AuOi'ST, 19211 



a \. K A N I N G S T N H E 10 C TT h 'I' U K E 



467 



FROM THE FIELD OF EXPERIENCE 



.•uiioiig: the first to find the clo- 

 vtM- in the field beyond. Soon 

 jinotiier comes, and then jinoth 

 er. One s(>eins to falter, and 

 turning round it goes hm-k into 

 its home as tlio it would take 

 ;:nother nap. 



Smoke is creeidng stiaight up 

 out of a noar-by ehminey, a dis 

 taut whistle is heard; a dog, 

 disturbed in his morning's slum 

 ber, is barking a disajii)roval ; 

 and soon you hear the rundiling 

 of a street ear. 



The eobweb in front of you is 

 trembling. It stretehs up from 

 the grape trellis to a handsome 

 trap the old gray spider has 

 woven in the black night. He 

 has already seen you and is hur- 

 rying back into his sunning 

 nest. There comes another bee, 

 and still another, and there a 

 funeral procession comes forth; 

 they are carrying forth some 

 poor companion that has per- 

 ished in the night. How hastily 

 they seem to work as tho they 

 would have it over as soon as 

 possible that they may be the 

 better ready for the tasks of the day. 



A man is coming up the street, his head 

 is bent far forward as tho he was walking 

 in his sleep. He seems but a hazy shadow, 

 so dimly do you see him thru the morning's 

 light. In his hand he holds a pail and he 

 is on his way to his daily clover field in 

 some nearby factory, perhaps. 



Foil and S\v 



And the bees — they come, 

 more and moie of them. "Wake 

 uj), yon tiny creatures," you 

 say, " tlie sun is almost ready 

 to peep over yonder hill." And 

 as it slowly rises in its golden 

 course they seemed to wake, and 

 more and more of them come 

 tumbling out and fly across the 

 valley where the sweets are 

 waiting to be gathered. 



A motor car is heard and then 

 a wagon goes groaning over the 

 hard stones. A distant train is 

 coming out of the night, with 

 its heavy load of nectar for the 

 mighty city. The milkman rat- 

 tles his bottles as he puts them 

 at the door. The small boy on 

 the far corner is already crying 

 his papers as tho such news had 

 never been before. 



Now the bees are coming fast- 

 er out of that dark home. Hel- 

 ter-skelter they come, and tak- 

 ing wing they soar off toward 

 the rising sun. Some of them 

 are already coming back, per- 

 haps the very first that ventured 

 out in the gray dawn, already 



laden with precious burdens. 



The cities are awaking, one so big and 



one so small; the tide is flowing and on and 



on they come; they are the strugglers of the 



city and the hive. 



Another day is born, a day of toil and 



sweets to man and bee. 



Cleveland, Ohio. J. H. Donahey. 



A (^lU'lici- niii.-iiy. owncil li_\ Nfi-. I'. Ti-ssiti- uf Ri. (' 



