CHAPTER V 



The Busy Bee 



THERE is no more pleasant recollection of 

 boyhood and its pleasures than that of bee 

 hunting. I never visit the country in July 

 or August even now without getting the old 

 fever to take a bee box and try my luck again 

 in tracking the honey-bee through the blue 

 sky to his honey laden tree. 



City bred people may often have wondered 

 about the phrase " a bee line," but they never 

 would had they lined fugitive bees to their 

 tree. Once the bee has filled her honey 

 stomach a shaft of light is not more straight 

 than the line she makes for the tree. 



How full of bird song and sunlight, of dew 

 laden grass, and perfume of flowers and 

 shrubs are these memories of bee hunting. 



