devotes herself to spreading her principles, and--and--she looks
lovely!"

An old, baldish bee came up the comb.

"Pillar-workers for the Gate! Get out and chew scraps. Buzz off!"
she said. The Wax-moth slipped aside.

The young bees trooped down the frame, whispering. "What's the
matter with 'em?" said the oldster. "Why do they call each other
'ducky' and 'darling'? Must be the weather." She sniffed
suspiciously. "Horrid stuffy smell here. Like stale quilts. Not
Wax-moth, I hope, Melissa?"

"Not to my knowledge," said Melissa, who, of course, only knew
the Wax-moth as a lady with principles, and had never thought to
report her presence. She had always imagined Wax-moths to be like
blood-red dragon-flies.

"You had better fan out this corner for a little," said the old
bee and passed on. Melissa dropped her head at once, took firm
hold with her fore-feet, and fanned obediently at the regulation
stroke three hundred beats to the second. Fanning tries a bee's
temper, because she must always keep in the same place where she
never seems to be doing any good, and, all the while, she is
wearing out her only wings. When a bee cannot fly, a bee must not
live; and a bee knows it. The Wax-moth crept forth, and caressed
Melissa again.

"I see," she murmured, "that at heart you are one of Us."