HUNTING WILD BEES 



tary workers is that of the mason bee, whose habits 

 are well represented by members of the genus Osmia. 

 She reminds one of the well-known mud-dauber wasp 

 in her way of working. Her brick-kiln is a convenient 

 bed of soil, and, if it be moist, so much the better. But 

 if not, a bit of earth the bigness of a small pea is rolled 

 between her jaws and moistened by saliva as it is round- 

 ed into shape. Thence the pellet is borne to the spot 

 chosen for a building-site. That has a wide range of 

 diversity — the under side of a stone, an abandoned 

 insect burrow, a bit of decayed wood, the open space 

 between bricks or stones in heaps, even a deserted snail- 

 shell. Here the mason begins to set in a ring her well- 

 kneaded mortar pellets. Fore feet and mandibles place 

 and shape them, and they are kept plastic by saliva. 

 Round after round of these mud-pats is placed, inter- 

 mixed with wood scrapings and. tiny pebbles, all firmly 

 cemented together, until a jarlike cell is made. The 

 outside is left as laid down, but the inside is smoothed, 

 and then provisioned in the usual way. 



"And here," remarked our bee-hunter, interrupting 

 the flow of discourse, "is a honey bee — and another! 

 Do you raise bees?" 



No; nor any of my neighbors. The nearest beehives 

 are in the village, a full mile away. But who knows? 

 It is a far wanderer, this Apis mellifica. And when it 

 was first brought to our shores and became thoroughly 

 naturalized in America, it soon learned to look out for 

 itself. Perhaps these are the descendants of some of the 

 wild bees of which our fathers and grandsires used to 

 tell us as inhabiting hollow trees on the verge of our 

 native forests. In those days wild honey was one of 

 the few luxuries that pioneers could indulge in, and to 



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