipulation, and that he could thus make three
or four swarms of bees out of one in a season. He tried to explain to
them all this, and by explaining the why and the wherefore, he soon got
them to believe and understand him. He also showed them how to fix and
wire the wax foundation in the frames, and thus spare the poor bees
a lot of work; also told them how, by the use of an extractor, they
could extract all the honey from the combs without breaking the comb,
and thus save the bees the time and expense of wax to rebuild it. ‘All
you have to do is to replace the empty comb in the hive, when the bees
refill it.’
The Oom and Tante were especially pleased when it was explained to
them that by the use of the modern hive they were spared the cruel
necessity of destroying any of the young bees or brood, when taking the
honey out, or, as it is truthfully called, _robbing the hive_, and that
the honey reserved for the use of man was pure, without young bees or
pollen (bee bread).
From bee-keeping the conversation drifted to gardening, vegetable and
flower, as well as fruit culture, in all of which Steve was an adept.
He told the Tante of so many new modes of grafting and pruning, that
she exclaimed he talked like a book.
In this way it happened, that Steve gained the friendship and respect
of all the country people he came across. He could talk to them of
things they understood and which interested them--matters concerning
their everyday life.