THE HONEY-FLOW 209 



a fuzzy bell that drones without clangour, that echoes 

 with each stroke. It cannot have been " immemorial 

 elms " in which was heard " the murmur of innumer- 

 able bees." The elm's wind blossoms are of February. 

 There is no midsummer music to be compared to 

 that of the lindens when the bees have got their 

 blossoms. All the long morning and all the long 

 afternoon they hum there as though there was 

 nothing else than to sing to sleep the drone whose 

 hammock is slung there. Unseen, each one slips 

 away to the hive ; unnoted, each empty one takes 

 her place. Only the blossoms hang there all the 

 time with their lazily offered golden reward. 



