Crip and I were sober and silent.
From the alighting-board we watched them draw away and disappear, and
were on the eve of turning into the hive, when up came the Master
breathlessly. He stopped and gazed at the retreating cloud, knowing too
well what had happened. He knew, too, by their actions, that a home had
been prepared for their reception. He seemed surprised to think that the
bees should swarm so late in the season, and not a little chagrined to
think they could have done it under his eyes. His curiosity at once led
him to find whence the swarm had come, and he walked straight to our
hive. A few excited bees were still flying back and forth, but Crip and
I, like the condemned, stood stolidly and wondered.
His lips moved, but he said no word; he turned on his heels and went away.
Shortly, however, he returned, the little Shadow with him. They were
talking of the swarming, for he pointed the way the bees had gone. In his
hand he held that horrid smoking thing, and Crip and I both knew what
that meant. He would open our house. I resented this, for I remembered
the smoke in my eyes when he took the top off our hive and lifted out
frame after frame, taking away from us part of our honey. I remembered,
too, how I longed to sting him, but how all my efforts were unavailing,
for he had hidden himself under a screen. And yet I really did not want
to sting him. Just why I flew at him I could not understand.
“He is angry with us now,” said Crip. “He knows we are insane. He
probably will take away our honey and leave us to starve, as we merit. We
have proven our short-sightedness and have lost our right to survive.”
“No, he will not do that,” I replied.
On the instant I seemed no longer to distrust him; I remembered his
kindness to me on a day when, overladen, a gust of wind had felled me to
the earth. He had placed me on a twig, where, after disgorging part of my
load, and washing my body and my wings, I again made way to my home.
But it was certain that we should know his intentions shortly, for, on
coming close, he sent a puff of smoke into the entrance that choked and
blinded both Crip and me and the guards, and sent us scurrying into the
hive. Then, passing the smoker to the Little Master, he carefully lifted
off the top and the upper section of our hive, and began an inspection
of the brood-chamber. He seemed to be right happy at discovering that
the queen-cells had been destroyed, which carried the assurance to his
mind that no further swarming was in contemplation; but when his eyes
fell upon the new Queen-Mother, they widely distended and a smile of joy
lighted his face.
“Wonderful creature,” he murmured.
The little Shadow cried: “Let me see. Isn’t she a beauty!”
By this time the smoke had cleared away and my disposition had changed. I
said to Crip that we ought to attack them. But he answered that it would
be folly now—that only evil would result. Further parleying was cut short
by a blast of smoke shot at us by the Little Master, who apparently had
discerned outward signs of the rebellion, for my body was poised and I
suppose I must have been emitting the note of anger. The smoke sent us
all flying into a remote corner of the hive.
Then the Master replaced the section of hive he had removed, and began
to lift frame after frame, uttering little exclamations, as though he
had not suspected that we had gathered such quantities of honey in so
short and late a season. It was easy for him now to understand why we had
developed the swarming fever, although it evidently appeared to him a
foolish adventure.
“He has been dreaming in his rose-garden,” commented Crip, when the
Master had nearly finished his examination. “That is the reason he has
neglected us of late. He did not know there had been a great flow of
honey.”
We were talking among ourselves, when up came Buzz-Buzz, angry from the
smoke in his eyes.
“A fine lot this fellow,” he growled.
“You don’t like him?” I asked.
He just looked at us. He was too irritated to speak.
“He’ll get over it,” mused Crip.
We were still holding converse when again the top came off and one by
one the Master lifted out our combs and robbed them of their honey. They
were battered and broken and empty when he restored them to us. We were
all infuriated, and for a while flew madly about him and about the Little
Master—the dog kept at a respectful distance—straining every effort to
drive them away. But the Little One only smoked us the more, while the
Master went on with his work. He was careful to kill no bee, brushing
off every one of them before taking away the combs of honey, and while
returning them.
Quickly it was all over. When he had gone we at once took stock and found
that he had left us quite enough to carry us through the winter, barring
accident. But almost before the appraisal had been made a catastrophe
was upon us. The honey from a broken comb had flooded the bottom-board,
and began to pour out through the entrance onto the ground, and robber
bees were shortly upon it. We summoned all our guards for our protection,
but the robbers in thousands came, and in spite of our resistance they
forced their way into the hive and began to plunder at random. Poor old
Crip even mixed in the mêlée, fighting like a veteran, while I, beaten
and trampled, finally lay senseless on the floor.
We should have been lost but for the thoughtfulness of the Master, who,
returning to see that all was well, found us besieged and overrun. He
quietly closed the entrance to our hive, and thus left us to clear it
of the marauders within doors, which we did promptly, although at heavy
cost in the lives of our brothers. An hour later he returned and opened
ever so slightly our door. Although a few robbers still lingered and
endeavored to force an entrance, they were easily beaten off. In the mean
time we carefully cleaned up the spilled honey which had nearly been our
undoing—and the battle was over.
The night came and we cleared our house of the dead. Scattered
indiscriminately they lay—friend and foe—many score of them. Among them
I found the veteran who had been kind to me, with the mark of a lance in
his breast. Certain it was that he had died fighting bravely. I had found
his body, and I determined to keep it by me through the night, and on
the morrow I meant to give a fitting burial. I remembered a high knoll
overlooking the lake and the country round about, and there I said he
should be laid to rest. I told Crip of my purpose, and he applauded me,
and together we watched over him. More than once we almost had to fight
to prevent the cleaners from taking his body away.
On the morrow, in the early dawn, I dragged him forth and, taking him in
my mandibles, flew away with him, dropping him on the knoll. The poor old
veteran! Somehow I had gained the notion that one day he would awake, and
from that vantage-point find himself nearer the stars.
We now began another chapter in the life of our colony. We were left with
none too much honey, and, besides, our numbers had been greatly depleted
by the exodus and by the assault of the robbers. Our Queen-Mother
immediately organized her followers and sent us all scouring the fields
for additional foods. Thanks to the late season, there still remained an
abundant harvest. Soon we had replenished our supplies to a point where
we could rest comfortably, and our good mother set about rearing just
enough brood to have us weather the winter safely. But we never stopped
work. Day after day we gathered bread and honey.
“We cannot have too much,” said Crip. “You see, since you have not gone
through a winter you have much to learn. It is no simple business.
Frightful northers sweep down upon us and chill us and kill us. Sometimes
it grows so cold the young bees are frozen in their cells. They must then
be removed, or else sickness and disease will follow. Sometimes, too, if
stores run low and our numbers fall below a certain point, we ourselves
can no longer keep warm. That means death for us all.”
“But we have plenty of stores,” I replied. “We have nothing to fear.”
“There are always fears. An animal running wild may topple over your
house; a bad man may slip in and steal your supplies; a moth may enter
and lay eggs producing destructive worms; a bear may chance to find you
and with his great paws rend the hive asunder!”
“Stop!” I cried. “If there are yet other dangers, I do not wish to know
them.”
“But it is well to know. There are diseases to combat, such as dysentery,
paralysis, and foul brood—”
“Oh, stop!” I begged him.
Was life really such a hazard? so perilous a journey? And all for what?
Toward what misty goal?
It was a glorious day in October. The Indian summer had come, flooding
all the hills and vales with its magical sheets of amethyst, while a
drowsy wind from the south bore on its breath the odor of autumn. Now
and then that indefinable note, presaging the advent of winter—a note
which is neither a requiem nor a dirge—could be heard like a faint flute
in the branches of the trees. The sun shone big and round and still
with a suggestion of summer. Scattered clouds went drifting lazily by,
wonderfully emphasizing the turquoise blue of the sky.
“Is it going to rain?” I asked of Crip, who was dragging himself along on
the alighting-board, ready for a new excursion into the woods.
“No,” he mumbled.
It had been weeks since my experience in the flood, but ever after that
when a cloud was in the sky I bethought me of rain. But I had now come to
know that rains were something more than clouds.
Crip and I had been laboring to fill adjoining cells. We had already
gathered many loads of honey that day. “I’m tired,” he said, right
plaintively. “I can’t do as much as I could once.”
“Why don’t you rest?” I begged of him.
“Rest! What word is that? Did ever a bee rest when there was work to do?”
With that he hobbled a little farther on his four legs, his poor old body
half carried and half dragged. But his wings were still powerful and
lifted him instantly into the all-absorbing space.
This time I took an entirely different direction from any I had thus far
traveled. On and on I flew, mile after mile, until presently I scented
something and went for it. It proved to be a field of June corn, in silk
and tassel—and, oh, what quantities of pollen! I gathered a little and
hastened back to report. Almost at once a string of my brothers were
flying to and fro, laden with bread.
We had now stored up a great surplus of food, and the Queen-Mother
broadened her brood areas. She deemed it wise to enlarge her family;
first, because she had a premonition that a wild winter would soon break
upon us, and, for the further reason, that half the battle was to be
strong in numbers in the spring, when the honey-fountains opened.
When I returned with my last load, well toward sunset, I found Crip
waiting at our rendezvous, my ancient cell.
“You have done well to-day,” he said, “and I wanted to tell you so. Five
miles is a long journey to go for a load, but it was worth it. I, too,
made one trip—but have pity on me—only when I got there did I remember
that I had no basket-legs; hence I was forced to return empty-handed. It
is too much for me to bear. I am old and useless.”
I could not stand to hear him depreciate himself in such fashion, and
remonstrated with him.
“Well, it’s too true,” he persisted. “Some day you will understand.”
[Illustration: CHAPTER FIFTEEN