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 excit