THE BEE-HUNTERS 75 
“This is the after-crop,’”’ said the bee-master, as 
he strode on ahead with his jingling burden. ‘‘ The 
second cut of Dutch clover always gives the most 
honey. Listen to the bees everywhere—it is just 
like the roar of London heard from the top of St 
Paul's!) And most of it here is going into the 
woods, more’s the pity. Well, well; we must try 
to get some of it back to-day.” 
Between the verge of the clover-field and the 
shadowy depths of the forest ran a broad green 
waggon-way; and here we came to a halt. In the 
field we had lately traversed the deep note of the 
bees had sounded mainly underfoot; but now it was 
all above us, as the honeymakers sped to and fro 
between the sunlit plane of blossom and their hidden 
storehouses in the wood. The upper air was full 
of their music; but, straining the sight to its utmost, 
not a bee. could be seen. 
“And you will never see them,” said the bee- 
master, watching me as he unpacked his kit. 
‘« They fly too fast and too high. And if you can’t 
see them go by out here in the broad sunshine, how 
will you track them to their lair through the dim 
light under the trees? And yet,’ he went on, 
‘that is the only way to do it. It is useless to 
search the wood for their nests; you might travel 
the whole day through and find nothing. The 
only plan is to follow the laden bees returning 
to the hive. And now watch how we do that in 
Sussex.”’ 
From one of the boxes he produced a contrivance 
like a flat tin saucer mounted on top of a pointed 
stick. He stuck this in the ground near the edge 
of the clover-field so that the saucer stood on a 
