610 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE 



July 15 



had had a " bee in his bonnet " the com- 

 motion could not have been greater. 



" Oh dear!" sighed Dora, 

 somewhat impatiently. "And 

 a swarm this morning", of all 

 times!" 



But she turned out the fire, 

 took the baby to a neighbor's 

 that her mother might not be 

 disturbed; the children were 

 at school, the "subscription 

 term " common in many ru- 

 ral places, and started on the run for Mr. 

 Willow's, just as the bees began to hang 

 themselves in a cone-shaped cluster on a 

 small apple-tree in the orchard. 



Mr. Willow was not at home; but his 

 daughter Lallie at once donned her "bee 

 regimentals," as she termed them, and they 

 started back, arriving just in time to see 

 the provoking insects scatter, and, after ten 

 minutes' fuss and buzz, enter the hive again 

 and go to work as calmly and unconcern- 

 edly as if they hadn't put anybody out in 

 the least. 



Dora was mad, and said so. 

 Lallie laughed. She was used to all 

 sorts of bee behavior, and went back home 

 carrying her "regimentals," while Dora 

 shook out the unironed clothes to prevent 

 mildew, and left them over to be dampened 

 and ironed " in th.e cool " of the next morn- 

 ing. 



Time passed. Every daj^ or two the bees 

 would rush out, and, after a tremendous 

 amount of fuss, go back into the hive. 



"There must be something wrong with 

 the queen," said Mac, who was reading up 

 on bee culture. 



" There must be something considerably 

 wrong with themselves." said Dora. "If 

 they belonged to me I'd smother them, eat 

 what honey they have, and be done with it." 

 " Talk about feminine patience!" scoffed 

 Mac. 



"Patience!" repeated Dora, then paus- 

 ed. Words failed to express her indigna- 

 tion. 



The verj' next Saturday the bees " came 

 out" again and "settled." This time 

 Mac was at home. 



" Thank goodness!" Dora heaved a big 

 sigh of relief. " Now I do hope this will 

 end it so we can have a little peace." 



" A piece with honey on?" inquired Mac 

 facetiously, shrouding his now smiling 

 countenance in a monstrous combination of 

 screening and curtain stuff that, by way of 

 courtesy, he called a bee-bonnet. After he 

 had donned a rubber coat and a pair of 

 thick gloves, and tied his coat and trousers 

 about the wrists and ankles 

 with stout twine (not because 

 he was afraid — oh no! mere- 

 ly as a necessary precau- 

 tion) he was so eft'ectually 

 disguised that his own moth- 

 er would not have recognized 

 him had she happened to 

 meet him unwittingly else- 

 where. 



Such a ridiculous figure as he cut! Do- 

 ra laughed till she cried, and all the other 

 children danced about and shouted with 

 merriment. Mac said the noise they made 

 frightened the bees back into the hive. 

 Then Dora related how "grandpa" made 

 all the noise possible, even setting her to 

 drumming on an old tin pan when his bees 

 swarmed. 



For once Max was wroth with his bees. 



" Drat them, any way!" said he savage- 

 ly, pulling oft' his toggery. 



" Are you going to church this morning, 

 Mac? " asked Dora the following morning. 



Mac looked at her reproachfully, without 

 answering. But sometimes silence is more 

 eloquent than speech. Dora suppressed the 

 dimples that had begun to play about her 

 mouth, but she didn't offer to stay at hoiue 

 too; and probably because Mac was ready 

 and waiting, the bees observed that Sab- 

 bath in a proper fashion. 



Monday, as the iamily sat peacefully at 

 dinner, something lit in the 

 middle of the dining-room 

 floor with a loud resounding 

 whack. It was a large dark 

 object, and it came through 

 the open door with as much 

 velocity as if it had been 

 hurled from a catapult. 



Mac's mother screamed ; 

 the baby shrieked. Mac and 

 Dora looked at the object aghast; the other 

 children sat with open mouths; the cat, 

 that had been sunning itself on a window- 

 sill, arched its back, hissed, and made a 

 bee-line for the door. Mac's father stared 

 in astonishment for a second, then said: 



"Horatio, that's a funny way to come 

 into your uncle's house." 



" Jehoshaphat! " exclaimed the object, 

 which, after it had straightened itself out, 

 proved to be nothing more than a cousin of 

 Mac, a young law student, home from col- 

 lege for vacation. He stood awkwardly 

 rubbing the end of his nose, that was rap- 

 idlj' assuming the polish and proportions 

 of a door-knob. 



" O uncle! Shut the door, Mac! How 

 d'ye do, aunt? " 



He then limply subsided into a chair. 



Mac burst out laughing. 



" What's the matter with your nose, Ho- 

 ratio? " he asked. 



" What's the matter with your old bees?" 

 retorted Horatio, blowing on his handker- 

 chief, and dabbing the end of his nose with 

 the cooled portion. 



Dora ran for the ammonia, and Mac to 

 see about his bees. 



"There are about five thousand, redhot 

 upon the war-path out there," growled Ho- 

 ratio. "One stung me — I guess it was 

 only one — " somewhat doubtfully. " I hope 

 Mac'U get a dose of 'em — serve him right 

 for laughing," he added, spitefullj^ 



"They're swarming," explained Dora; 

 " and I hope they'll either finish it up or go 

 off to the woods." 



Horatio's wicked wish was fulfilled, for 



