THE PASTOEAL BEES. 26 



course lay in this direction. Determined to have a 

 hand, or rather a foot, in the chase, I threw off my 

 coat and hurried on, before the swarm was yet fairly 

 organized and under way. The route soon led me 

 into a field of standing rye, every spear of which 

 held its head above my own. Plunging recklessly 

 forward, my course marked to those watching from 

 below by the agitated and wriggling grain, I emerged 

 from the miniature forest just in time to see the run- 

 aways disappearing over the top of the hill, some 

 fifty rods in advance of me. Lining them as well 

 as I could, I soon reached the hill-top, my breath ut- 

 terly gone and the perspiration streaming from every 

 pore of my skin. On the other side the country 

 opened deep and wide. A large valley swept around 

 to the north, heavily wooded at its head and on its 

 sides. It became evident at once that the bees had 

 made good their escape, and that whether they had 

 stopped on one side of the valley or the other, or 

 had indeed cleared the opposite mountain and gone 

 into some unknown forest beyond, was entirely prob- 

 lematical. I turned back, therefore, thinking of the 

 honey-laden tree that some of these forests would 

 hold before the falling of the leaf. 



I heard of a youth in the neighborhood, more 

 ucky than myself on a like occasion. It seems that 

 he had got well in advance of the swarm, whose 

 route lay over a hill, as in my case, and as he neared 

 the summit, hat in hand, the bees had just come up 

 and were all about him- Presently he noticed them 



