THE BUSY BEE

Otago Witness, Issue 3755, 2 March 1926, Page 83

THE BUSY BEE

»V

RUTH HERTSLET

( Copyright.—For the Witness.) Larry pouted. “It’s not fair/’ he said savagely. “I don’t see why I should have to work! Jack Jolly has gone fishing, and I’ve got to dig this beastly garden—and it’s Saturday. I won’t work! I won’t, and I won’t—so there,” and he dug the spade savagely into the ground and left it standing. ‘‘Not want to work! What a funny boy,” and Larry looked at the rose bush from where the voice came. He started back in alarm. - ‘‘Goodness! there's a bee, and they always sting me. B-r-r-r, a queer, rumbling noise sounded all round him, and Larry’s head whirled. He was giddy, and frightened, and had a queer sinking feeling. He seemed to be getting nearer and nearer the ground! Indeed, a moment later he found himself no bigger than the bee, which flew down from the rose bush and settled beside him. ‘‘So you re the little boy who won’t work!” said the bee, eyeing him as though he were some queer animal. “Well, you’ll have to be taught! Como along, and don’t waste time,” and off she flew. To his surprise Larry found himself flying easily- after her. ‘‘lt’s rather fun,” thought he as he felt the cool breeze in his face. Presently his guide stopped above a number of bee hives, and without hesitation made straight for one of the white boxes. ‘‘How do you know that’s the right one?” asked Larry curiously. “Took my bearings before I left,” said Blossom (for that, he learned, was the bee’s name). ‘‘ln you go,” and to his horror she gave him a shove, and pushed him inside the beehive. For a moment he was half crazed with fear, but it was all so strange and so interesting that he soon forgot to be afraid—and, indeed, he had no time, for Blossom hurried him along. “Everybody works here, you know,” she said, ‘‘all day and every day. You’ve tot to do your bit. I’ll show you round ret, and then you’ll have to get busy.” “Is it always as hot as this?” asked Larry. “Yes! It’s got to be pretty warm! The brood won’t hateh unless it’s warm.” “Brood?” “Yes! I’ll show you some. See all those brown-topped cells? Well, they’re full of young bees. The queen lays an egg into each cell, and in about ten days the eggs turn into new young bees.” “Look!” said Larry excitedly. “There’s one now, eating its way through the brown cap. It’s just like a chicken coming out of a shell.’ 1 ' ‘We can’t wait to see it come out,” said Blossom. “Look inside this cell. I’ll lift the cap for you.” Larry peeped in, and to his amazement saw a white soft thing shaped exactly like a bee. “It’s only half hatched,” explained Blossom. “In four more days it will be eating its way- out, like the one you saw before. Now look inside this.” This time Larry saw a thick, milky fluid, and Blossom laughed. “Yes! that will be a bee some day. Next week it will have its shape like the last one you looked at, and then it will turn brown, and begin to move about like the first one you saw. Now you see why the hive must be kept warm?” “What lota and lots of young bees hatching!” “Yes, the queen lays all the eggs. She lays hundreds some days. Now, your job is to seal up the honey cells. See, they are ail built with a little upward slope so the honey won’t run out! But they have to bo capped over with a small coating of wax as well—same as your mother puts covers on her jam pots. 1 “What on earth’s that thing?” and Larry pointed to a huge cell jutting out of the comb. It was as big as a man’s

little finger, and Larry noticed Blossom’s face go paJe. “Here, quick, eat as much honey as you can. We’ll be leaving very soon.” Wondering, Larry obeyed, still watching the huge cell. And then he saw l Out of the end came a peculiar-look-ing bee—much bigger than the others, and with a long sharp-pointed body. Sho walked slowly, as though it were beneath her dignity to bustle, and bowed graciously to right and loft. “All hail! your Majestyl” sang the young bees.

“It’s a new queen, 1 ’ whispered Blossom, “here comes the old one,” and along came the reigning queen, buzzing angrily. “What’s all this nonsense about?’ she stormed. The new queen looked at her coolly. “Give me your crown, old lady, your day is done!” “You impudent minx,” raged the queen, and before Lorry knew what was happening a fearful war was raging. The whole hive was in an uproar, some bees fighting for the old queen, and some for the new one “All right, have it your own way,” called the new queen. I’m otf!” And out of the hive she flew, followed by half its inmates, Larry and Blossom amongst the rest. Up they flew like a small black cloud, and finally the new queen settled on an apple tree in the orchard, and round her settled the bees, hanging on to each other until they looked like a tremendous black pear. Larry and Blossom, like all the others, were hot and tired, and drowsy with all the honey they had eaten. “You see,” Blossom had managed to explain, “one never knows how far the queen will fly, and where we’ll get the next meal.” And there they hung quietly until Larry was conscious of his father’s voice saying: “What a big swarm! I wonder where Larry is. From the middle of the swarm he watched Dad get the box ready with frames of wax and a lid and a bag mat. Then bang! Dad shook the branch smartly, the swarm fell into the box, and he clapped the lid on top. Again Larry heard the strange rumbling noise, and again he had a queer feeling Then before he knew what had happened he was back to his full size and standing beside Dad. “Oh, there you are, boy,” said Dad. “Aren’t you frightened? You haven’t even a veil on!” “I think they are too tired and drowsy to sting just now, Dad,” said Larry. And Dad laughed. “You’re quite right, Larry. A freshlysettled swarm will rarely sting. I’ll make a bee-keeper out of you yet!”

Dear Little Folk.—l have a suggestion which I hope you will all try to carry out. Let each Little Folk put the town or district he lives in after his nora de plume, such as Butterball (Dunedin), or Lady (England). This will make each letter more interesting, especially to outsiders. Do not be afraid that so-and-so will know who you are, for even in a small place each one can bide bis nom de plume if he wants to. Why be curious at all? If your homo is in a very small town or country village, you may put Otago or Southland, as the case may be. So-and-so cannot possibly know who you are then, can they? I hope each one will try and remember this. Yours truly.—DOT.