A Hive of Busy Bees | Page 3

tidy the house, and Don followed close at Grandpa's heels as he did his morning's work about the farm. He felt very grown-up indeed when a neighbor came by, and Grandpa told him he had a "new hand."
After dinner, Grandma settled down for her afternoon's nap. Grandpa went to help a neighbor with some work, and so the children were left alone.
They began to run races in the wide grassy space in front of the old farm house.
But they made so much noise that soon Joyce said, "I'm afraid we will wake Grandma, Don. We'd better be quiet."
"Let's go to the orchard," said Don. "We can be as noisy as we like there, and she won't even hear us." So away they scampered, to play in the shade of the old apple trees.
But Grandma's nap was not to last long; for soon she was awakened by a scream from the orchard. Hurrying out, she found Joyce dancing up and down, with her hand pressed tightly over one eye. Don stood watching her with round, frightened eyes. He could not imagine what had happened, to make his sister act like that.
But Grandma knew. Away back in the orchard, Grandpa had several hives of bees. Joyce had gone too near one of the hives; and a bee had done the rest.
Grandma did not say much. Quietly she took the little girl's hand and led her back to the house. Soon Joyce was lying on the couch, and Grandma was wringing cold water out of a cloth, and gently placing it on her eye. Before long the pain was gone; but the eye began to swell, and soon she was not able to see out of it at all.
"It's all my fault that we went to the orchard," said Don, looking sober.
"No, it's mine," said Joyce. "I was afraid we would wake Grandma."
"Well," laughed Grandma, "I guess it was mine, because I forgot to tell you about the bees."
When it was time to get ready for bed that night, Grandma bathed the swollen eye again. "I wish there were no bees, Grandma," said the little girl suddenly.
"Why, you like honey, don't you, dear?" asked Grandma.
"Ye-es, I like honey; but I don't like bees--they sting so!"
"Bees are very interesting and hard-working little creatures," said Grandma; "and if they are let alone, they will not harm anyone."
"I didn't mean to bother them," said Joyce, "but one stung me."
"That's so," said Grandma; "but they have certain rules, and you must have broken one of them. A bee's sting is the only thing she can use to protect the hive against intruders--and the bee that stings you always dies. That's the price she has to pay to do her duty."
"Oh!" said Joyce, "I'm sorry I went too near. But please, Grandma, tell me some more about bees."
"There are lots of things to learn about them," said Grandma. "They live in queer little houses called hives. They have a queen; and if she is stolen, or dies, they will not go on working without her. Only one queen can live in each house; when a new queen is about to come out of her cell, the old queen gathers her followers and they swarm.
"The queen bee lays the eggs; and when the eggs hatch, the hive is so full of bees that it cannot hold them all. As soon as they find another queen, some of them must move out.
"When the bees are swarming, they always take good care of their queen. Sometimes they settle on a limb of a tree; and while they are there, they keep their queen covered, so no one can find her. They send out scouts to find a new home; and as soon as it is found, they all move the re.
"Sometimes Grandpa finds the queen, and puts her in the hive. Then she makes a sort of drumming noise, and the other bees follow her inside."
"Was it the queen bee that stung me?" asked Joyce.
"No, the queen never uses her sting except when in battle with another queen bee; but the other bees take care of her, even if they must die for her sake. There are different kinds of bees in the hive. Drone bees cannot sting; and they will not work--they are lazy fellows. In the fall they are all killed, so that during the long winter months they cannot eat the honey which the workers have gathered.
"Bees are busy all the time. On sunny days, they gather honey; and on cloudy days they make little wax cells in which to store the honey."
"That's why they say, 'busy as a bee,'" said Joyce. "It means 'busy all the time.' I didn't know there was so much to learn about bees."
"I have been thinking about another kind of bee," said