My Boyhood and Youth 



little box about six inches long and four inches 

 deep and wide; bought half a pound of honey, 

 went to the goldenrod hill, swept a bee into the 

 box and closed it. The lid had a pane of glass 

 in it so I could see when the bee had sucked its 

 fill and was ready to go home. At first it groped 

 around trying to get out, but, smelling the 

 honey, it seemed to forget everything else, and 

 while it was feasting I carried the box and a 

 small sharp-pointed stake to an open spot, 

 where I could see about me, fixed the stake in 

 the ground, and placed the box on the flat top 

 of it. When I thought that the little feaster 

 must be about full, I opened the box, but it was 

 in no hurry to fly. It slowly crawled up to the 

 edge of the box, lingered a minute or two clean- 

 ing its legs that had become sticky with honey, 

 and when it took wing, instead of making what 

 is called a bee-line for home, it buzzed around 

 the box and minutely examined it as if trying to 

 fix a clear picture of it in its mind so as to be 

 able to recognize it when it returned for another 

 load, then circled around at a little distance as 

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