I had released my insects at about two o'clock; and the first arrivals
returned to the nest at twenty minutes to three. They had therefore
taken less than three-quarters of an hour to cover the two miles and a
half, a very striking result, especially when we remember that the
Bees did some foraging on the road, as was proved by the yellow pollen
on their bellies, and that, on the other hand, the travellers' flight
must have been hindered by the wind blowing against them. Three more
came home before my eyes, each with her load of pollen, an outward and
visible sign of the work done on the journey. As it was growing late,
our observations had to cease. When the sun goes down, the Mason-bees
leave the nest and take refuge somewhere or other, perhaps under the
tiles of the roofs, or in little corners of the walls. I could not
reckon on the arrival of the others before work was resumed, in the
full sunshine.

Next day, when the sun recalled the scattered workers to the nest, I
took a fresh census of Bees with a white spot on the thorax. My
success exceeded all my hopes: I counted fifteen, fifteen of the
transported prisoners of the day before, storing their cells or
building as though nothing out of the way had happened. The weather
had become more and more threatening; and now the storm burst and was
followed by a succession of rainy days which prevented me from
continuing.

The experiment suffices as it stands. Of some twenty Bees who had
seemed fit to make the long journey when I released them, fifteen at
least had returned: two within the first hour, three in the course of
the evening and the rest next morning. They had returned in spite of
having the wind against them and--a graver difficulty still--in spite
of being unacquainted with the locality to which I had transported