604 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



Aug. 15. 



"Yes, papa, here I is;" and she emerged 

 from under an acacia-tree, her face much swol- 

 len from the effects of a bee-sting. 



" How do you feel, Alfaretta, since your ex- 

 perience with the bees ? " 



" Why, papa, I feel like an old potato-basket 

 with the bottom out and handles off, all crunch- 

 ed, crunched." 



Fred had anxiously followed Mr. Buell to the 

 veranda; and now, turning to him, Alfaretta 

 said, "Freddy, see my teeth." The grimace 

 that followed gave Fred a distress in the region 

 of the heart, and he immediately re-entered 

 the house, followed by Mr. Buell. 



The moments that followed were moments of 

 silence. Hearts that were hoping for an im- 

 provement in the mental condition of the loved 

 one, and anxiously watching all indications of 

 a change, were even more sad when the indi- 

 cations proved to be misleading and false. The 

 spell of silence was soon broken, however, by 

 the well-known song from the shrubbery: 



" The night is stormy and dark. 

 My lover is on the sea," etc. 



"O Fred!" said Mr. Buell suddenly. "The 

 episodes of the morning have led me to neglect 

 to inform you that I have heard from Dawson. 

 He is very bad off; has taken to his bed, and is 

 continually raving about McBurger." 



"Is that so, Mr. Buell?" asked Fred, anx- 

 iously. 



"Yes. Fred, it is reliable news, for Sam 

 Splinter came up the river from Dawson's last 

 evening, and told me." 



"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" said Fred, in evident 

 distress. "If the man should die I should feel 

 guilty — yes, guilty — for I suppose I am the 

 cause of it all." 



"No, Fred, I would not judge you guilty, for 

 you were attending to your own legitimate 

 business. He followed you for an evil purpose; 

 and if he dies, it is only another form of retrib- 

 utive justice, not only for what he meditated 

 at that time, but for past dark deeds. Now, I 

 think, though he is a bad man, and though his 

 wife may not receive us kindly, we can do no 

 better service to-day than to visit those in af- 

 fliction, and render all possible aid. I propose 

 that we now eat our noonday lunch, and all go 

 down to the Dawson place. What say you, 

 Mrs. Buell?" 



" It seems to me it is just what we should do. 

 But, Clarence, your eye and Alfaretta's face are 

 not very presentablp." 



" I think almost any thing will be presentable 

 at the Dawson ranch," said Mr. Buell. "Eti- 

 quette and appearance are not held in high 

 esteem there, as you will probably find out. I 

 take if, for granted you will go with us, Fred." 



"Of course, Mr. Buell, I am only too anxious 

 to be of service to those people " 



"And what say you, Alfaretta?" said Mr. 

 Buell. 



Alfaretta held a small walking-stick in her 

 hand, pointing it skyward like a wand, and, 

 looking steadily up, she repeated, with an os- 

 cillating movement of her lithe body, and with 

 an increasing intensity, 



" Grimalliins, ghosts, grind, grind. 

 Bedlams and witches, bind, ijind; 

 Hail, blinlcers and winlsers, 

 Mourning and croning, 

 Dawson is dead— dead." 



"Dear daughter," said Mr. Buell, with evi- 

 dent pain, " you should not allow such vagaries 

 to enter your head." 



"Dead, dead," answered Alfaretta. 





SOMETHING FOK " SKYLARK" AND THE READ- 

 ERS OF GLEANINGS. 



Question. — Which is right, you or Skylark, as 

 to the number of farms in the United States? 

 Is it possible that there are 3 000,000 more farms 

 in the country now than in 1870? 



Answer. — Turning to my dictionary, under 

 "Farm, "I find this: " Lmd owned or occupied 

 by a farmer." Then turning to "Farmer" 

 I find, "A person who owns or occupies land." 

 Then on the wall to my offii-e I find this clip- 

 ping, which I clipped some time ago from a 

 newspaper and pinned there, and from which I 

 made the statement regarding the number of 

 farms, which appeared in the Progressive Bee- 

 keeper, wh\ch. Skylark takes exception to: "In 



