Freeland tribune. (Freeland, Pa.) 1888-1921, 1901-07-22
The Old Woman and Her Bees.

The Old Woman and Her Boes.
| Cornwall is a dear old place to read
in; as full Of legends as it is OF stones
and winds How could such land
help having stories? Its memories
carry back so far. Why, when cur
Declaration of Independence was only
an air castle, the Cornish tongue was
in the death-throes of great age. And
such memories! There stand the Lo-
gan stones, and the circles and cairns
and cromlechs of the Druids, to recall
human sacrifices and awful impreca-
ton; there Is the surf roaring on three
shores about many generations of pir-
ates and smugglers and wrecks; there
! are the mines tunneling far under sea,
, and alive of course, with COLLINS;
there are the rugged hills to speak "in
, no uncertain tongue" of poverty and
I toll; and there are the pleasant val
| leys, duchy lands since the famous
Black Prince was named their duke.
And then the winds! When they howl
around the edge of great cliff or
whistle from the black mouth OF
mine or come thrashing the woods OF
the valleys, superstition grips the
stoutest heart; there is no room for
! doubts about the genii and that ilk
and-delicious fascination of terror
the victim would not doubt if he could.
But the stories are not all Of this
dread cast. and one Of the other kind
is our bee story. 1t begins with an old
woman that lived in wood. She kept
hive of bees. and though the little
creatures were as busy in fair weather
as any proverh could expect, they OBJ
jected seriously to the cold winds of
Cornwall and to its ruins. Indeed,
even folk that carry umbrellas COM
plain sometimes of those rains, You
see, there's the breeze of the English
Channel whipping in her clouds, and
the Bristol Channel wind whipping in
more; so between them the little cor
nucopia-Cornubia, the Romans called
it's pretty we'll drenched. The stur-
dy good nature of the Cornishmen
shows in their adage-no grumble, but
rather jolly boast-that Cornwall
will bear a shower every day of the
week. and two on Sunday" No Won
der our old woman's bees fingered in
their hive occasionally. This did not
please the mistress. She wassnot only
greedily fond Of honey, but she had
one of these unfortunate dispositions
that are made unhappy by other folks
holidays. The bees were her only SER
wants, and rain or shine, storm or
calm, she wished them to be at work
II she could have managed it no doubt
she would have given them some Sc
we're whippings, but she had learned
the lesson of their sharp weapons, and
on one occasion they had terribly
frightened her by threatening to move
out; so she was extremely polite to
their faces and kept her garden radiant
with their best-loved flowers. Only, in
secret, she scolded, and puzzled her
wits to break up those holidays.
Finally she recalled an old super
stition, saying that the bread blessed
for the church would quicken the life
even of a bee; eating it he would live
longer, make better honey and more
of it. So she did not hesitate to
make a test, this greedy old creature.
There was no church for miles, but
two or three times year there would
come a priest to hold services in one
of the peasant houses, or, il the house
were too small, he would stand in the
doorway while his flock gathered out
side. The next time she came back
from a priest day one hand was hidden
under her shawl. She opened it on
the little shelf before the hive. A cold
wind was blowing from the sea and
the bees were all indoors; but as the
old woman stepped back she chuckled;
there was a hummiug, flutterinS
sweep and all the swarm iovered over
the bit of stolen bread. Jubilant she
went in TO cook her supper. But bitter
chagrin was in store. When she
looked again, she found the bees work
ing working with all their little might
and humming happily, as If they were
singing psalm, but they were not
making honey, not a bit. She stood
and stared. AS days went by she
wrung her hands, but she dared not in
terrupt the bees. And what do you
think they were building? Why,
pretty little shrine OF wax over that
bit of bread Thus, even the bees of
Cornwall, so the legend runs, rebuke
greed and irreverence.-E. E. Garnett.