"Tell the beeple," said the Queen, "and at once, because when they read your report and see how little profit we have gained for our labors this year they may become suspicious. If we tell them at once, as soon as we have discovered it ourselves, they cannot complain." And so the mass-meeting was called, and ten thousand bees gathered before the royal hives. [Illustration] The Queen undertook to tell the beeple herself. "Most beloved subjects," said she, as she emerged from the royal hive amid the enthusiastic buzzing of the beepulace, "I have been going over the report of my Trade Secretary during the past week, and I regret to say that the showing is not satisfactory." A murmur of disappointment greeted the announcement. "We have not been idle, your Majesty!" cried one of the workers. "I myself have flown from flower to flower for five hours a day every day during the season, and I can testify that all my friends and neighbors have kept themselves equally busy." "I have nothing to complain about on that score," returned her Majesty, graciously. "Indeed, you have all been most industrious. Even the drones have droned to my satisfaction." "Have we then worked too hard?" queried another. "It would seem so," returned her Majesty. "Either that or after a fashion which might be termed unprofitable. We have manufactured seventeen million pounds of honey in the last year, and after all the demands of the honey-eaters have been fulfilled we find ourselves with ten million pounds on hand." "It proves how useful we do-nothing bees are," said one of the drones. "Had we worked, the supply would have been twice as great, and instead of having ten million pounds of honey more than we need, we should have twenty-seven million pounds of it upon our antennæ." "We've got no business with antennæ, anyhow," growled another drone. "Why can't we have beetennæ, and be done with it?" "All of this!" cried the Queen, impatiently, "is apart from the question. Whether we have antennæ, beetennæ, or flytennæ, we have made too much honey." [Illustration] "Then let us rest for a year," sighed one of the drones. "It's mathematics that if one does enough work in one year to last for two years, he's done two years' work in one, wherefore let him take a year off and travel for his health." "Not so!" cried the Queen. "The Lord High Commissioner of the Police will arrest the drone who has spoken so unreasonably, and suggested such an unbeely practice as idleness. Put him in the darkest dungeon of the Bee-stile, and feed him upon iced water and cold biscuit crumbs for twenty-four hours." "Mercy!" cried the drone. "Mercy, your Majesty! I was only thoughtless."