eady yielded treasure; and now new honey jewels were
trembling in the trumpets of the honeysuckle, at the heart of the wild
rose, within the deep cups of the candid and orange lilies, amid the
fairy caps of columbines, and the petals of clove-pinks. There the bees
now living laboured, and those that followed would find their sweets in
the clover,--scarlet and purple and white,--in the foxgloves, in the
upland deserts of the heather with their oases of euphrasy and sweet
wild thyme.

"Is it a true swarm or a cast?" inquired John Grimbal.

"A swarm, without much question, though it dawned an unlikely day for an
old queen to leave the hive. Still, the weather came over splendid
enough by noon, and they knew it was going to. Where are your butts? You
see, young maiden queens go further afield than old ones. The latter
take but a short flight for choice."

"There they are," said Grimbal, pointing to a row of thatched hives not
far off. "So that should be an old queen, by your showing. Is she
there?"

"I fancy so by the look of them. If the queen doesn't join, the bees
break up, of course, and go back to the butt. But I've brought a couple
of queens with me."

"I've seen a good few drones about the board lately."

"Sure sign of swarming at this season. Inside, if you could look, you'd
find plenty of queen cells, and some capped over. You'd come across a
murder or two as well. The old queens make short work of the young ones
sometimes."

"Woman-like."

Hicks admitted the criticism was just. Then, being now upon his own
ground, he continued to talk, and talk well, until he won a surly
compliment from his employer.

"You're a bee-master, in truth! Nobody'll deny you that."

Clement laughed rather bitterly.

"Yes, a king of bees. Not a great kingdom for man to rule."

The other studied his dark, unhappy face. Trouble had quickened
Grimbal's own perceptions, and made him a more accurate judge of sorrow
when he saw it than of yore.

"You've tried to do greater things and failed, perhaps," he said.

"Why, perhaps I have. A man's a hive himself, I've thought sometimes--a
hive of swarming, seething thoughts and experiences and passions, that
come and go as easily as any bees, and store the heart and brain."

"Not with honey, I'll swear."

"No--gall mostly."

"And every hive's got a queen bee too, for that matter," said Grimbal,
rather pleased at his wit responsible for the image.

"Yes; and the queens take each