No doubt one of the chief reasons why swarming bees unite themselves in the solid pendant mass of the cluster so soon after leaving the parent-hive, is to hasten this process of wax-formation. It has been proved that wax is most easily generated under the influence of great heat, and this is well secured in the heart of the cluster. By the time the scouts have decided on the new home, and the swarm must rise again on the wing, a great number of the bees will have their wax-pockets filled, and will be ready for the work of comb-making. When a swarm is hived, even if it be only a short time after its issue, the little white wax-scales can be seen protruding from the armour-joints of many of the bees, and these are often dropped and lost in the general confusion. One of the most difficult things to observe in bee-life is the actual process of comb-building. The crush is so great, and the movement of the bees so incessant, that at first the comb seems to grow of itself rather than be made by the busy multitude, for ever obscuring it from the watcher’s eyes, or giving him but the rarest glimpse now and then of its white, delicate frailty of pattern. These early efforts of the comb-builders, produced as they are under forced circumstances, are occasionally faulty of design, as though hastily knocked together. Sometimes the first groups of cells made by a swarm will have a yellow, moist, spongy appearance, with thick, irregular walls, and are obviously little more than temporary vats to hold the incoming nectar until the proper honey-cells can be constructed. This emergency-comb is specially interesting, as affording one more instance of the worker-bee’s ever-ready resource in the presence of difficulties. In the ordinary way the mason-bee hangs quietly in the cluster until her wax-secreting organs have done their work, and the six little oblong scales of brittle material are ready for manipulation. These protrude from under the hard plates of her abdomen, three on each side, looking much like half-posted letters. At one of the knee joints of her hind-leg she has a peculiar implement, of which there is not the slightest trace in the queen-bee. This is like a pair of nippers, but instead of two converging points, it is furnished on one side with a row of sharp, stiff bristles; and on the other with a shallow spoon. With this special tool the worker-bee grips the wax-scale, and draws it out of its pocket. It is then transferred to her jaws, and she hurries off with it to the comb-building. Arrived at an unfinished cell, she sets to work to chew up the raw wax into a paste, incorporating it with her saliva, and materially increasing its bulk. The resulting soft, ductile matter is then applied to the work, and moulded into its needed shape. In this way, with hundreds of workers going and coming, the delicate white fabric of brood and honey-comb is built up with extraordinary rapidity.