“Where is our Queen? The Queen is gone!” they called.
A wild rush of bees set the hive in pandemonium. Finally one began to
cry: “Here she is—she is dead.”
“Dead—dead!” rose loud over the place.
They were wailing over the lifeless body of the impostor, while I stood
broken-hearted beside my Crip, who, at the sacrifice of his life, had
redeemed that of the colony.
[Illustration: CHAPTER NINETEEN