10 THE PASTORAL BEES. 



them come pouring in with their little baskets packed 

 with this first fruitage of the spring. They will have 

 new bread now ; they have been to mill in good ear- 

 nest ; see their dusty coats, and the golden grist they 

 bring home with them. 



When a bee brings pollen into the hive he ad- 

 vances to the cell in which it is to be deposited and 

 kicks it off as one might his overalls or rubber boots, 

 making one foot help the other ; then he walks off 

 without ever looking behind him ; another bee, one 

 of the indoor hands, comes along and rams it down 

 with his head and packs it into the cell as the dairy- 

 maid packs butter into a firkin. 



The first spring wild-flowers, whose shy faces 

 among the dry leaves and rocks are so welcome, 

 yield no honey. The anemone, the hepatica, the 

 bloodroot, the arbutus, the numerous violets, the 

 spring beauty, the corydalis, etc., woo all lovers of 

 nature, but do not woo the honey-loving bee. It 

 requires more sun and warmth to develop the sac- 

 charine element, and the beauty of these pale strip- 

 lings of the woods and groves is their sole and suffi- 

 cient excuse for being. The arbutus, lying low and 

 keeping green all winter, attains to perfume, but not 

 to honey. 



The first honey is perhaps obtained from the flow- 

 ers of the red maple and the golden willow. The 

 latter sends forth a wild, delicious perfume. The 

 sugar maple blooms a little later, and from its silken 

 tassels a rich nectar is gathered. My bees will not 



