Though her wings are strong, yet the load of pollen is heavy, and all her strength is needed to reach the hive in safety. It may be that she is almost exhausted before she can alight on the board at the city gates. So she will settle on a leaf or some flower, like a ship coming to anchor, in the harbour of the garden, and here for a few seconds she will rest, to gain fresh strength for the final flight. Some of the bees seem to act as inspectors, or general helpers as it were, always on the lookout to do somebody a good turn or to lend a helping hand wherever it may be required. And now, as the pollen gatherer makes a final flight to the board, these bees come forward and help her to drag her load safely within the city. Once inside the door, the worker makes straight for the cells which might be called the flour bins, for here the pollen is stored. A picture of them is to be seen in Plate XXIII., and you will notice that the different kinds of pollen are still kept separate. Arrived here, the gatherer levers the pellets out of the baskets by means of the spurs on each of her middle legs. These act as little crowbars, and the pollen is then placed in the cells. If it is not intended for immediate use, some of the house bees will cover it over with a layer of honey, for it would not keep if left exposed to the air. We should imagine that the pollen gatherer would now take a rest, or at any rate some refreshment. This, however, is not the case, for no sooner has she got rid of her load than she darts towards the door, and before we have time to follow her she is off to the fields again for another load. From morning to night she continues to travel backwards and forwards between the flowers and the hive. Is it any wonder, then, that at the end of a few weeks’ time the brave little worker will have completely worn away her wings, and will lie down and die? When watching the alighting-board, you will remember that we remarked on the pollen gatherers entering the hive, each with the little baskets filled with bright-coloured pollen; from the colour of the pollen we may tell from what flowers the bees have brought it. The deep golden-brown comes from the gorse bloom, away on the hill; the snow-white from the hawthorn, and the vivid yellow from the buttercup, or perhaps the dandelion. The pale green is from the gooseberry bushes, whilst the pollen of the charlock is golden and clover pollen is russet-brown. Sometimes, when the poppies are growing among the corn, the little gatherers will return with loads of jet-black pollen, while the orchards give many delicate hues, the most beautiful of which is the light yellow from the apple blossom. On rare occasions, we may see a worker come laden with pollen of deep crimson, but the source of this wonderfully coloured stuff is a mystery, for we do not know from what flower it is obtained. CHAPTER XXIX THE VARNISH MAKERS