"That's so," said Grandma; "but they have certain rules, and you must
have broken one of them. A bee's sting is the only thing she can use to
protect the hive against intruders--and the bee that stings you always
dies. That's the price she has to pay to do her duty."

"Oh!" said Joyce, "I'm sorry I went too near. But please, Grandma, tell
me some more about bees."

"There are lots of things to learn about them," said Grandma. "They live
in queer little houses called hives. They have a queen; and if she is
stolen, or dies, they will not go on working without her. Only one queen
can live in each house; when a new queen is about to come out of her
cell, the old queen gathers her followers and they swarm.

"The queen bee lays the eggs; and when the eggs hatch, the hive is so
full of bees that it cannot hold them all. As soon as they find another
queen, some of them must move out.

"When the bees are swarming, they always take good care of their queen.
Sometimes they settle on a limb of a tree; and while they are there,
they keep their queen covered, so no one can find her. They send out
scouts to find a new home; and as soon as it is found, they all move the
re.

"Sometimes Grandpa finds the queen, and puts her in the hive. Then she
makes a sort of drumming noise, and the other bees follow her inside."

"Was it the queen bee that stung me?" asked Joyce.

"No, the queen never uses her sting except when in battle with another