AN IDYL OF THE HONEY-BEE 69 



then another and still another, and yet the riddle 

 is not solved. One time we are south of them, 

 then north, then the bees get up through the trees 

 and we cannot tell where they go. But after much 

 searching, and after the mystery seems rather to 

 deepen than to clear up, we chance to pause beside 

 the old stump. A bee comes out of a small open- 

 ing like that made by ants in decayed wood, rubs 

 its eyes and examines its antenna?, as bees always 

 do before leaving their hive, then takes flight. At 

 the same instant several bees come by us loaded 

 with our honey and settle home with that peculiar 

 low, complacent buzz of the well-filled insect. Here, 

 then, is our idyl, our bit of Virgil and Theocritus, 

 in a decayed stump of a hemlock tree. We could 

 tear it open with our hands, and a bear would find 

 it an easy prize, and a rich one, too, for we take 

 from it fifty pounds of excellent honey. The bees 

 have been here many years, and have of course 

 sent out swarm after swarm into the wilds. They 

 have protected themselves against the weather and 

 strengthened their shaky habitation by a copious 

 use of wax. 



When a bee-tree is thus "taken up" in the mid- 

 dle of the day, of course a good many bees are away 

 from home and have not heard the news. When 

 they return and find the ground flowing with honey, 

 and piles of bleeding combs lying about, they appar- 

 ently do not recognize the place, and their first 

 instinct is to fall to and fill themselves; this done, 

 their next thought is to carry it home, so they rise 



