“I wish that there were no such thing as work!” exclaimed Polly, from her favourite seat by the school-room window, through which she had been watching the bees[10] thronging1 in and out of their hive, some flying away to seek honied treasure, some returning laden2 with it to their home.
“I think that work makes one enjoy play more,” replied Minnie, her soft voice scarcely heard amidst the confusion of sounds which filled the school-room; for there was a spelling-class answering questions at the moment, and the hum of voices from the boys’ school-room, which adjoined that of the girls, added not a little to the noise.
The house might itself be regarded as a hive, its rosy-cheeked scholars as a little swarm3 of bees, and knowledge as the honey of which they were in search, drawn4, not from flowers, but from the leaves of certain dog’s-eared books, which had few charms for the eyes of Polly Bright.
“I never have any play,” said the little girl peevishly5. “As soon as school is over, and I should like a little fun, there is Johnny to be looked after, and the baby to be carried. I hate the care of children—mother[11] knows that I do—and I think that baby is always crying on purpose to tease me.”
THE BIG HIVE.
Polly uttered a little grunting7 sound,[12] which did not seem like consent, and ran her needle two or three times into her seam, always drawing it back instead of pushing it through, which every one knows is not the way to get on with work.
“Why, even these little bees,” Minnie continued, “have a sort of duty of their own; and how steadily8 they set about it!”
“Pretty easy duty,—playing amongst flowers and feasting upon honey!”
“Oh but—”
“Minnie Wingfield, no talking allowed in school!” cried the teacher from the top of the room, turning towards the corner near the window. “Polly Bright, you are always the last in your class.”
This time the lazy fingers did draw the needle through, but a cross, ill-tempered look was on the face of the little girl; while her companion, Minnie, colouring at the reproof9, only worked faster than before.
We will leave them seated on their bench, with their sewing in their hands, and passing[13] through the little window, as only authors and their readers can do, cross the narrow garden, with its small rows of cabbages and onions, bordered by a line of stunted10 gooseberry bushes, and mixing with the busy inhabitants of the hive, glide11 through the tiny opening around which they cluster, and enter the palace of the bees. Now I have a suspicion that though my young readers may be well acquainted with honey-comb and honey, and have even had hives on a bench in their own gardens, they never in their lives have been inside one, and are totally ignorant of the language of bees. For your benefit, therefore, I intend to translate a little of the buzzing chit-chat of the winged nation; and, begging you to consider yourself as little as possible, conduct you at once to the palace of Queen Farina.
A very curious and beautiful palace it is; the Crystal Palace itself is not more perfect in its way. Look at the long lines of cells, framed with the nicest care, row above row,[14] built of pure white wax, varnished12 with gum, and filled with provisions for the winter. Yonder are the nurseries for the infant bees; these larger apartments are for the royal race; that, largest of all, is the state-chamber of the queen. How strait are the passages—just wide enough to let two travellers pass without jostling! And as for the inhabitants of this singular palace, or rather, I should say, this populous13 city, though for a moment you may think them all hurrying and bustling14 about in utter confusion, I assure you that they are governed by the strictest order—each knows her own business, her own proper place. I am afraid that before you are well acquainted with your small companions, you may find some difficulty in knowing one from another, as each bee looks as much like her neighbour as a pin does to a pin. I am not speaking, of course, of her majesty15 the queen, distinguished16, as she is, from all her subjects by the dignified17 length of her figure and the[15] shortness of her wings; but you certainly would not discover, unless I told you, that the little creature hanging from the upper comb is considered a beauty in Bee-land. You must at once fancy your eyes powerful microscopes, till a daisy is enlarged to the size of a table, and the thread of a spider to a piece of stout18 whip-cord; for not till then can you find out the smallest reason why Sipsyrup should be vain of her beauty. Yet why should she not pride herself on her slender shape or her fine down? Vanity may seem absurd in a bee, but surely it is yet more so in any reasonable creature, to whom sense has been given to know the trifling20 worth of mere21 outside looks; and I fear that I may have amongst my young readers some no wiser than little Sipsyrup.
She is not buzzing eagerly about like her companions, who are now working in various parties; some raising the white walls of the cells; some carrying away small cuttings of wax, not to be thrown away, but used in[16] some other place, for bees are very careful and thrifty22; some putting a fine brown polish on the combs, made of a gum gathered from the buds of the wild poplar; some bringing in provisions for the little workmen, who are too busy to go in search of it themselves. No; Sipsyrup seems in her hive as little satisfied as Polly in her school-room, as she hangs quivering her wings with an impatient movement, very unworthy of a sensible bee.
“A fine morning this!” buzzed an industrious23 young insect, making bee-bread with all her might. I may here remark that the subject of the weather is much studied in hives, and that their inhabitants show a knowledge of it that might put to shame some of the learned amongst us. I am not aware that they ever make use of barometers24, but it is said that they manage seldom to be caught in a shower, and take care to keep at home when there is thunder.
“A fine morning, indeed,” replied Sipsyrup.[17] “Yes; the sunshine looks tempting25 enough, to be sure; no doubt the flowers are all full of honey, and the hills covered with thyme; but of what use is this to a poor nurse-bee like me, scarcely allowed to snatch a hasty sip19 for myself, but obliged to look after these wretched little larv?” (that is the name given to young baby-bees), “and carry home tasteless pollen26 to make bread for them, when I might be enjoying myself in the sunshine?”
“Yes, and not very long ago,” replied Sipsyrup rather pertly, glancing at the whitish down that showed her own youth; for it was but three days since she had quitted her own nursery, which may account for her being so silly a young bee.
“And but for the kindness of those who supplied our wants when we were poor helpless little creatures, we should never have lived to have wings,” continued her companion.
[18]“Don’t remind me of that time,” buzzed Sipsyrup, who could not bear to think of herself as a tiny, feeble worm. “Anything more weary and tiresome28 than the life that I led, shut up all alone in that horrid29 cell, spinning my own coverlet from morning till night, I am sure that I cannot imagine. Ah, speaking of that spinning, if you had only seen what I did yesterday.”
“What was that?” inquired Silverwing.
“As I flew past a sunny bank, facing the south, I noticed a small hole, at the entrance of which I saw one of our cousins, the poppy-bees. Her dress, you must know, is different from ours” (Sipsyrup always thought something of dress). “It is black, studded on the head and back with reddish-gray hairs, and her wings are edged with gray. Wishing to notice a little more closely her curious attire30, I stopped and wished her good-day. Very politely she invited me into her parlour, and I entered the hole in the bank.”
[19]“A dull, gloomy place to live in, I should fear.”
“Dull! gloomy!” exclaimed Sipsyrup, quivering her feelers at the recollection; “why, the cell of our queen is a dungeon31 compared to it. The hole grew wider as we went further in, till it appeared quite roomy and large, and all round it was hung with the most splendid covering, formed of the leaves of the poppy, of a dazzling scarlet32, delightful33 to behold34. Since I saw it, I have been scarcely able to bear the look of this old hive, with its thousands of cells, one just like another, and all of the same white hue35.”
“Had the poppy-bee a queen?” inquired Silverwing.
“No; she is queen, and worker, and everything herself; she has no one to command her, no one to obey; no waspish companion like Stickasting there.”
“What’s that? who buzzes about me?” cried a large thick bee, hurrying towards[20] them with an angry hum. Stickasting had been the plague of the hive ever since she had had wings. She was especially the torment37 of the unfortunate drones, who, not having been gifted with stings like the workers, had no means of defence to protect them from their bullying38 foe39. When a larva, her impatient disposition40 was not known. She had spun41 her silken web like any peaceable insect, then lain quiet and asleep as a pupa or nymph. But no sooner did the young bee awake to life, than, using her new powers with hearty42 good-will, she ate her way through the web at such a quick rate, that the old bees who looked in pronounced at once that she was likely to be a most active worker. Nor were they disappointed, as far as work was concerned; no one was ready to fly faster or further, no one worked harder at building the cells; but it was soon discovered that her activity and quickness were not the only qualities for which she was remarkable43. If ever bee[21] had a bad temper, that bee was Stickasting. Quarrelling, bullying, attacking, fighting, she was as bad as a wasp36 in the hive. No one would ever have trusted larv? to her care. Sipsyrup might neglect or complain of her charge, but Stickasting would have been positively44 cruel. Her companionship was shunned45, as must be expected by all of her character, whether they be boys or bees; and she seldom exchanged a hum, except of defiance46, with any creature in the hive.
Sipsyrup, the moment that she perceived Stickasting coming towards her, flew off in alarm, leaving poor Silverwing to bear the brunt of the attack.
“Who buzzes about me?” repeated Stickasting fiercely, flying very close up to the little nurse-bee.
“Indeed, I never named you,” replied Silverwing timidly, shrinking back as close as she could to the comb.
“If you were not talking against me yourself,[22] you were listening to and encouraging one who did. Who dare say that I am waspish?” continued Stickasting, quivering her wings with anger till they were almost invisible. “It is this gossip and slander47 that make the hive too hot to hold us. I once thought better of you, Silverwing, as a quiet good-natured sort of a bee, but I now see that you are just like the rest, and as silly as you are ugly.”
This was a very provoking speech—it was intended to be so; but Silverwing was not a creature ready to take offence; whatever she felt, she returned no answer—an example which I would strongly recommend to all in her position, whether standing48 on six feet or on two.
But Stickasting was resolved to pick a quarrel if possible, especially with one whom she considered less strong than herself; for she was not one of those generous beings who scorn to take advantage of the weakness of another. Stickasting much resembled[23] the class of rude, coarse-minded boys, who find a pleasure in teasing children and annoying little girls, and like to show their power over those who dare not oppose it.
“I owe you a grudge49, Silverwing, for your conduct to me yesterday. When I was toiling50 and working at the cells like a slave, not having time to go out for refreshment51, I saw you fly past me two or three times, and not a drop of honey did you offer me.”
“I was carrying pollen for my little larv?,” gently replied Silverwing. “It is not my office to supply the builders, though I am sure that I should do so with pleasure; but the baby-bees are placed under my charge, and you know what care they need till they begin to spin.”
“Yes, idle, hungry, troublesome creatures that they are! Have they not set about their spinning yet? I’ll make them stir themselves,”—and Stickasting made a movement towards the nursery-cells.
[24]“The larv? do not like to be disturbed!” cried Silverwing, anxious for her charges, and placing herself between them and the intruder.
“Like! I daresay not,—but who cares what they like! Get out of the way; I’ll prick52 them up a little!”
“You shall not come near them!” hummed the little nurse, resolutely53 keeping her place.
“I say that I shall,—who shall hinder me? Get out of my way, or I’ll let you feel my sting.”
Silverwing trembled, but she did not stir, for she was a faithful little bee. As the hen is ready to defend her chickens from the hawk54, and even the timid wren55 will fight for her brood, so this feeble insect would have given up her life rather than have forsaken56 the little ones confided57 to her care.
But she was not left alone to struggle with her assailant. Two of her winged companions came to the rescue; and Stickasting,[25] who had no wish to encounter such odds58, and was fonder, perhaps, of bullying than of fighting, no sooner saw Waxywill and Honeyball on the wing, than with an angry hum she hurried out of the hive.
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1
thronging
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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peevishly
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| adv．暴躁地 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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varnished
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| 浸渍过的，涂漆的 | |
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populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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barometers
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| 气压计，晴雨表( barometer的名词复数 ) | |
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tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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pollen
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| n.[植]花粉 | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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wasp
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| n.黄蜂，蚂蜂 | |
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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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bullying
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| v.恐吓，威逼( bully的现在分词 )；豪；跋扈 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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45
shunned
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| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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48
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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50
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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51
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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52
prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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53
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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54
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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55
wren
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| n.鹪鹩；英国皇家海军女子服务队成员 | |
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56
Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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57
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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