APIS MELLIFICA.
“Good-morning, my dear, good-morning. I am pleased to see you so
punctual.”
Bonny looked up brightly. There was surely nothing stern or forbidding
about the fine old face which smiled genially upon her from the museum
window, and she was instantly ashamed of her earlier “dread” concerning
the new task that day to be begun. “Good-morning, Mr. Brook. Of course
I would be punctual this first day. The trouble will be to keep it up.
I’m a lazy sort of a girl.”
“Humph! I’ve seen no evidence of it heretofore, and I shall not watch
for faults. How is the good little mother this morning?”
“Well; really growing stronger, thank you. I have her own word for it.”
“Then we can get to work with a light heart. I’ve laid out a pile of
it, I assure you. Like many other people who defer what they should
not till over-late in life, now I’ve set myself the task I am all
impatience to get through it. Come in, please.”
Beatrice knew the way well enough. Till that morning the great
apartment had been a fascinating wonderland to her, with its rows
of shelves and cases, each filled with creatures curious, ugly, or
beautiful; and the thought that she was now to learn all about them
in a business way did appear quite formidable. However, she reminded
herself of her mother’s frequent advice, “Take one thing at a time,”
and found comfort in the knowledge that she could write of only one
insect at one instant. Collectively they might be something dreadful;
individually they were poor little dried-up affairs!
Then her eye fell upon the table by the opposite window and her face
brightened. “The typewriter! When did it come?”
“Last evening. The man brought it down from Newburgh and put it into
working order for you. I am anxious to see you use it. He did so for a
moment, but I did not like to detain him. It is a wonderful instrument,
is it not?”
“I suppose so. Anyway I am very fond of using it.” The girl sat down
before the firm little table which the machine agent had prepared
for her, and, placing a sheet of paper in position, clicked off
Mr. Brook’s name and address with a rapidity and correctness which
delighted him.
“Really, my dear! That is fine! If you can do as well with the rest as
with that, you will be a grand success, you will, indeed.”
“But I shall not be able. We may as well face that matter first as
last. At the beginning I shall be very stupid. I shall spell every
Latin name wrong, perhaps, and not know the difference.”
“Ah, my dear! Do you think I have not prepared for that? Why, you must
know that the change of a single letter in some names or descriptions
would result in the utmost confusion; and in any scientific work
perfect orthography is absolutely necessary. But I have picked up a few
little primers on the subject of our task, and you are to consult them
continually. You will soon see that there is a general principle in
the construction of all terms, and that spelling Latin is, after all,
easier than spelling English. It is to me. I frequently have to pause
to think out an English word, oftentimes the simpler the more puzzling,
but a Latin one never.”
“Happy mortal--I mean, sir! I fear I shall be a terrible trial to you.
And you must know that you can send me about my business at the first
blunder, if you feel so inclined. Dear me! That doesn’t sound right!
What I want to say, only I am such an old stupid, is: Please do not let
your friendship for us prevent your dismissing me if I don’t suit you.”
“Why! Why, my dear!” exclaimed Mr. Brook, very much surprised. “I
thought you were a girl whose vocabulary did not contain the word
‘fail.’”
“It used to be that way. But now--I guess I’m not as conceited as I was
awhile ago. The older I get the less I feel that I know. And--”
“Tut, tut! Though that is an excellent state of things, too. There
is hope of a person conscious of his own deficiencies. But all this
in due time. By the way, have you yet discovered the secret of the
linden-trees, the source of your wealth that is to be?”
Beatrice opened her eyes widely at this abrupt change of subject, but
answered promptly: “Oh, no, indeed! I had almost forgotten that! But
what lovely trees they are! They will soon be in bloom!”
“So I suppose, so I suppose. Therefore we will make our first lesson,
or our first day’s work, upon the _Apis mellifica_. You are upon my
mind; after I get your affairs settled more satisfactorily, I shall be
better able to attend to my own. Yes, yes, that matter first; the other
in due time.”
Bonny could not conceal her astonishment. How Mr. Brook’s talk did
wander, from technical and scientific terms to a fable of hidden wealth
in a row of old trees! She wondered if her mother had ever observed
anything like this, and if that were what she meant when she so
earnestly counselled patience. Was her beloved old friend in his second
childhood?
He lifted his bright eyes from the page he had been reading and caught
her own questioning gaze. “Out with it, my dear, out with it! How have
I surprised you?”
The young secretary hesitated, then answered frankly, “I did not see
the connection between my ‘treasure’ and your science.”
“If you are not a deal more stupid than I have taken you to be, you
will see it within the next few hours. And you need not fear, I am all
right mentally, my dear; thank God, quite sound-minded, if I am an
octogenarian.” And the queer old gentleman crossed the room, laughing
so mischievously that Bonny was forced to join him, though believing
that she was making mirth at her own expense.
Mr. Brook came back to his own table beside that of his secretary,
bearing an open case of what she considered very uninteresting “dried
bugs,” and placing the case before her pointed to one and another of
the objects therein with kindling enthusiasm. “These are different
specimens of the _Apis_, in perfect forms, in abnormal ones, in
portions, and groups. Every organ is here represented; this minute
affair, for instance. Ah! you cannot see it as it is, even with your
young eyes. Take the magnifier. See? Isn’t it wonderful?”
Beatrice took the magnifying-glass and examined the speck of insect
anatomy which her employer had designated. “Why, it looks like a little
saw!”
“Exactly, exactly. A saw so tiny, yet so thorough in its work that it
can pierce a heavy buckskin glove if the mechanic who wields it so
desires. Ah! I have been studying these little fellows for many years,
yet I am freshly amazed each time I see them.”
The enthusiasm was inspiring. Bonny took up the different cards from
the case, and began to examine them through the microscope. She had
always loved to watch living creatures, but dead ones had heretofore
held little interest for her. She found her ideas rapidly changing.
“Has this queer little saw a name, a common name, that would mean
something to me?”
“Certainly. It is a sting, a bee’s sting. _Apis mellifica_ is
honey-bee.”
“And it is that mite of a thing which hurts?”
“Exactly. A point so small that the finest cambric needle is larger,
yet look! Here are the two hollows between the saws which, lying face
to face, form a pipe for the poison to flow through. This is the
poison bag. These curious little affairs are the handles which pump
the sting, the saws, down into the flesh. One side first, making a
wedge-like opening, through which the other saw is promptly forced.
Then by another motion down goes the fluid which poisons, or the sac
itself is pushed into the wound. Talk about guns and cannons! Here you
have something far more complete than either, and in proportion to its
size far more dreadful in its effects. Why, one of these stings has
sometimes killed a man, though I did not mean to refer to that! Such
cases are rare, indeed. And usually a bee-sting amounts to very little.”
“Well, but you need not reassure me, dear Mr. Brook! After this
exhibition I shall not interfere with any bees whose acquaintance I
may chance to make.”
“Don’t be too positive, my dear, don’t be too positive. You may have to
change your mind.”
“Why, I thought our work lay among dead things, all these of your
collection. I did not know that we were to hunt among _new_ fields.”
“_We_ are not; but _you_ may, of your own accord, before I have done
with you. I hope so. Yes, I foresee that you will often leave me in the
midst of a very busy day just because of my friend _Apis_, alive and
buzzing.”
Again that gay laugh, and again Beatrice’s utter mystification.
“Well, well, well. Suppose we read a bit of natural history this
morning; or, rather, I will dictate to you and you take down
what I have to say. I am writing a little treatise on the fellow
_Apis_,--something quite apart from the collection, as a whole. I mean
to publish it for the benefit of just such bright girls and boys as you
and your brothers. Yes; I’ll give you a chapter now.”
There was more business in this arrangement, and it was business which
Bonny had come for; so she rapidly made ready, and with fingers poised
above the keys of her machine waited for the opening sentence.
“‘Foods for the Honey-bee.’ That is the chapter title, and its number
is seven. The other half-dozen are already prepared, though in my own
handwriting. You will have to copy them sometime, before publication;
but--ready?”
“Quite.”
The dictation began. Mr. Brook found it a little difficult to keep his
current of thought as clear as usual, for the racket of the typewriter
was so foreign to his accustomed quiet; and besides this the frequent
liftings of the typewritist’s head, the amused glances of her dark
eyes, were so distracting to the lover of young folks that he felt more
than half inclined to give up the task for a while and go out upon a
search for the new “subjects” they two might find together. However, he
did his best, and at the end of a few paragraphs Bonny sprang up from
her chair in a state of great excitement.
“Oh! I’ve guessed it, I have, I have! I know what my ‘source of wealth’
will be!”
“Hoity, toity! I thought you were writing from dictation!” returned her
old patron, smiling quite as brightly as herself.
“Yes, sir. Oh, yes, in a minute. Just, please, let me ask you one or
two things. May I? Can I?”
“How am I to prevent a headstrong young woman like yourself?”
“Do you believe I could manage them all myself?”
“Manage what? Here, Joanna, please!” called the pleased old gentleman
to his sister crossing the veranda.
Miss Brook came and leaned upon the window-ledge, and smiled in upon
them. “Well, I must say I don’t know which is the more enthusiastic!
Brother, dear, how old are you? Do you contemplate going into the
business for yourself?”
“Eighty, my dear, eighty, if a day! But look at the child! Hear her
ask me, ‘Can she? May she?’ when already she is feeling herself a
millionaire.”
All this time not a word which an outsider could have understood had
been spoken; and as this thought flashed over Bonny she laughed again.
“Dear Mr. Brook, I thought at first that you were ‘not quite yourself’
this morning! Beg pardon, but I did. And now I am as bad. Maybe, after
all, we are not talking about the same thing.”
“Maybe not! Oh! I dare say not,” replied the merry old gentleman,
pacing rapidly back and forth.
[Illustration: “‘LET ME ASK YOU ONE OR TWO THINGS. MAY I?’”]
“And quite difficult for me, I think!” added Miss Joanna, smiling too.
“Will you please tell me _your_ thought, Mr. Brook?” asked Beatrice,
eagerly.
“With pleasure. I would have done so long ago, only you didn’t ask it.
I think the scheme I have formulated--”
“But I have not heard it in words, Brother!”
“The scheme I have formulated, Joanna, will keep this growing girl out
of doors, as she should be, and make a wise recreation after her hours
of labor here. It will teach her more of real natural history than I
can preach to her, and will make her far more interested in my work.
It will fill her small pocket with some needed extra cash. Last, but
not least, it will give that unquiet small brother of hers a chance
to get rid of his surplus energy in a legitimate way. He can do all
the tree-climbing, for which I should, if I were a girl with such an
irrepressible relative, give him a small share in the business. It-- Go
on, Miss. How can you wish to interrupt such a flow of argument?”
As if he had been the grandfather he had himself suggested, Bonny
crossed swiftly to her employer’s side and laid her hand upon his
shoulder. “Because I thank you for showing me how to help myself. The
one word which will tell _my_ thought is--”
At that moment Mr. Dolloway’s solemn face appeared above Miss Joanna’s
own with such suddenness that Bonny’s “word” waited for his. He had
evidently come freighted with ill news.
“Oh, sir, what is it? Is my mother--”
Mr. Dolloway shook his head dolefully, but a genuine distress was in
the gesture. “’Tain’t your mother, Miss Beatrice. It’s that pesky, dear
little brother of yours.”
“What’s happened him? Anything new? The hens?”
“Hens! If it was only hens! But hens it isn’t this time. It’s roofs an’
cisterns an’ bangs an’ black-an’-blues. If he ain’t dead--”
Poor Bonny did not pause to remember that she was a salaried employee,
but, without leave or license, darted from the house and across the
fields with an aching heart.