Perhaps there is no honey in the world so fine as that to be obtained from these solitary Downland settlements. With the ordinary consumer honey is merely honey, and there is an end of the matter. But the beeman knows that the quality of honey varies as greatly as that of wine. He will tell you at first taste the crop from which it is gathered, whether it has one source or many, whether it is all flower-essence, or has been contaminated by the hateful honeydew, which is not honey at all. Down in the lowlands, except at certain rare seasons when only one crop is in flower, it is next to impossible to get honey absolutely from a single source. But here on the hills the bees are not tempted by glowing gardens with their feeble, washy sweets; nor are they led aside by the coarse-natured privet, or horse-chestnut, or sunflower. There is only one trencher to their banquet, but this is a vast, illimitable one. They have nothing to do but to wend out and home all day long between their hives and a single field. It is difficult to gauge with anything like approximate truth the amount of honey that one flowering crop will yield. But probably, when all conditions are most favourable, every acre of Dutch clover will produce about five pounds of pure honey for each day it is left standing in full bloom. The nectar is obviously secreted by the flower as an attraction to the bee, who, blundering into it with her pollen-smothered body, unconsciously effects its fertilisation. Directly this object is gained, the flow of nectar in each particular floret appears to cease, and the bee passes it by.