Jonathan, mollified, became gracious. "I never went bee-hunting, but I've heard the old fellows tell how it's done. But it takes all day."
"So much the better," I said.
And that night I looked through our books to find out what I could about bees. Over the fireplace in what was once the "best parlor" is a long, low cupboard with glass doors. Here Bibles, albums, and a few other books have always been stored, and from this I pulled down a fat, gilt-lettered volume called "The Household Friend." This book has something to say about almost everything, and, sure enough, it had an article on bees. But the Household Friend had obviously never gone bee-hunting, and the only real information I got was that bees had four wings and six legs.
"So has a fly," said Jonathan, when I came to him with this nugget of wisdom.
The neighbors gave suggestions. "You want to go when the yeller-top's in bloom," said one.
"Yellow-top?" I questioned, stupidly enough.
"Yes. Yeller-top—'t's in bloom now," with a comprehensive wave of the hand.
"Oh, you mean goldenrod!"
"Well, I guess you call it that. Yeller-top we call it. You find one o' them old back fields where the yeller-top's come in, 'n' you'll see bees 'nough."
Another friend told us that when we had caught our bee we must drop honey on her back. This would send her to the hive to get her friends to groom her off, and they would all return with her to see where the honey came from. This sounded improbable, but we were in no position to criticize our information.