CHAPTER X 

 HUNTING WILD BEES 



MID-SEPTEMBER brings the mature glory of sum- 

 mer to the middle and northern Atlantic States. 

 And here to our Brookcamp home, amid the hills of fair 

 Devonside, has come an insect-loving friend for a field- 

 day with the wild bees which just now he is studying. 

 The weather has been erratic, pleasantly so for those 

 who have scant charity for midsummer heats, but not 

 so well for him who would range the fields in quest of 

 creeping-flying things. For it has been unwontedly 

 cool ; and the sharp air has lulled the senses and weight- 

 ed the wings of those children of the sun, whose vitality 

 rises with the temperature and their activity falls with 

 the mercury. 



But happily for our plans, Apollo duly wheeled his 

 chariot back into the caloric zone, and our morning 

 broke clear and warm, though with a bit of lingering 

 crispness that gave fine tonic for a lengthened ramble. 

 So away we go, Mr. Fourcorners and I, he with his 

 insect-net and killing-bottles, I to serve as a sort of 

 scout to flush the game, and the two dogs as general 

 inquisitors. 



" But what a name! Reafly, now, is it — ?" 

 Yes; really and truly it is "Fourcorners," though 

 commonly spelled in a foreign way; but for brevity we 



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