NIGHT ON A HONEY-FARM 63 
taste. But this is a sheep-farmers’ country, where 
they grow thousands of acres of rape and lucerne 
and clover for sheep-feed; and nothing could be 
better for the bees.”’ 
By this time the gardener’s barrow was full to 
the brim. We followed it as it was trundled 
heavily away to another part of the building. Here 
a little company of women were busy filling the 
neat glass jars, with their bright screw-covers of 
tin; pasting on the label of the big London stores, 
whither most of the honey was sent; and packing 
the jars into their travelling-cases ready for the 
railway-van in the morning. The whole place 
reeked with the smell of new honey and the faint, 
indescribable odour of the hives. As we passed out 
of the busy scene of the extracting-house into the 
moist dark night again, this peculiar fragrance struck 
upon us overpoweringly. The slow wind was 
setting our way, and the pungent odour from the 
hives came up on it with a solid, almost stifling, 
effect. 
‘““They are fanning hard to-night,’’ said the 
bee-master, as we stopped halfway down the garden. 
“‘ Listen to the noise they’re making !”’ 
The moon was just tilting over the tree-tops. In 
its dim light the place looked double its actual size. 
We seemed to stand in the midst of a great town of 
bee-dwellings, stretching vaguely away into the 
darkness. And from every hive there rose the 
clear deep murmur of the ventilating bees. 
The bee-master lighted his lantern, and held it 
down close to the entrance of the nearest hive. 
‘“ Look how they form up in rows, one behind 
the other, with their heads to the hive; and all 
