244 HUNTING THE HONEY-BEE 



butus in its hiding-place among the dead leaves, 

 and the clusters of liverwort nodding above their 

 purple-green leaves in the April wind, and the 

 light drift of shad-blows that gleamed in the gray 

 woods. Here were treasures worth forsaking even 

 England to gather. Later she found the colum- 

 bine, drooping over the ledge, heavy with sweets 

 unattainable, and was fooled with the empty 

 chalice of the bath-flower and with violets, blue as 

 those of her own home, but scentless as spring- 

 water. 



Catching the spirit of their masters, some of 

 the bees set their light sails and ventured far into 

 the great, mysterious forest, and, founding col- 

 onies in hollow trees, began a life of independence. 

 Their hoarded sweets became known to the bears 

 and the Indians, no one knows how, or to which 

 first. Perhaps the first swarm that flew wild 

 hived itself inside a tree which was the winter 

 home of a bear, who, climbing to his retreat when 

 the first snows had powdered the green of the hem- 

 locks and the russet floor of the woods, and back- 

 ing down to his nest, found his way impeded by 

 shelves of comb, filled with luscious sweetness the 

 like of which no New England bear had ever be- 

 fore tasted — something to make his paws more 

 savory sucking through the long months. Then 

 the Indian, tracing him to his lair, secured a 

 double prize — a fat bear, and something sweeter 



