In another book from this pen it has been declared that the words of Maeterlinck--"the spirit of the hive"-- are an inspired phrase.

Here, in these conditions, with no need to don the protecting gauze, you may see its vivid illustration, as only the great draughtsmanship of life can illustrate the wondrous schemes of Nature.
For two years Sally Bishop had been one amongst them.

For two years she had caught her tram at Kew Bridge in the morning and her tram again at Hammersmith at night.

Only her Sundays and her Saturday afternoons were free, except for those two wonderful weeks in the summer and the yawning gaps in the side of the year which are known as National holidays.
When--where did the bugle sound that called Sally to her conscription?
What press-gang of circumstances waylaid her, in what peaceful wandering of life, and bore her off to the service of her sex?
There is a little story attached to it--one of those slight, slender threads of incident that go to form a shadow here or a light there in the broad tapestry of the whole.
The Rev.Samuel Bishop was rector of the parish church in the little town of Cailsham, in Kent.

This was Sally's father.