Thus it was, then, that
almost every article used by the bee-hunter, though so simple and
homely, was the subject of a secret, but well-suppressed admiration.
It was not long ere le Bourdon was ready to look for his bee. The
insects were numerous on the flowers, particularly on the white
clover, which is indigenous in America, springing up spontaneously
wherever grasses are permitted to grow. The great abundance of the
bees, however, had its usual effect, and our hero was a little
difficult to please. At length, a fine and already half-loaded
little animal was covered by the glass and captured. This was done
so near the group of Indians, that each and all noted the process.
It was curious, and it was inexplicable! Could the pale-faces compel
bees to reveal the secret of their hives, and was that encroaching
race about to drive all the insects from the woods and seize their
honey, as they drove the Indians before them and seized their lands?
Such was the character of the thoughts that passed through the minds
of more than one chief, that morning, though all looked on in
profound stillness.
When the imprisoned bee was put over the comb, and le Bourdon's cap
was placed above all, these simple-minded children of the woods and
the prairies gazed, as if expecting a hive to appear beneath the
covering, whenever the latter should be removed.
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