The Adventures of Maya the Bee | Page 2

"You must learn to wait, child," she replied. "I have brought up several
hundred young bees this spring and given them lessons for their first
flight, but I haven't come across another one that was as pert and
forward as you are. You seem to be an exceptional nature."
Maya blushed and stuck the two dainty fingers of her hand in her
mouth.
"Exceptional nature--what is an exceptional nature?" she asked shyly.
"Oh, that's not nice," cried Cassandra, referring not to Maya's question,
which she had scarcely heeded, but to the child's sticking her fingers in
her mouth. "Now, listen. Listen very carefully to what I am going to tell
you. I can devote only a short time to you. Other baby-bees have
already slipped out, and the only helper I have on this floor is Turka,
and Turka is dreadfully overworked and for the last few days has been
complaining of a buzzing in her ears. Sit down here."
Maya obeyed, with great brown eyes fastened on her teacher.
"The first rule that a young bee must learn," said Cassandra, and sighed,
"is that every bee, in whatever it thinks and does, must be like the other
bees and must always have the good of all in mind. In our order of
society, which we have held to be the right one from time immemorial
and which couldn't have been better preserved than it has been, this rule

is the one fundamental basis for the well-being of the state. To-morrow
you will fly out of the hive, an older bee will accompany you. At first
you will be allowed to fly only short stretches and you will have to
observe everything, very carefully, so that you can find your way back
home again. Your companion will show you the hundred flowers and
blossoms that yield the best nectar. You'll have to learn them by heart.
This is something no bee can escape doing.-- Here, you may as well
learn the first line right away--clover and honeysuckle. Repeat it. Say
'clover and honeysuckle.'"
"I can't," said little Maya. "It's awfully hard. I'll see the flowers later
anyway."
Cassandra opened her old eyes wide and shook her head.
"You'll come to a bad end," she sighed. "I can foresee that already."
"Am I supposed later on to gather nectar all day long?" asked Maya.
Cassandra fetched a deep sigh and gazed at the baby-bee seriously and
sadly. She seemed to be thinking of her own toilsome life--toil from
beginning to end, nothing but toil. Then she spoke in a changed voice,
with a loving look in her eyes for the child.
"My dear little Maya, there will be other things in your life--the
sunshine, lofty green trees, flowery heaths, lakes of silver, rushing,
glistening waterways, the heavens blue and radiant, and perhaps even
human beings, the highest and most perfect of Nature's creations.
Because of all these glories your work will become a joy. Just think--all
that lies ahead of you, dear heart. You have good reason to be happy."
"I'm so glad," said Maya, "that's what I want to be."
Cassandra smiled kindly. In that instant--why, she did not know--she
conceived a peculiar affection for the little bee, such as she could not
recall ever having felt for any child-bee before. And that, probably, is
how it came about that she told Maya more than a bee usually hears on
the first day of its life. She gave her various special bits of advice,

warned her against the dangers of the wicked world, and named the
bees' most dangerous enemies. At the end she spoke long of human
beings, and implanted the first love for them in the child's heart and the
germ of a great longing to know them.
"Be polite and agreeable to every insect you meet," she said in
conclusion, "then you will learn more from them than I have told you
to-day. But beware of the wasps and hornets. The hornets are our most
formidable enemy, and the wickedest, and the wasps are a useless tribe
of thieves, without home or religion. We are a stronger, more powerful
nation, while they steal and murder wherever they can. You may use
your sting upon insects, to defend yourself and inspire respect, but if
you insert it in a warm-blooded animal, especially a human being, you
will die, because it will remain sticking in the skin and will break off.
So do not sting warm-blooded creatures except in dire need, and then
do it without flinching or fear of death. For it is to our courage as well
as our wisdom that we bees owe the universal respect and esteem in
which we are held. And now good-by, Maya dear. Good luck to you.
Be faithful to your people and