1896 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



603 



weeds, not much the worse for their scare; and 

 even the corral fence was not damaged to a 

 great extent. Fido, the supposed defunct dog, 

 also came from his hiding, and received a 

 caress from Fred with evident cheerfulness. 

 Fred, thinking of Mrs. Buell's exaggerated idea 

 of the affair, exclaimed aloud, "Mintal aber- 

 ration!" 



"What's that?" said Mr. Buell, who had 

 silently come close to Fred. 



"Eh— er—wh— what's that? Oh! you scared 

 me," said Fred, as he regained his composure. 



" Yes," said Mr. Buell, " I should think Jake 

 did have a 'mintal aberration.' Ha, ha! you 

 ought to have seen him, to realize the affair to 

 the fullest extent." 



"That's so," said Fred, with much gusto, 

 glad to have his unguarded remark palmed off 

 on to old Jake. " He must have appeared like a 

 doubled and twisted syanastacutus going 

 through the air." 



Mr. Buell looked at Fred soberly a few mo- 

 ments and then exclaimed, "Fred, you are 

 joking. I have made a study of paleontology, 

 and there has never been such a prehistoric 

 subject discovered." 



" Well, now," said Fred, laughing. " I should 

 think there is such a subject," as he pointed to 

 old Jake, just emerging from the tule swamp, 

 well plastered with mud. 



With a few jovial remarks in 

 relation to old Jake and his new 

 name, Mr. Buell again put him 

 at the end of the picket rope, 

 where he seemed none the worse 

 for his experience except in ap- 

 pearance. 



Fred's offhand and rapid way 

 of righting things, and Mr. 

 Buell's kind treatment, dimin- 

 ished Mrs. Buell's fears; and 

 when they returned to the house 

 she had ventured to open a win- 

 dow and door: and when Mr. 

 Buell again reiterated his deter- 

 mination to master the bees, Mrs. 

 Buell looked upon him as a very hero. " But," 

 said she, suddenly turning, " Fred Anderson, I 

 should think the bees would sting you tod^ath. 

 I am sure if one should sting me I should not 

 get over it in a week." 



Fred told her that he had not the least fear 

 of stings, and assured her that Mr. Buell would 

 soon learn to manage them as easily as he 

 could. "But before he becomes an expert he 

 must learn to take many stings. For instance, 

 I have been stung at the rate of forty times a 

 minute." 



"■ Forty times a minute!"' exclaimed both Mr. 

 and Mrs. Buell. " Why, Fred Anderson! what 

 are you made of— cast iron?" said Mr. Buell. 

 " Have you no nerves ? " quoth Mrs. Buell. 



"Oh! my friends," said Fred, "it is merely a 

 case of getting the system thoroughly inocu- 

 lated with bee poison; or, as a friend of mine 

 termed it, getting pickled. The longer one 

 manages bees the more pickled he becomes, 

 until at length he cares not so much for a bee- 

 sting as he does for a mosqulto-bite." 



" You almost discourage me," said Mr. Buell; 

 "see my eye after only one sting. My condi- 

 tion would be deplorable if alive after forty 

 stings." 



"You will be so careful," said Fred, "in the 

 first stages of your bee management, that you 

 will receive but few stings. It is only after 

 much manipulation of bees that one gets care- 

 less, and gets punished for it." 



"Yes, Fred, I think I can Imagine how that 

 occurs. To illustrate, let me paraphrase Pope: 



A bee-hive is a monster so full of stings. 

 That to leave it we'd get away on wings; 

 Yet endured so oft, and stung in tender parts. 

 Charmed, we fain would study ail their arts. 



The conversation drifted from bees to Pope, 

 and from Pope to good and evil, and finally to 

 the charms of music; and Fred was requested 

 to enliven the house with the guitar and a 

 gospel hymn. He selected "The Lord Is our 

 rock; in him we hide, a shelter in a time of 

 storm." 



Mr. and Mrs. Buell joined in the chorus; and 



lUST SEE WHAT THOSE PESKY BEES HAVE BEEN DOING!" 



as the last refrain died away, an echo, as It 

 seemed, came from the shrubbery near the 

 house: 



"Jesus is a rock in a weary land, in a weary 

 land, a shelter in a time of storm." 



Mr. and Mrs. Buell gave close and anxious 

 attention. 



"Dear Alfaretta," said Mrs. Buell, as she 

 arose and peered from the window. "That is 

 the first time since we came here that she has 

 even tried lo sing any thing but her song of the 

 sea. Certainly, Clarence, It is an indication of 

 a change." 



"Surely it is," said Mr. Buell, in a hopeful 

 tone; and, stepping to the veranda, he said, 

 " Alfaretta, dear!" 



