"She's very sweet and feathery," was all that Melissa thought, "but her talk sounds like ivy honey tastes.
Chuck it!" The crowd cheered and broke away as Melissa dived through.
But Melissa had already risen clear, and was heading for a breadth of virgin white clover, which to an overtired bee is as soothing as plain knitting to a woman.
"There's always a certain number of 'em," said Melissa. "You can't stop a few working sisters from laying, now and then, when they overfeed themselves.
I don't mind dwarf drones any more than you do (they all die in July), but this steady hatch of oddities frightens me, Melissa!"
"I suppose the truth is that we're over-stocked and too well fed to swarm," said Melissa.
"What, about seven and three-quarter minutes' work now?" said Melissa one day as she came in.
"But honey is gathered from flowers outside two miles away sometimes," cried Melissa.
"Ye-es, but it won't be long at this rate," said Melissa.
"Oh, me!" said poor Melissa, "haven't you ever been beyond the Gate?"
Melissa took refuge in her poorly paid field-work and told Sacharissa the story.
"Does she so?" Melissa backed out of the next bell with a jerk.