E will now return to our little friend, Honeyball, whom we left flying from the curious dwelling of the carpenter-bee. We will follow her as she lazily proceeded along the lane in which were situated the cottages of Mrs. Wingfield and Mrs. Bright, the sweet flowers in the garden of the former rendering it a favourite resort for bees. This was not long after noon, and therefore a few hours before all the troubles related in the last chapter had occurred, while Polly and her two little charges were yet safe in their own comfortable cottage. [110]Honeyball looked at Spinaway busily mending her net, torn by the adventure of Sipsyrup, and laughed as she thought of the folly of her companion. Honeyball was not vain enough to be enticed by sugared words; her dangers arose from quite another source—her greediness and great self-indulgence. Her eye was now attracted by a little bottle hung up by the porch, not far from the rosebush; it had been placed there by Tom to catch wasps. Perhaps he had hoped to entrap some others of the winged tribes, for he had just taken a fancy to make a collection of insects, and woe unto any small creature that might fall into his merciless hands!
Honeyball alighted on the bottle, then fluttered to the top, allured by the sugary scent. The brim was sticky; she unsheathed her long bright tongue, tasted, approved, and then sipped again. At this moment she heard a buzz near her, and looking up with her back eyes, perceived her friend Silverwing.
[111]“Do come from that huge, bright, hard cell,” cried the bee; “I am sure that it never was formed by any of our tribe, and I do not believe that it holds honey.”
“It holds something very good, and in such abundance too,” replied Honeyball; “a thousand honeysuckles would not contain so much!”
“There is danger, I am certain that there is danger,” cried Silverwing. “What if it should have been placed there on purpose to catch us?”
“You think me as foolish as Sipsyrup!”
“No, not foolish, but—”
“Too fond of good living, and too lazy to like trouble in procuring it. Well, I daresay that you are right, Silverwing; I believe that, as you say, there may be danger.”
“Then why not come away?” persisted the bee.
“Because the taste is so good,” said her companion, bending over the rim—the next moment she was struggling in the syrup!
[112]Ah, Honeyball, weak, foolish insect! In vain do you struggle, in vain do you buzz, in vain your grieved friend flutters against the glass,—you have sacrificed yourself for a little indulgence, like thousands who look at the tempting glass, know their danger, yet will not abstain!
As Silverwing on the outside of the bottle was uttering her hum of pity and regret, suddenly a handkerchief was thrown over her, and the loud, rough voice of Tom was heard.
“Rather a paltry beginning to my collection, a wretched hive-bee! But I caught it so cleverly, without its being crushed, or spoiled by the syrup; and I will keep it till I get that stuff which Ben told me of, which kills insects without hurting their beauty!”
Poor unhappy Silverwing! she was indeed in a terrible position. She had not even power to use her sting in self-defence, for to plunge it into the handkerchief would have been useless indeed; and she felt all that a[113] bee might be expected to feel, in the power of............