It is nothing in the ordinary way to lift a super-chamber weighing twenty pounds or so. But to lift it by imperceptible degrees, place an empty rack in its place, return the full rack to the hive as an upper story, and to do it all so quietly and gently that the bees have not realised the onslaught on their home until the operation is complete, is quite another thing. And a long day of this wary, delicate handling of heavy weights, at arm’s length, under broiling sunshine, is one of the most nerve-wearing and back-breaking experiences in the world.
One of the mistakes made by the unknowing in bee-craft is that the bee-veil is never used among professional men. But the truth is that even the oldest, most experienced hand is glad enough, at times, to fall back behind this, his last line of defence. All depends upon the momentary temper of the bees. There are times when every hive on the farm is as gentle as a flock of sheep, and it is possible to take any liberty with them. At other times, and apparently under much the same conditions, stocks of bees with the steadiest of reputations will resent the slightest interference, while the mere approach to others may mean a furious attack. No true bee-man is afraid of the wickedest bees that ever flew, but it is only the novice who will disdain necessary precautions. Even the Bee-Master of Warrilow was seldom seen without a wisp of black net round the crown of his ancient hat, ready to be let down at a moment’s notice if the bees showed any inclination to sting.
[Picture: “The upward built comb shown joined on the downward built comb”]
In a long vista of memorable days spent at Warrilow, one stands out clear above all the rest. It was in July of a famous honey-year. The hay had long been carried, and the second crops of sainfoin and Dutch clover were making their bravest show of blossom in the fields. It was a stifling day of naked light and heat, with a fierce wind abroad hotter even than the sunshine. The deep blue of the sky came right down to the earth-line. The farthest hills were hard and bright under the universal glare. And on the bee-farm, as I came through the gap in the dusty hedgerow, I saw that every man had his veil close drawn down. The bee-master hailed me from his crowded corner.