t 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 dart
off--alas!--westward. As the last one flew we sat up, disconsolately,
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 trespass!"

"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 depressed 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," jeered Jonathan.

And I was so content with life that I let him have the last word.

XIII

A Dawn Experiment

I have tried dawn fishing, and found it wanting. I have tried dawn
hunting in the woods, after "partridges," and found it not all that
Jonathan, in his buoyant enthusiasm, appears to think it. And so, when
he grew eloquent regarding the delights of dawn hunting on the marshes,
I was not easily fired. I even referred, though very considerately, to
some of our previous experiences in affairs of this nature, and
confessed a certain reluctance to experiment further along these lines.

"Well, you have had a run of hard luck," he admitted tolerantly, "but
you'll find the plover-shooting different. I know you won't be sorry."

I do not mean to be narrow or prejudiced, and so I co