"Make it, then," said the bee she had grappled. The spoken word
snapped the current through the cluster. It shook and glistened
like a cat's fur in the dark. "Unhook!" it murmured. "No wax for
any one to-day."

"You lazy thieves! Hang up at once and produce our wax," said the
bees below.

"Impossible! The sweat's gone. To make your wax we must have
stillness, warmth, and food. Unhook! Unhook!"

They broke up as they murmured, and disappeared among the other
bees, from whom, of course, they were undistinguishable.

"Seems as if we'd have to chew scrap-wax for these pillars, after
all," said a worker.

"Not by a whole comb," cried the young bee who had broken the
cluster. "Listen here! I've studied the question more than twenty
minutes. It's as simple as falling off a daisy. You've heard of
Cheshire, Root and Langstroth?"

They had not, but they shouted "Good old Langstroth!" just the
same.

"Those three know all that there is to be known about making
hives. One or t'other of 'em must have made ours, and if they've
made it, they're bound to look after it. Ours is a 'Guaranteed
Patent Hive.' You can see it on the label behind."