"What is the world like, Melissa?" said a companion.
"There was a bit of a fuss on the Gate," Melissa chuckled.
My heart bled for you beneath your burden." The Wax-moth caressed Melissa with her soft feelers and laid another egg.
"You mustn't lay here," cried Melissa. "You aren't a Queen."
"Don't be unkind, Melissa," said a young bee, impressed by the chaste folds of the Wax-moth's wing, which hid her ceaseless egg-dropping.
Laying at every sob, the Wax-moth backed into a crowd of young bees, and left Melissa bewildered and annoyed.
I should think not!" Melissa had all a sound bee's hereditary hatred against the big, squeaking, feathery Thief of the Hives.
You mustn't teach us to refuse work," Melissa began.
"You should see her saintly life, Melissa! She just devotes herself to spreading her principles, and--and--she looks lovely!"
"Not to my knowledge," said Melissa, who, of course, only knew the Wax-moth as a lady with principles, and had never thought to report her presence.
Melissa dropped her head at once, took firm hold with her fore-feet, and fanned obediently at the regulation stroke three hundred beats to the second.
English grammar, composition, geography, and the use of the dumb-bells, by Miss Melissa
Wackles; writing, arthmetic, dancing, music, and general fascination, by Miss Sophia Wackles; the art of needle-work, marking, and samplery, by Miss Jane Wackles; corporal punishment, fasting, and other tortures and terrors, by Mrs Wackles.