Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Auction at Björne
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been ill. She could not come before, but she would
come now. Of course she would, and all would be
well again. She would understand now that he was
not angry with her. He had come for her himself
with two horses and a sledge.
Near the opening of the beehive a great titmouse
was engaged upon a perfectly fiendish trick. He
must have his dinner, of course, and he tapped,
therefore, at the opening with his sharp little beak.
Inside the hive the bees hung in a big, dark
cluster. Everything within was in the strictest order.
The workers dealt out the rations, and the
cup-bearers ran from mouth to mouth with the nectar
and ambrosia. With a constant creeping movement
those hanging in the middle of the swarm changed
places with those on the outside, so that warmth
and comfort might be equally divided.
They hear the titmouse tapping, and the whole
hive becomes a buzz of curiosity. Is it a friend or
an enemy? Is there danger to the community? The
queen has a bad conscience, she cannot wait in peace
and quietness. Can it be the ghosts of murdered
drones that are tapping out there? “Go and see
what it is,” she orders Sister Doorkeeper, and she
goes. With a “Long live the Queen!” she rushes
out and—ha!—the titmouse has got her! With
outstretched neck and wings, trembling with
eagerness, he catches, kills, and eats her, and no one
carries the tale of her fate to her companions. But
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