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 you to try to help you reach the hospital that I am in no position to say what my physical or mental condition was when I came. But I know that to-day I have done about twice the work in the garden that I could manage the first day I really tried to look after your interests.”

The Bee Master moved his lean hands over the coverlet. A rare smile illumined his face.

“That’s fine!” he said. “Fine! And would you feel, then, that if they carry me out of here some of these days and bring me home, a wreck of a man unable to stand on my feet and carry on my work, would you feel that you would care to remain with me, that you would try learning bees from the egg onward?”

“I’d love it,” said Jamie. “I’d love to wait on you and help you back to health over the same path that I’ve laid out for myself.”

Then he explained to the Master what path he had laid out for himself, and again the gentle old voice cried: “Fine! Couldn’t be better, and what’s more, I can see that you are making it. Each trip you make to cheer the old man up a little, I can see that your skin is taking on a healthier hue, that the blue lights of pain and discouragement are fading out of your eyes. You even speak with a stronger voice, with the assurance of a man who is captaining his own soul. I am staking my money that you’re going to win through to health and happiness in the garden that has come the nearest to bringing me consolation of anything I ever have tried.”

The Bee Master lay still and waited a long time. Then