"Jonathan," I said, "I'd like to find some wild honey. It sounds so good."
"No better than tame honey," said Jonathan.
"It sounds better. I'm sure it would be different scooped3 out of a tree like this than done up neatly4 in pound squares."
"Tastes just the same," persisted Jonathan prosaically5.[Pg 156]
"Well, anyway, I want to find a bee tree. Let's go bee-hunting!"
"What's the use? You don't know a honeybee from a bumblebee."
"Well, you do, of course," I answered, tactfully.
Jonathan, mollified, became gracious. "I never went bee-hunting, but I've heard the old fellows tell how it's done. But it takes all day."
"So much the better," I said.
And that night I looked through our books to find out what I could about bees. Over the fireplace in what was once the "best parlor6" is a long, low cupboard with glass doors. Here Bibles, albums, and a few other books have always been stored, and from this I pulled down a fat, gilt-lettered volume called "The Household Friend." This book has something to say about almost everything, and, sure enough, it had an article on bees. But the Household Friend had obviously never gone bee-hunting, and the only real information I got was that bees had four wings and six legs.
"So has a fly," said Jonathan, when I came to him with this nugget of wisdom.[Pg 157]
The neighbors gave suggestions. "You want to go when the yeller-top's in bloom," said one.
"Yellow-top?" I questioned, stupidly enough.
"Yes. Yeller-top—'t's in bloom now," with a comprehensive wave of the hand.
"Oh, you mean goldenrod!"
"Well, I guess you call it that. Yeller-top we call it. You find one o' them old back fields where the yeller-top's come in, 'n' you'll see bees 'nough."
Another friend told us that when we had caught our bee we must drop honey on her back. This would send her to the hive to get her friends to groom7 her off, and they would all return with her to see where the honey came from. This sounded improbable, but we were in no position to criticize our information.
As to the main points of procedure all our advisers8 agreed. We were to put honey in an open box, catch a bee in it, and when she had loaded up with honey, let her go, watch her flight and locate the direction of her home. When she returned with friends for more[Pg 158] honey, we were to shut them in, carry the box on in the line of flight, and let them go again. We were to keep this up until we reached the bee tree. It sounded simple.
We got our box—two boxes, to be sure of our resources—baited them with chunks9 of comb, and took along little window panes10 for covers. Then we packed up luncheon11 and set out for an abandoned pasture in our woods where we remembered the "yeller-top" grew thick. Our New England fall mornings are cool, and as we walked up the shady wood road Jonathan predicted that it would be no use to hunt bees. "They'll be so stiff they can't crawl. Look at that lizard12, now!" He stooped and touched a little red newt lying among the pebbles13 of the roadway. The little fellow seemed dead, but when Jonathan held him in the hollow of his hand for a few moments he gradually thawed14 out, began to wriggle16, and finally dropped through between his fingers and scampered17 under a stone. "See?" said Jonathan. "We'll have to thaw15 out every bee just that way."
But I had confidence that the sun would take the place of Jonathan's hand, and refused[Pg 159] to give up my hunt. From the main log-road we turned off into a path, once a well-trodden way to the old ox pastures, but now almost overgrown, and pushed on through brier and sweet-fern and huckleberry and young birch, down across a little brook18, and up again to the "old Sharon lot," a long field framed in big woods and grown up to sumac and brambles and goldenrod. It was warmer here, in the steady sunshine, sheltered from the crisp wind by the tree walls around us, and we began to look about hopefully for bees. At first Jonathan's gloomy prognostications seemed justified—there was not a bee in sight. A few wasps19 were stirring, trailing their long legs as they flew. Then one or two "yellow jackets" appeared, and some black-and-white hornets. But as the field grew warmer it grew populous20, bumblebees hummed, and finally some little soft brown bees arrived—surely the ones we wanted. Cautiously Jonathan approached one, held his box under the goldenrod clump21, brought the glass down slowly from above—and the bee was ours. She was a gentle little thing, and did not seem to resent her treatment at all, but dropped[Pg 160] down on to the honeycomb and fell to work. Jonathan had providently23 cut a three-forked stick, and he now stuck this into the ground and set the box on the forks so that it was about on a level with the goldenrod tops. Then he carefully drew off the glass, and we sat down to watch.
"Shouldn't you think she must have had enough?" I said, after a while—"Oh! there she comes now!"
Our bee appeared on the edge of the box, staggering heavily. She rubbed her legs, rubbed her wings, shook herself, girded up her loins, as it were, and brushed the hair out of her eyes, and finally rose, turning on herself in a close spiral which widened into larger and larger circles above the box, and at length, after two or three wide sweeps where we nearly lost track of her, she darted25 off in a "bee-line" for a tall chestnut tree on a knoll26 to the westward27.
"Will she come back?" we wondered. Five minutes—ten—fifteen—it seemed an hour.
"She must have been a drone," said Jonathan.[Pg 161]
"Or maybe she wasn't a honeybee at all," I suggested, gloomily. "She might be just another kind of hornet—no, look! There she is!"
I could hardly have been more thrilled if my fairy godmother had appeared on the goldenrod stalk and waved her wand at me. To think that the bee really did play the game! I knelt and peered in over the side of the box. Yes, there she was, all six feet in the honey, pumping away with might and main through her little red tongue, or proboscis28, or whatever it was. We sank back among the weeds and waited for her to go. As she rose, in the same spirals, and disappeared westward, Jonathan said, "If she doesn't bring another one back with her this time, we'll try dropping honey on her back. You wait here and be a landmark29 for the bee while I try to catch another one in the other box."
I settled down comfortably under the yellow-top, and instantly I realized what a pleasant thing it is to be a landmark. For one thing, when you sit down in a field you get a very different point of view from that when you stand. Goldenrod is different looked at from beneath, with sky beyond it; sky is different[Pg 162] seen through waving masses of yellow. Moreover, when you sit still outdoors, the life of things comes to you; when you are moving yourself, it evades you. Down among the weeds where I sat, the sun was hot, but the breeze was cool, and it brought to me, now the scent30 of wild grapes from an old stone wall, now the spicy31 fragrance32 of little yellow apples on a gnarled old tree in the fence corner, now the sharp tang of the goldenrod itself. The air was full of the hum of bees, and soon I began to distinguish their different tones—the deep, rich drone of the bumblebees, the higher singsong of the honeybees, the snarl33 of the yellow-jacket, the jerky, nasal twang of the black-and-white hornet. They began to come close around me; two bumblebees hung on a frond34 of goldenrod so close to my face that I could see the pollen35 dust on their fur. Crickets and grasshoppers37 chirped38 and trilled beside me. All the little creatures seemed to have accepted me—all but one black-and-white hornet, who left his proper pursuits, whatever they may have been, to investigate me. He buzzed all around me in an insistent39, ill-bred way that was annoying.[Pg 163] He examined my neck and hair with unnecessary thoroughness, flew away, returned to begin all over again, flew away and returned once more; but at last even he gave up the matter and went off about his business.
Butterflies came fluttering past me:—big, rust-colored ones pointed40 in black; pale russet and silver ones; dancing little yellow ones; big black ones with blue-green spots, rather shabby and languid, as at the end of a gay season. Darning-needles darted back and forth41, with their javelin-like flight, or mounted high by sudden steps, or lighted near me, with that absolute rigidity42 that is the positive negation43 of movement. A flying grasshopper36 creeping along through the tangle44 at my feet rose and hung flutteringly over one spot, for no apparent reason, and then, for no better reason, dropped suddenly and was still. A big cicada with green head and rustling45 wings worked his way clumsily among a pile of last year's goldenrod stalks, freed himself, and whirred away with the harsh, strident buzz that dominates every other sound while it lasts, and when it ceases makes the world seem wonderfully quiet.[Pg 164]
Our bee had gone and come twice before Jonathan returned. "Hasn't she brought anybody yet? Well, here goes!" He took a slender stem of goldenrod, smeared46 it with honey, and gently lodged47 a drop on the bee's back, just where she could not by any possible antics get it off for herself. When the little thing flew she fairly reeled under her burden, tumbled down on to a leaf, recovered herself, and at last flew off on her old line.
"Now, let's go and cook luncheon," said Jonathan, "and leave her to work it out."
"But how can I move? I'm a landmark."
"Oh, leave your handkerchief. Anything white will do."
So I tied my handkerchief to a goldenrod stalk, and we went back to the brook. We made a fire on a flat stone, under which we could hear the brook running, broiled48 our chops on long, forked sticks, broiled some "beef-steak" mushrooms that we had found on a chestnut stump49, and ended with water from the spring under the giant birch tree. Blue jays came noisily to investigate us; a yellow-hammer floated softly down to the branch[Pg 165] overhead, gave a little purring cluck of surprise, and flew off again, with a flare50 of tawny-yellow wings. In the warmth of the Indian summer noon the shade of the woods was pleasant, and I let Jonathan go back to the bees while I lay on a dry slope above the brook and watched the slim, tall chestnuts51 swaying in the wind. It is almost like being at sea to lie in the woods and look up at the trees. Their waving tops seem infinitely52 far away, but the sky beyond seems very near, and one can almost feel the earth go round.
As I lay there I heard a snapping of twigs53 and rustling of leaves. It was the wrong direction for Jonathan, and I turned gently, expecting nothing smaller than a deer—for deer are growing plentiful54 now in old New England—and met the shameless face of a jerky little red squirrel! He clung to a chestnut trunk and examined me, twitching55 all over the while, then whisked himself upside down and looked at me from that standpoint, mounted to a branch, clung to the under side and looked again, pretended fright and vanished behind the limb, only to peer over it the next moment to see what I looked like from there—all the[Pg 166] time clucking and burring like an alarm clock under a pillow.
The rude thing had broken the spell of quiet, and I got up, remembering the bees, and wandered back to the sunny field, now palpitating with waves of heat. Jonathan was nowhere to be seen, but as I approached the box I discovered him beside it flat on his back among the weeds.
"Sh-h-h," he warned, "don't frighten them. There were a lot of them when I got here and I've been watching their line. They all go straight for that chestnut."
"What are you lying down for?" I asked.
"I had to. I nearly twisted my neck off following their circles. I'm no owl22."
I sat down near by and we watched a few more go, while others began to arrive.
"That dab56 of honey did the work," said Jonathan. "We might as well begin to follow up their line now."
Waiting till there were a dozen or more in the box, he gently slid on the glass cover, laid a paper over it to darken it, and we set out. Ten minutes' walking brought us past the big chestnut and out to a little clearing. Jonathan[Pg 167] set the box down on a big rock where it would show up well, laid a handkerchief beside it, drew off the glass, and crouched57. A bunch of excited bees burst out and away, without noticing their change of place. "They'll never find their way back there," said Jonathan regretfully; "they'll go straight back to the Sharon lot."
But there were others in the box, still feeding, who had not been disturbed by the move, and these he touched with honey drops. They staggered off, one by one, orienting themselves properly as they rose, and taking the same old line off to the westward. This was disappointing. We had hoped to see them turn back, showing that we had passed their home tree. However, there was nothing to do but sit and wait for them. In six minutes they began to come back, in twos and threes—evidently the honey drops on their shoulders had told the hive a sufficiently58 alluring59 story. Again we waited until the box was well filled with them, then closed it and went on westward. Two more moves brought us to a half-cleared ridge60 from which we could see out across country. To the westward, and sadly[Pg 168] near, was the end of the big woods and the beginning of pastures and farmland.
Jonathan scrutinized61 the farms dotting the slopes. "See that bunch of red barns with a white house?" he said "That's Bill Morehead's. He keeps bees. Bet we've got bees from his hive and they'll lead us plumb62 into his back yard."
It did begin to seem probable, and we took up our box in some depression of spirits. Two more stops, the bees still perversely63 flying westward, and we emerged in pastures.
"Here's our last stop," said Jonathan. "If they don't go back into that edge we've just left, they're Morehead's. There isn't another bit of woods big enough to hold a bee tree for seven miles to the west of us."
There was no rock to set the box on, so we lay down on the turf; Jonathan set the box on his chest, and partly slid the cover. He had by this time learned the trick of making the bees, even the excited ones, come out singly. We watched each one as she escaped, circle above us, circle, circle against the clear blue of the afternoon sky, then dart24 off—alas!—westward. As the last one flew we[Pg 169] sat up, disconsolately64, and gazed across the pasture.
"Tame bees!" muttered Jonathan, in a tone of grief and disgust. "Tame bees, down there in my old woodlots. It's trespass65!"
"You might claim some of Morehead's honey," I suggested, "since you've been feeding his bees. But, then," I reflected, "it wouldn't be wild honey, and what I wanted was wild honey."
We rose dejectedly, and Jonathan picked up the box. "Aren't you going to leave it for the bees?" I asked. "They'll be so disappointed when they come back."
"They aren't the only ones to be disappointed," he remarked grimly. "Here, we'll have mushrooms for supper, anyway." And he stooped to collect a big puff-ball.
We walked home, our spirits gradually rising. After all, it is hard to stay depressed66 under a blue fall sky, with a crisp wind blowing in your face and the sense of completeness that comes of a long day out of doors. And as we climbed the last long hill to the home farm we could not help feeling cheerful.
"Bee-hunting is fun," I said, "even if they are tame bees."
"It's the best excuse for being a loafer that I've found yet," said Jonathan; "I wonder the tramps don't all go into the business."
"And some day," I pursued hopefully, "we'll go again and find really wild bees and really wild honey."
"It would taste just the same, you know," jeered67 Jonathan.
And I was so content with life that I let him have the last word.
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1
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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2
charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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3
scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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4
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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prosaically
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| adv.无聊地；乏味地；散文式地；平凡地 | |
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6
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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8
advisers
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| 顾问，劝告者( adviser的名词复数 )； （指导大学新生学科问题等的）指导教授 | |
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chunks
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| 厚厚的一块( chunk的名词复数 )； （某物）相当大的数量或部分 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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13
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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14
thawed
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| 解冻 | |
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15
thaw
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| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
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16
wriggle
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| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
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17
scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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19
wasps
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| 黄蜂( wasp的名词复数 )； 胡蜂； 易动怒的人； 刻毒的人 | |
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populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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providently
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| adv.有远虑地 | |
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dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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proboscis
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| n.（象的）长鼻 | |
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landmark
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| n.陆标，划时代的事，地界标 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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spicy
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| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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frond
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| n.棕榈类植物的叶子 | |
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pollen
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| n.[植]花粉 | |
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grasshopper
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| n.蚱蜢，蝗虫，蚂蚱 | |
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grasshoppers
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| n.蚱蜢( grasshopper的名词复数 )；蝗虫；蚂蚱；（孩子）矮小的 | |
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chirped
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的过去式 ) | |
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39
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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40
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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rigidity
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| adj.钢性，坚硬 | |
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negation
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| n.否定；否认 | |
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44
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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45
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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46
smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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47
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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48
broiled
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| a.烤过的 | |
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49
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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50
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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51
chestnuts
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| n.栗子( chestnut的名词复数 )；栗色；栗树；栗色马 | |
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52
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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53
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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54
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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55
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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56
dab
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| v.轻触，轻拍，轻涂；n.(颜料等的)轻涂 | |
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57
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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59
alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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60
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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61
scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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plumb
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| adv.精确地，完全地；v.了解意义，测水深 | |
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63
perversely
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| adv. 倔强地 | |
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64
disconsolately
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| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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65
trespass
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| n./v.侵犯，闯入私人领地 | |
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66
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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67
jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
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