56 THE LORE OF THE HONEY-BEE 
‘freshet of strength that is finally to bring them 
into the security of the populous haven. Scores 
of them do not try for harbour at first tack, but, 
coming safely into the calm waters of the garden, 
rest awhile on the nearest leaf or blossom, panting 
and tremulous, until they are able to wear sail for 
the last reach home. 
There is infinite diversity in the loads of these 
pollen-carrying bees. Hardly a colour, or shade 
of colour, in the rainbow fails to pass during every 
moment across the thronging way. Every bee 
carries a half-globe of this substance, beautifully 
rounded and shaped, on each of her two hind-legs. 
It is possible, by marking the colour of her 
burden, to tell with certainty what flower she has 
been plundering on each of her trips. This bright 
orange, which makes always the largest and 
heaviest bales in the stream of merchandise, is 
from the dandelions. From the gorse-flowers 
come loads of deep rich brown almost as weighty. 
The charlock, that mingles its useless, wanton 
beauty with every farm-crop, yields the bee 
interminable gold. White clover, red clover, 
sainfoin, all load up the little hive coolies with 
different shades of russet. From the apple- 
orchards come bursting panniers of pale yellow; 
the blackberry-blossom yields pollen of a delicate 
greenish-white. When summer comes, and the 
poppies make scarlet undertones amidst the wheat 
and barley, these, winged merchant-women stream 
