GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE 



Febrl'ary, 1919 



ANNE LESTER and DADDY LOWE, BEEKEEPERS 



By Grace Allen — Chapter I 



THE Second Officers' Training Camp had 

 bestowed its commissions, and the 

 young men were leaving for home. 

 Eobert Lester, wearing his new captain 's 

 bars, and young Jack Lowe, proud and en- 

 thusiastic in his first lieutenant's uniform, 

 sat together on the northbound train and 

 talked over their plans. A fine friendship 

 had sprung up between the two, and now 

 Jack was urging the other to drop off at 

 SjJringville to spend a day or two with him 

 at the farm, before going on to his own city 

 home. 



' ' Can 't do it, Jack, ' ' Eobert replied, 

 thanking him- "I'm not going to do a 

 thing till Anne gets settled. You see when 

 a girl hasn 't anybody but her brother, and 

 he 's likely to get orders for France any 

 day — " 



' ' Of course, ' ' Jack agreed. 



"1 don't know what she'll do," Eobert 

 continued. "She's not the kind to do 

 nothing. Mother died five years ago, when 

 Anne was fifteen, but she kept the old ser- 

 vant and stepped right into being house- 

 keeper for Father and me. Then when 

 Father died, nearly two years ago, we just 

 kept right on, we two, the same way, with 

 old Maggie to do the work and Anne to boss 

 things and keep them running smooth — and 

 by Jove, she does make a home homey. But 



now . Well, she 's talked about getting 



a job. But you know you couldn 't imagine 

 Anne in a regular job. Women do such 

 things, of course, and Anne 's as smart as a 

 whip — but she 's not that kind, somehow. 

 She's different." 



' ' Of course, ' ' Jack said again, vaguely. 

 Then presently, "What does your sister 

 seem to care most for. Bob?" 



* ' Outdoors and books — says she wishes 

 her family 'd been farmers instead of bank- 

 ers. " 



"Outdoors and books? Well, if that's 

 not my Daddy! " Then suddenly Jack turn- 

 ed, with his face shining. "I've got it. 

 Bob! Send her to live with my folks while 

 we're both gone!" 



Bob smiled. ' ' Anne 's not the kind you 

 ' send,' Jack- " 



"Well, I bet she and Dad'd be regular 

 pals. And she'd just love my Mother. And 

 Mother 'd love her, too. You see" — looking 

 very young and embarrassed — " I 'm all 

 they've got, and it's going to be hard for 

 them, too." 



"But they're comj^lete strangers. Jack," 

 Bob protested. 



' ' Well, they wouldn 't be long. Nobody 

 is, with Dad. I tell you. Bob, it's an in- 

 spiration! You can see, yourself, how fine 

 it would be for my folks; and as for your 

 sister, there she'd be, right on a farm, 

 with plenty of outdoors and books. Books 

 and Dad and Jong winter evenings! Bob, 



you don't know my Daddy! He's a bee- 

 keeper! " 



' ' Would that make Anne especially keen 

 about him?" inquired Captain Bob politely. 



"Would it? Well, I guess yes! 'Out- 

 doors and books'! Sounds as if Dad had 

 said it. If there's anything he likes better 

 than a book, it 's another book. Philosophy, 

 religion, poetry, science, and of course 

 everything about bees. Then in the spring 

 and summer when the bees themselves get 

 to humming round in the orchard and clover 

 — well, I've got a hunch he and Miss Anne 

 are a pair. That is, if she's not scary. Bees 

 do sting — even Dad 's sometimes- ' ' 



"Hm! You said I didn't know your 

 father," Bob remarked scornfully; "Well, 

 you don 't know my sister. Anne 's not the 

 scary kind. But, look here. Jack, she won 't 

 want to go live with strangers." 



The young lieutenant solemnly rose. 

 ' ' Captain Eobert Lester, ' ' he began, salut- 

 ing pompously, "I have invited you to visit 

 me at my home. You're crazy to come, be- 

 cause you're awfully fond of me, naturally. 

 But you won 't leave your sister. So I 

 hereby formally invite your sister, too. So 

 does Mother. Sure she does. She always 

 does. All my friends and their families 

 have a standing invitation from Mother. 

 You 've only to tell your sister that if you 

 stay there in town, you'll be so eternally 

 lionized, with those two new silver bars of 

 yours, that you'll never get a minute alone 

 with her; while out there on that farm, you 

 two can take endless tramps together, un- 

 interrupted,' and plan things all out — be- 

 cause your dear friend promised you so. 

 And your dear friend is a gentleman and — 

 get it right. Bob — and an officer. ' ' 



"Jack, you're too modest. But you're a 

 brick at that, and I'm much obliged- I'll 

 just try that on Anne now, sure enough. 

 But suppose she should decline? Maybe 

 she wouldn 't care for the country in win- 

 ter. ' ' 



' ' You may know reveille from taps, Cap 'n 

 Bob, but you 're none too smart at that. 

 Folks that love outdoors love it for itself, 

 not for its trimmings — it doesn 't have to be 

 appleblossomtime forever. Why, my old 

 Daddy can discover colors all over' a winter 

 landscape, when the earth 's as bare and 

 brown as dirty khaki!" 



"So can Anne," grinned Captain Bob. 

 ' ' We '11 likely come. ' ' 



' ' And if Dad doesn 't do the rest, my 

 name's not Jack Lowe." 



About ten days later Dad did the rest — 

 or he and Anne together did it, to the great 

 delight of the two young men. They were 

 standing, the four of them, at the far end 

 of the woods lot; the sun had slipped down 

 behind the hill, and the sky behind the bare 

 maple was aflame. For a minute they were 



