PEPACTON 



woods. More bees quickly come, and it is not long 

 before the line is well established. Now we have 

 recourse to the same tactics we employed before, 

 and move along the ridge to another field to get 

 our cross-line. But the bees still go in almost the 

 same direction they did from the corn stout. The 

 tree is then either on the top of the mountain or 

 on the other or west side of it. We hesitate to make 

 the plunge into the woods and seek to scale those 

 precipices, for the eye can plainly see what is before 

 us. As the afternoon sun gets lower, the bees are 

 seen with wonderful distinctness. They fly toward 

 and under the sun, and are in a strong light, while 

 the near woods which form the background are 

 in deep shadow. They look like large luminous 

 motes. Their swiftly vibrating, transparent wings 

 surround their bodies with a shining nimbus that 

 makes them visible for a long distance. They seem 

 magnified many times. We see them bridge the 

 little gulf between us and the woods, then rise 

 up over the treetops with their burdens, swerving 

 neither to the right hand nor to the left. It is almost 

 pathetic to see them labor so, climbing the moun- 

 tain and unwittingly guiding us to their treasures. 

 When the sun gets down so that his direction cor- 

 responds exactly with the course of the bees, we 

 make the plunge. It proves even harder climbing 

 than we had anticipated; the mountain is faced 

 by a broken and irregular wall of rock, up which 

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