“It sounds like bees,” she said, doubtfully.
“It is bees!” affirmed Carl after listening a little longer. “It must be our bees. But what are they after? How far are we from home?”
Alice thought they were about two miles. They had passed Indian Slough some time before.
“I do hope they’re not after Larue again,” said Carl. “But most likely they’ve found a wild bee-tree and are robbing it.”
But after a few minutes Carl grew so curious that he went ashore and tried to follow the flight of the bees, which could now be seen passing overhead. Presently Alice heard him calling her, in great excitement.
She hastened after him. He was standing at the edge of a great burned slash that extended for fully two miles. It was studded with charred, spike-branched trees and second-growth hemlock, tangled with berry bushes, and choked with quantities of a weed that grew three feet or more high and bore spikes of brilliant, crimson-pink flowers.
On the nearest spike of blossoms Alice saw three or four bees, and from the whole tract resounded the deep, busy hum that they had heard from the river.
“D’you know what that is?” shouted Carl, dancing with exultation. “Willow-herb! Fireweed! What do you think of that?”
Alice also recognized it. Willow-herb—also known as “fireweed,” because it always springs up in the track of forest fires—is one of the best honey-yielding plants in America. It flowers in late summer, and lasts until frost kills it, secreting nectar heavily whenever the weather is at all favorable. A single colony of bees has been known to gather the almost incredible amount of four hundred pounds of honey from this plant alone. It does not grow in the settled portions of the country, and as the Harmans had never seen it in profusion, they had never thought of including it among their prospective resources.
“O Carl!” cried Alice. “We may get a big crop after all! Let’s hurry home and see what the bees are doing.”