"
When it was time to get ready for bed that night, Grandma bathed the
swollen eye again. "I wish there were no bees, Grandma," said the little
girl suddenly.
"Why, you like honey, don't you, dear?" asked Grandma.
"Ye-es, I like honey; but I don't like bees--they sting so!"
"Bees are very interesting and hard-working little creatures," said
Grandma; "and if they are let alone, they will not harm anyone."
"I didn't mean to bother them," said Joyce, "but one stung _me_."
"That's so," said Grandma; "but they have certain rules, and you must
have broken one of them. A bee's sting is the only thing she can use to
protect the hive against intruders--and the bee that stings you always
dies. That's the price she has to pay to do her duty."
"Oh!" said Joyce, "I'm sorry I went too near. But please, Grandma, tell
me some more about bees."
"There are lots of things to learn about them," said Grandma. "They live
in queer little houses called hives. They have a queen; and if she is
stolen, or dies, they will not go on working without her. Only one queen
can live in each house; when a new queen is about to come out of her
cell, the old queen gathers her followers and they swarm.
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