Yes! Buster Bumblebee was a drone. He never gathered any nectar from the flowers and brought it home to help swell the family store of honey. He let the workers of the household do that. And since they never complained, but seemed to enjoy their drudgery, Buster saw no reason why he should interfere with the honey-making in any way.

He was content to live a life of ease and pleasure. And never having to bestir himself—never having to hurry or worry—he quickly grew into a somewhat clumsy and blundering young gentleman. And what was still worse, this handsome young idler soon gained the name of being none too keen-witted. Good-natured, but a bit stupid—that was what the field and forest folk called Buster Bumblebee.

But bless you! He never bothered his head with what people said. When anybody called him a drone he would only laugh. And when some busybody asked him for pity's sake why didn't he go to work, he would merely grin and reply that he was a queen's son and that queens' sons never did anything except eat a plenty and have a good time.

Well, that must have been an excellent answer, for it seemed to keep people quiet. And it made some think that perhaps Buster Bumblebee was not quite so dull as he often appeared.

Once, indeed, he had thought it would be fun to help with the honey-making. So he stopped one of the workers when she was on her way home with a load of nectar.

"Let me help you carry that home!" Buster said.

Now, the workers were all a shrewish lot. They were terribly short-tempered—especially if anybody interfered with their work, which they loved better than anything else in the world.

"Don't you come near me!" snapped the worker angrily. "Keep away or I'll sting you!" she threatened.

Naturally, a happy, easy-going person like Buster Bumblebee wasn't looking for trouble of that sort. So he dodged clumsily out of sight behind a milkweed; and he made up his mind then that that was the last time he would ever have anything to do with one of those testy honey-makers.

Of course it was a bit difficult to avoid them entirely in a family of two hundred or more, all living together in a medium-sized house. And so Buster Bumblebee decided at last that he would be far happier in some place that was not so crowded, and where there was no work going on—and no workers.

And so, one fine August day, Buster left the family home, never to set foot inside it again. But he often passed that way and lingered just outside the door, to listen to the music and the sound of dancing within.

That was the thing that he missed most; for, like all his family, he was fond of music. And he was forever humming to himself as he sipped nectar from the clover-tops or the flowers in Farmer Green's garden.