a horrid way, and I’ve been all through the big carved mahogany chest and straightened all the papers and seen all the pictures in it. I know about how he loved Mary, and I know about the home he lost. I even know the secret that broke his heart, and I know all he can teach me about the bees.”
The small person paused and dropped into a voice of absolute business impartiality.
“About bees, now. There’s so much to learn that the men who write the books haven’t found it all out yet, so, of course, the Bee Master couldn’t teach it all to me. But I know all he could show me about the hives and about the bee bread and foul brood and about queens and nymphs and workers and drones and nurses. That about nurses is the sky-blue limit! You wouldn’t hardly believe that a hive of bees would have nurses, now would you?”
Thinking of recent experiences, Jamie said slowly: “Nurses are among the most wonderful things in the world, and I have heard that bees are very wonderful, so I think it’s probable that they do have nurses.”
“Right you are, Pat!” said the small person. “I can take you to any of these hives and open them up and show you maybe as many as forty thousand nurses taking care of the white nymphs.”
And then, for the second time, Jamie faced the question: “Are you bee immune?”
And again Jamie answered: “I don’t know. I’ve had no experience.”
