Screened by this
bush, you can watch in perfect safety;" and he left her well content, with
her glass fixed on the apiary.
Having satisfied herself for the time with observing the workers coming and
going, she went around to the white clover-field to see the process of
gathering the honey. She had long since learned that bees while at work are
harmless, unless so cornered that they sting in self-defence. Sitting on a
rock at the edge of the clover-field, she listened to the drowsy monotone
of innumerable wings. Then she bent her glass on a clover head, and it grew
at once into a collection of little white tubes or jars in which from
earth, air, and dew nature distilled the nectar that the bees were
gathering. The intent workers stood on their heads and emptied these
fragrant honey-jars with marvellous quickness. They knew when they were
loaded, and in straight lines as geometrically true as the hexagon cells in
which the honey would be stored they darted to their hives. When the day
grew warm she returned to the house and read, with a wonder and delight
which no fairy tale had ever produced, John Burroughs's paper, "The
Pastoral Bees," which Webb had found for her before going to his work. To
her childish credulity fairy lore had been more interesting than wonderful,
but the instincts and habits of these children of nature touched on
mysteries that can never be solved.
At dinner the experiences of the apiary were discussed, and Leonard asked,
"Do you think the old-fashioned custom of beating tin pans and blowing
horns influences a swarm to alight? The custom is still maintained by some
people in the vicinity.
Pages:
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311