CHAPTER SIXTEENTH 



BEES AND BUCKWHEAT 



' I ■'HE great storm of yesterday cleared the 

 air as well as cleaned the beaches, and 

 the river was fresh and sparkling as though 

 the tempest had added new life, so that the 

 listless midsummery water was now as cham- 

 pagne, " with beaded bubbles winking at the 

 brim." The air was heavy with sweetness 

 and with song, the fields and meadows painted 

 as the rose. The buckwheat was in bloom, 

 and a million bees were humming. The 

 pasture was gay with pink gerardia, or re- 

 flefted the summer sky where the day-flower 

 blossomed. There was no commingling of 

 these late flowers. Each had its own acre, 

 exercised squatter sovereignty, and allowed 

 no trespassing. The only evidence of man's 

 interference, except the buckwheat-field, was 

 a dilapidated worm-fence, and this is one of 

 several instances where beauty increases hand 



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