The Road to Dumbiedykes 



reader will of course not infer from 

 this that I am classing batrachians as 

 insects. Far be it from me thus to 

 insult the vastly more intellectual bug 

 creation. 



Speaking of bees, one day last sum- 

 mer a swarm from off some neighboring 

 farm settled down at Dumbiedykes, 

 and, without as much as saying, "By 

 your leave," took possession of that 

 now famous hole in the burr oak tree, 

 where so many birds and the fated 

 flying-squirrels had preceded them. 

 A brood of golden woodpeckers had 

 hatched and gone. Of that I was 

 sincerely glad. They were a noisy 

 generation, and the chattering of the 

 youngsters while the mother sought 

 to still their throats and stuff their 

 stomachs at last got somewhat on our 

 nerves. 



The bees, however, are ideal neigh- 

 bors. I always did get on well with 

 bees. My father was an enthusiastic 

 beeman when I was a lad at home, and 

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