"I see," she murmured, "that at heart you are one of Us.""I work with the Hive," Melissa answered briefly.
"It's the same thing. We and the Hive are one.""Then why are your feelers different from ours? Don't cuddle so.""Don't be provincial, Carissima. You can't have all the world alike--yet.""But why do you lay eggs?" Melissa insisted. "You lay 'em like a Queen--only you drop them in patches all over the place. I've watched you.""Ah, Brighteyes, so you've pierced my little subterfuge? Yes, they are eggs. By and by they'll spread our principles. Aren't you glad?""You gave me your most solemn word of honour that they were not eggs.""That was my little subterfuge, dearest--for the sake of the Cause. Now I must reach the young." The Wax-moth tripped towards the fourth brood-frame where the young bees were busy feeding the babies.
It takes some time for a sound bee to realize a malignant and continuous lie. "She's very sweet and feathery," was all that Melissa thought, "but her talk sounds like ivy honey tastes. I'd better get to my field-work again."She found the Gate in a sulky uproar. The youngsters told off to the pillars had refused to chew scrap-wax because it made their jaws ache, and were clamouring for virgin stuff.
"Anything to finish the job!" said the badgered Guards. "Hang up, some of you, and make wax for these slack-jawed sisters."Before a bee can make wax she must fill herself with honey. Then she climbs to safe foothold and hangs, while other gorged bees hang on to her in a cluster. There they wait in silence till the wax comes. The scales are either taken out of the maker's pockets by the workers, or tinkle down on the workers while they wait.
The workers chew them (they are useless unchewed) into the all-supporting, all-embracing Wax of the Hive.
But now, no sooner was the wax-cluster in position than the workers below broke out again.
"Come down!" they cried. "Come down and work! Come on, you Levantine parasites! Don't think to enjoy yourselves up there while we're sweating down here!"The cluster shivered, as from hooked fore-foot to hooked hind-foot it telegraphed uneasiness. At last a worker sprang up, grabbed the lowest waxmaker, and swung, kicking above her companions.
"I can make wax too!" she bawled. "Give me a full gorge and I'll make tons of it.""Make it, then," said the bee she had grappled. The spoken word snapped the current through the cluster. It shook and glistened like a cat's fur in the dark. "Unhook!" it murmured. "No wax for any one to-day.""You lazy thieves! Hang up at once and produce our wax," said the bees below.
"Impossible! The sweat's gone. To make your wax we must have stillness, warmth, and food. Unhook! Unhook!"They broke up as they murmured, and disappeared among the other bees, from whom, of course, they were undistinguishable.
"Seems as if we'd have to chew scrap-wax for these pillars, after all," said a worker.
"Not by a whole comb," cried the young bee who had broken the cluster. "Listen here! I've studied the question more than twenty minutes. It's as simple as falling off a daisy. You've heard of Cheshire, Root and Langstroth?"They had not, but they shouted "Good old Langstroth!" just the same.
"Those three know all that there is to be known about making hives. One or t'other of 'em must have made ours, and if they've made it, they're bound to look after it. Ours is a 'Guaranteed Patent Hive.' You can see it on the label behind.""Good old guarantee! Hurrah for the label behind!" roared the bees.
"Well, such being the case, I say that when we find they've betrayed us, we can exact from them a terrible vengeance.""Good old vengeance! Good old Root! 'Nuff said! Chuck it!" The crowd cheered and broke away as Melissa dived through.
"D'you know where Langstroth, Root and Cheshire, live if you happen to want em? she asked of the proud panting orator.
"Gum me if I know they ever lived at all! But aren't they beautiful names to buzz about? Did you see how it worked up the sisterhood?""Yes; but it didn't defend the Gate," she replied.
"Ah, perhaps that's true, but think how delicate my position is, sister. I've a magnificent appetite, and I don't like working.
It's bad for the mind. My instinct tells me that I can act as a restraining influence on others. They would have been worse, but for me."But Melissa had already risen clear, and was heading for a breadth of virgin white clover, which to an overtired bee is as soothing as plain knitting to a woman.
"I think I'll take this load to the nurseries," she said, when she had finished. "It was always quiet there in my day," and she topped off with two little pats of pollen for the babies.
She was met on the fourth brood-comb by a rush of excited sisters all buzzing together.
"One at a time! Let me put down my load. Now, what is it Sacharissa?" she said.
"Grey Sister--that fluffy one, I mean--she came and said we ought to be out in the sunshine gathering honey, because life was short. She said any old bee could attend to our babies, and some day old bees would. That isn't true, Melissa, is it? No old bees can take us away from our babies, can they?""Of course not. You feed the babies while your heads are soft.
When your heads harden, you go on to field-work. Any one knows that.""We told her so! We told her so; but she only waved her feelers, and said we could all lay eggs like Queens if we chose. And I'm afraid lots of the weaker sisters believe her, and are trying to do it. So unsettling!"Sacharissa sped to a sealed worker-cell whose lid pulsated, as the bee within began to cut its way out.
"Come along, precious!" she murmured, and thinned the frail top from the other side. A pale, damp, creased thing hoisted itself feebly on to the comb. Sacharissa's note changed at once. "No time to waste! Go up the frame and preen yourself!" she said.
"Report for nursing-duty in my ward to-morrow evening at six.
Stop a minute. What's the matter with your third right leg?"The young bee held it out in silence--unmistakably a drone leg incapable of packing pollen.
