flowering thyme and rounded pebbles. There was ample scope for every
imaginable polygon; trapezes and triangles could be combined in all
sorts of ways. The inaccessible distances had ample elbow-room; and
there was even an old ruin, once a pigeon-house, that lent its
perpendicular to the graphometer's performances.

Well, from the very first day, my attention was attracted by something
suspicious. If I sent one of the boys to plant a stake, I would see
him stop frequently on his way, bend down, stand up again, look about
and stoop once more, neglecting his straight line and his signals.
Another, who was told to pick up the arrows, would forget the iron pin
and take up a pebble instead; and a third deaf to the measurements of
angles, would crumble a clod of earth between his fingers. Most of
them were caught licking a bit of straw. The polygon came to a full
stop, the diagonals suffered. What could the mystery be?

I enquired; and everything was explained. A born searcher and
observer, the scholar had long known what the master had not yet heard
of, namely, that there was a big black Bee who made clay nests on the
pebbles in the harmas. These nests contained honey; and my surveyors
used to open them and empty the cells with a straw. The honey,
although rather strong-flavoured, was most acceptable. I acquired a
taste for it myself and joined the nest-hunters, putting off the
polygon till later. It was thus that I first saw Reaumur's Mason-bee,
knowing nothing of her history and nothing of her historian.

The magnificent Bee herself, with her dark-violet wings and black-
velvet raiment, her rustic edifices on the sun-blistered pebbles amid
the thyme, her honey, providing a diversion from the severities of the
compass and the square, all made a great impression on my mind; and I