It seems to be _your_ flower, and no doubt it is, for flowers have a way of making their tubes to fit the tongues of those who love them best. Not that they do _all_ the fitting, for no doubt the tongues also grow to fit the flowers. Of course other insects with similar tongues can get the honey too, and a good many, whose tongues are quite different, can reach more or less of it; but the bulk of the honey is for the favorite visitor. He can reach clear to the bottom of the nectary, and in some cases, where the favorite insect has a very long and very slender tongue, the spur, or tube, will be so long and slender that none but that particular kind of insect can get the honey at all. Everybody who lives in New England, and a good many who do not, knows the white azalea, often called swamp honeysuckle. Swamp honeysuckle and the large night-flying moths are great friends. The azalea has provided honey for the fellows, and protects it, too, against other visitors, all but the bees and humming birds. The humming birds are welcome, and the bees have a way of coming whether they are welcome or not. If you go just at dark to where the azaleas are blooming, you will not see the moths, but you will hear them. The chief sounds in the woods are the rustling of twigs and leaves in the breeze, the calling of frogs from the ponds, the noises of the insects, and the voices of the night-flying birds. Then all at once there comes another sound,—a steady buzz-z-z that draws nearer and nearer until it seems to be close to your ear. This is the moth come to visit the honeysuckle. And, no doubt, the honeysuckle is glad to feel the breeze of these fanning wings and feel the long tongue enter the tube, for the moth’s body touches the out-reaching stigma and leaves there pollen from some other flower whose honey it has enjoyed. From the stamens it detaches pollen grains to carry to another flower; and this, too, no doubt, gives happiness to the azalea, for it makes its pollen, not for its own use, but for the sake of its azalea friends. [Illustration: [Azalea]] You see, the azalea has long, upturned filaments that reach far out of the tube, and the style is yet longer, so that only a large insect or a humming bird, collecting honey while on the wing, can really give pollen to the stigma. Bees alight back of the anthers and take the honey. If they want pollen they collect it from the stamens without touching the stigma, except once in a while by accident, as it were. So however much the majority of flowers may love and respect the bee, our azalea has no liking for her. Besides, the bee has a bad habit of biting a hole in the flower tube and getting the honey that way. This would be a thoroughly disreputable performance on the part of any insect, and if bees are not ashamed of it they ought to be.