MIXED DAYS OF MAY AND DECEMBER. 219 
as to seem to justify the idea that these insects prefer 
blue. Or perhaps the blue flowers secrete sweeter honey. 
Every kind of wild bee as yet flying visits this plant, 
tiny bees barely a quarter of an inch long, others as big 
as two filberts, some a deep amber, some striped like 
wasps. A little of Chaucer’s May has come; now and 
then a short hour or two of sunshine between the finger 
and thumb of the north wind. Most pleasant it is to see 
the eave swallow dive down from the roof and rush over 
the scarcely green garden—a household sign of summer. 
In the lane if you gather them the young leaves of the 
sycamore have a fragrant scent like a flower, and low 
down ferns are unrolling. On the low wall sits a yellow- 
hammer, just brightly touched afresh with colour. 
Happy greenfinches go by, and it is curious to note how 
the instant they enter the hedge they are lost now under 
the leaves ; so few days ago they would have been un- 
concealed. So near is it to summer that the first thrush 
begins to sing at three o’clock in the morning, 
