THE BEE-HUNTER. 183 



prairie near the edge of the San Bernard River. Tony 

 was true to time, a curved-handled Collins axe in his 

 hand, and a tin bucket on his shoulder, follow^ed by his 

 son, a great gawky lad of seventeen or eighteen, who also 

 bore an axe and a couple of buckets. We had scarcely 

 exchanged salutations when Tony, throwing out his arm 

 — the one thrust through the pail handle — exclaimed, 



" Thar goes a bee right for that point of timber. He 

 was a loaded bee," he added meditatively, " for his thighs 

 were as yellow as a California gold miner's legs. I can 

 see a bee for a very long distance on a clear day ; how- 

 sumever we've got one lined." 



His preparations were beautiful from their simplicity. 

 An old tin copper-cap box about half filled with honey, a 

 common blue saucer, a glass tumbler, and a little phial of 

 flour of sulphur, constituted Tony's stock in trade. 



Blue, yellow, red, and white autumn flowers carpeted 

 the prairie, and amongst them several bees were flitting ; 

 occasionally four or five would be upon' one weed, and 

 when Tony's glance fell upon them he would observe, 

 "Them's almost alius from one treej what I wants is 

 scattered bees to line and angle from." I fancied I knew 

 what he meant by line, but angle from was beyond my 

 comprehension, and I asked him, " How do you mean 

 angle from ? " 



" Ef you'll have a little patience, you'll see all's one 

 as well as my telling." 



Thus rebuked for my curiosity, I could only watch 

 Tony's proceedings in silence. 



Reversing the tin bucket, he set it upon the ground, 

 and upon it placed the saucer, into which he poured about 

 half a teaspoonful of honey, and drawing off a yard or so 

 patiently waited. 



The smell of the honey soon attracted one bee, then 

 another, and presently five bees were busy upon the honey 



