A DAY IN TIIIC DEEP WOODS. 135 



among tangled twigs, exposed to the gaze of ants, 

 centipedes, scorpions and what not, and calmly 

 munched the waxen cells, expressing from those hex- 

 agonal receptacles their delicious burden of honey, by 

 a process the most primitive, but also the most satis- 

 factory, known to man. 



As I sat there a picture of sweet endeavor, Me- 

 yong prepared to descend, and brought with him as he 

 swung down, hand under hand, a cloud of bees, who, 

 attracted by the cargo of honey in the spathes and by 

 my sweet countenance, left the boy and traveled in my 

 direction. Entangled as I was in the meshwork of 

 branches, I furnished a scene for the hardened Me- 

 yong, who, still smarting from recent stings, was a 

 most joyful witness of my discomfiture. 



Though never an apt scholar in mathematics, I 

 learned a lesson from the bees that day, and described, 

 as accurately as the nature of the ground would allow, 

 a bee-line for camp. I think the most stupid student 

 in school would be able to understand that a straight 

 line was the " shortest distance between two points," 

 with a swarm of angry bees after him thirsting for his 

 blood ; especially, when at one of those points was 

 safety, and at the other bees. 



In the afternoon I went out hunting and was success- 

 ful, bringing back several pigeons. Meyong mean- 

 while had not been idle, for he had, ready-cooked, the 

 cabbage of a mountain palm, and two hideous grubs 

 nicely browning over the coals. Now we had veg- 

 etables, meat and honey, but there was no utensil for 

 dipping out the latter from the troughs. 



"Come wiz me," said Meyong. 



I went with him a few rods to a clump of bamboos 



