Gaily we fly, my fellows and I,
Seeking the honey our hives to supply.
“Iam an American,” he went on, in a voice which all could hear. “A native of this great and glorious country, and I have a right to buzz, or make any noise I please. Those little bees who make honeycomb are foreigners—immigrants. Useful citizens, I will grant, but still immigrants. Now, my ancestors were here when Columbus discovered America. Do you know that my name is Bombus, spelt with a big ‘B’? Now, to show you how useful we bumble bees are, I shall tell you a story. Once upon a time—are you all listening?”
“I am,” answered Ruth, quickly. “Please go on.”
“Well, once upon a time there was no red clover in Australia, and the farmers of that country to take American seed there and plant it. The first year the crop grew finely. There were plenty of flowers, but no seeds. Of course that was bad, they needed seed for the next year’s sowing. Well, once more they brought seed from America, and once more the crop grew finely, but not a seed came from it. Then the people began to think, and after a while they found out the trouble. They hadn’t the American bumble bee and they had to have him, for, my friends, we, only, of all the bees, can the red clover blossom, for only we have tongues long enough to reach its nectar cups and the cell where 182its precious is hidden. You may not think our tongue so long, because it is rolled up when we are not using it, but look!” And he unrolled a long brown tongue, which, in a moment, seemed gone again.
“Gracious!” said Ruth.
“Now do you wonder that we can reach down into the red clover? When we went to Australia the clover not only grew, but set seeds too.”
“But,” questioned Ruth, “do different flowers have different bees to come to them, and how do you know?”
“Ah, that’s just it. A voice within us seems to whisper, ‘Go to the blossom whose heart you can best reach, feed upon its honey and take your fill of its golden dust.’ We know it to be the law, and we obey, and, even as we obey, the pollen clings to our hairy bodies, and we bear it to the next flower we visit. This is what usually happens, but sometimes,” he added, as though ashamed, “I must say, we break the law, and, finding a flower whose honey we cannot reach, we use our tongues to cut a hole in the spot where we know the nectar is hidden and enter from the outside. Plainly speaking, it is the way of the thief, getting our feast without paying for it. For the bee who takes it so carries away no pollen, and an honest bee should never act so. Now perhaps you would like to know how we bumble bees began life? I am sure the little girl would.” And Ruth nodded an “Yes.”
“We do not live all Winter, as honey bees do. Only a few queens sleep through the cold months, and they do not need food; so while we make a little honey to eat in Summer, we do not lay by any stores for Winter, and naturally we make no combs. What looks like them are the silken our babies spin. If I were a queen, I wouldn’t be here. Queens have too much work to do to be abroad in Summer. You may see them in the early Spring flying about and hunting up good home sites. A hole under a log is often chosen, and nectar and pollen the queen carries it to this underground palace. In the mass she lays an egg, then gathers more, in which she also lays an egg. In this way her house is soon full. When the eggs hatch, the babies eat the pollen and nectar they find around them. I was just such a baby, and, being a gentleman, I haven’t much to do. I shall probably marry a queen some day, but now I simply play in the sunshine. We bumble bees belong to the social branch of the family, but there are many bees who live alone. They all follow trades. There is the carpenter, who isn’t like us, but black and shiny. She can bore right into solid wood and make cells for her eggs. Then there are the miners, who into the ground, and the masons, who make nests out of grains of sand glued together, or out of clay or mud. Some of the carpenters line their nests with pieces of leaves, which they cut out with their sharp . They have been called upholsterers and they——”
“This is all very interesting,” interrupted a honey bee, “but really I must speak now. I have so much to say, and my work is waiting.”
“Talk, by all means,” answered Sir Bumble Bee, . “I am a gentleman, and I always yield to ladies.”
“Thank you, but I can’t call myself a lady. I am just a worker honey bee. My name is Apis Mellifica, but I do belong to a wonderful family. I will admit that. We are the greatest wax in the world. I heard somebody once say that bees are always in a hurry, while butterflies seem to take their time. Now there’s a good reason for that. Butterflies haven’t any work to do. They do not even see their children, and never take care of them, while bees have thousands of babies to feed and look after. Then you must know we clean house every day, for we are extremely neat . 186We clean ourselves also, and we have combs and brushes for that purpose.”
The words combs and brushes seemed to have quite an effect on the bees and ants in the audience, and many began to make their toilets, Miss Apis among them. They looked so very funny that Ruth laughed , but she quickly settled down to listen, as Miss Apis, feeling herself quite clean, said briskly:
“Now I will tell a story. Once upon a time there was a large hive under an apple tree. A hedge sheltered it from the wind, and the tree shaded it from the sun, which made it very pleasant for the family who lived there. It was a very large family, for there were thousands and thousands of members, but they lived together in peace, each doing her own share of work. Of course there was a queen. She had a long, slender body and short wings. This did not matter, for she had only flown from the hive once, and then she had a of drones. Maybe you think that because she was a queen she had nothing to do. It is true, she was not obliged to gather honey, make wax, clean house, nurse the children, or anything of that sort, but she was kept 188busy laying eggs. She laid thousands every day.”
Ruth opened her eyes wide. “Think of it, Belinda!” she said. “Thousands of eggs a day! Just suppose she was a hen.”
“She is something far more important,” answered Miss Apis, “and her eggs are of much more consequence. Besides the queen there were drones and workers in this big family. The drones did no work at all, though they were large and thick-bodied. Indeed, all they seemed fit for was to fly with the queen when she took her one trip abroad, and to eat what the workers gathered.”
“See here!” said a drone from the back of the assembly. “I am getting tired of being called lazy. I should like to say right here that we drones haven’t any honey sac nor any pollen baskets, not even a pollen brush, like Mrs. Carpenter Bee, so how can we gather pollen or honey? Besides, we haven’t any sting to defend ourselves with.”
“We will not argue the point,” said Miss 189Apis, &............