eir way still deeper
inward if they were not to block up the entrance to their
comrades outside. And so the struggling knots rolled farther and
farther down the dark streets and corridors. How right the queen
had been in her tactics! No sooner was a bit of space at the
entrance cleared than the ranks in the rear leapt forward to its
defense. It was an old strategy, and a dreadful one for the
enemy. When a hornet at the entrance gave signs of exhaustion,
the bees shammed the same, and let him crawl in; but the instant
the one behind showed his head a great swarm of fresh soldiers
dashed up to defend the apparently unprotected entrance, while
the invader who had gone on ahead would find himself, already
wearied, suddenly confronted by glittering ranks of soldier-bees
who had not yet stirred a finger in battle. Generally he
succumbed to their superior numbers at the very first attack.

Now the groans of the wounded and the shrieks of the dying
mingled in wild agony with the fierce battle-cries. The hornets'
stings worked fearful havoc among the bees. The rolling knots
left tracks of dead bodies in their wake. The hornets, whose
retreat had been cut off, realizing that they would never see
the light of day again, fought the fight of despair. Yet,
slowly, one by one, they succumbed. There was one great thing
against them. Though their strength was inexhaustible, not so
the poison of their sting. After a time their sting lost its
virulence, and the wounded bees, knowing they'd recover, fought
in the consciousness of certain victory. To this was added the
grief of the bees for their dead; it gave them the power of
divine wrath.

Gradually the din subsided. The loud calls of the hornets on the
outside met with no response from the invaders within.

"They are all dead," said the leader of the hornets grimly, and
summoned the combatants back from the entrance. Their numbers
had melted down to half.

"We have been betrayed," said the leader. "The bees were
prepared."

The hornets were assembled on the silver-fir. It had
grown lighter, and the red of dawn tinged the tops of the
linden-trees. The birds began to sing. The dew fell. Pale and
quivering with rage of battle, the warriors stood around their
leader, who was waging an awful inward struggle. Should he yield
to prudence or to his lust for pillage? The former prevailed.
There was no use anyway. His whole tribe was in danger of
destruction. Grudgingly, in a shudder of