The honey-bee goes forth from the hive in spring like the dove from
Noah's ark, and it is not till after many days that she brings back the
olive leaf, which in this case is a pellet of golden pollen upon each
hip, usually obtained from the alder or the swamp willow. In a country
where maple sugar is made the bees get their first taste of sweet from
the sap as it flows from the spiles, or as it dries and is condensed
upon the sides of the buckets. They will sometimes, in their eagerness,
come about the boiling-place and be overwhelmed by the steam and the
smoke. But bees appear to be more eager for bread in the spring than
for honey: their supply of this article, perhaps, does not keep as well
as their stores of the latter; hence fresh bread, in the shape of new
pollen, is diligently sought for. My bees get their first supplies from
the catkins of the willows. How quickly they find them out! If but one
catkin opens anywhere within range, a bee is on hand that very hour to
rifle it, and it is a most pleasing experience to stand near the hive
some mild April day and see them come pouring in with their little
baskets packed with this first fruitage of the spring. They will have
new bread now; they have been to mill in good earnest; see their dusty
coats, and the golden grist they bring home with them.

When a bee brings pollen into the hive he advances to the cell in which
it is to be deposited and kicks it off, as one might his overalls or
rubber boots, making one foot help the other; then he walks off without
ever looking behind him; another bee, one of the indoor hands, comes
along and rams it down with his head and packs it into the cell, as the
dairymaid packs butter into a firkin with a ladle.

The first spring wild-flowers, whose sly faces among the dry leaves and
rocks are so welcome, are rarely frequented by the bee. The anemone,
the hepatica, the bloodroot, the arbutus, the numerous violets, the