ell, with its last course still wet with its
builder's saliva, may or may not be accompanied by other cells recently
closed up, each with its honey and its egg. The Bee, finding this in the
place of her half-filled honey-store, is greatly perplexed what to do
when she comes with her harvest to this unfinished, shallow cup, in
which there is no place to put the honey. She inspects it, measures
it with her eyes, tries it with her antennae and recognizes its
insufficient capacity. She hesitates for a long time, goes away, comes
back, flies away again and soon returns, eager to deposit her treasure.
The insect's embarrassment is most evident; and I cannot help saying,
inwardly:

'Get some mortar, get some mortar and finish making the warehouse. It
will only take you a few moments; and you will have a cupboard of the
right depth.'

The Bee thinks differently: she was storing her cell and she must go on
storing, come what may. Never will she bring herself to lay aside the
pollen-brush for the trowel; never will she suspend the foraging which
is occupying her at this moment to begin the work of construction which
is not yet due. She will rather go in search of a strange cell, in the
desired condition, and slip in there to deposit her honey, at the risk
of meeting with a warm reception from the irate owner. She goes off,
in fact, to try her luck. I wish her success, being myself the cause
of this desperate act. My curiosity has turned an honest worker into a
robber.

Things may take a still more serious turn, so invincible, so imperious
is the desire to have the booty stored in a safe place without delay.
The uncompleted cell which the Bee refuses to accept instead of her
own finished warehouse, half-filled with honey, is often, as I said,
accompanied by other cells, not long closed, each containing its
Bee-bread and its egg. In this case, I have sometimes, though not
always, witnessed the following: when once the Bee realises the
shortcomings of the unfinished nest, she begins to gnaw the clay lid
closing one of the adjoining cells. She softens a part of the mortar
cover with saliva and patiently, atom by atom, digs through the hard
wall. It is very slow work. A good half-hour elapses before the tiny
cavity is large enough to admit a pin's head. I wait longer still. Then
I lose patience; and, fully convinced that the Bee is trying to open the
store-room, I decide to help her to shorten the work. The upper part
of the cell