The murmuring of innumerable bees . 
—Tennyson: The Princess 
V 
SWARMING AND THE MATING FLIGHT 
I DEVOTED most of my time to my bees and 
to honey production. As there are very few in 
Massachusetts who do more than keep bees as a 
“side-line,” my interest became more or less gener¬ 
ally known among beekeepers and others in neigh¬ 
boring towns. 
On almost any sultry day in July or August I 
could expect to hear the telephone ring and some 
strange excited voice on the other end- 
“Is this the bee-woman?” 
“Yes-” 
“Well, I have a swarm of bees on my place.” 
“Yes?” 
“Can you come and get them for me? There 
must be a bushel of them. ... I never saw so 
many bees in my life. ...” 
“Where are they?” 
“Oh, right up in an apple tree, hanging down 
from a big branch about eighteen feet up. . . . 
Do you think they’ll stay till you get here?” 
49 
