honey and pollen. She had often tasted their honey, 
and she knew they made bee-bread for their young 
of the pollen. Of all the little insects she knew, 
none seemed so wise to Mary as the bees. She had 
heard how industrious they were from morning till 
night; she had seen how ingeniously they made their 
cells and stored their golden honey; and then how 
wonderful it was, she thought, that they should 
always know the way home, wherever they flew. 
Miles and miles away from their home, however 
zigzag had been their flight, when ready to return 
they rise high in the air, and then wing their uner¬ 
ring way straight to the hive that is their home. It 
must be God who teaches them the way, thought the 
little girl, and if I am lost will he not take care of 
me too ? 
The pink Hypericum told Mary she might easily 
know the flowers of her name and family, by the 
