1881 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTUKE. 



24o 



ly sliippecl to ;i distant city, but a sudden de- 

 mand for a nice article of onions so turned 

 things in his favor tliat they sold for about 

 $3000.00 cash, and our hero was owner of 

 the whole tract of land, a]id had money in 

 bank besides. Onions, onions, onions, was 

 the cry everywhere, and the next year every- 

 body Avent to raising onions. Losing sight 

 of the fact that oui" friend had not only se- 

 cured the very best ground for the crop, but 

 had put his whole life, soul, and bjains into 

 it, they expected to do likewise, l need not 

 tell you how they failed ; you have, most of 

 you, seen it. They were too lazy to pay the 

 price of the crop that he paid for his. Now, 

 the saddest part of it comes yet. The next 

 year he went to work to do the same thing 

 over again. Of course he could do it again, 

 if he had been all through it, and had done 

 it once. But he didn"t. I do not know 

 whether it was that so much success had 

 spoiled him, or whether it was accident that 

 favored him so much the first year ; but I do 

 know thftt, as I drove past his place in the 

 fall of the next year, I saw him idly sitting 

 on an empty basket in the middle of his field, 

 with a single hand with him, and this hand 

 also was sitting down in the rich black soil, 

 doing nothing. The onions had failed in a 

 great many places ; and where they had not, 

 they were small in size— some of them not 

 larger than hickory-nuts. AVorst of all, the 

 ground was covered with Aveeds. Our friend, 

 a young man, just in the prime of life, looked 

 like the fellow in the back of the ABC book, 

 who sits on a bee-hive, with a shingle say- 

 ing, " For Sale," sticking on a stake beside 

 him. All his enterprise and energy were 

 gone. Could it really be my friend of the 

 year before? 



I got out of my buggy, and went over into 

 the field. Said I, " Boys, why do you not 

 gather these onions, and get them oft to the 

 marketV" 



" They are so small it won't pay ; be- 

 sides, they won't bring over 25 cents a 

 bushel," 



" Why, my friend, 25 cents a bushel is bet- 

 ter than nothing. Fix them up nice and 

 send them off." 



lie laughed a sort of sickly smile, crumbled 

 some dirt in his fingers, and sat there in 

 misery. Of course, he was in misery. Any- 

 body is who sits doAvn on the bottom of an 

 empty basket and says, " It won't pay." 



I plucked a little one, and rubbed the skin 

 oft'. It was beautifully white and nice, and 

 all at once it came into my head that these 

 were exactly the thing for the little onion 

 pickles we buy so often at the groceries. 



" Look here, my friend, you can save your- 

 self yet by making these small onions into 

 pickles. I have paid 40 cents for a quart 

 bottle of them, over and over again, and if 

 you Avill just work the thing up you can 

 make as good pickles as any of them." 



" I haven't got any bottles." 



" Jjut you can get bottles at a litt'e ex- 

 pense. There is plenty of time for you to 

 put up some samples. Take them or send 

 them around, and get orders." And as I 

 saw the acres of nice small onions scattered 

 about, it seemed to me just as if I would 

 like no better fun than to go into this pickle 



business. But he didn't, and I have since 

 heard that he has become a bankrupt and 

 gone to Texas. The success of that one 

 season has very likely ruined him for life. 



Well, now you know how Mr. Merrybanks 

 came to live in Onionville. 



"Well, Mr. Merrybanks wintered his 25 

 colonies with the loss of only two. His 

 neighbor wintered his 20 colonies, and saved 

 only tAvo. More than that, he Avas out of 

 work, and had been for some months. While 

 brooding over his misfortune of being out 

 of AA^n-k, and almost out of bees too, he 

 smoked almost incessantly, and his tobacco 

 bill Avas getting to be quite a little item, es- 

 pecially Avhere there Avas no income. His 

 good AA'ife took in Avashing when she could 

 get it ; helped some of the near neighbors to 

 clean house during the pleasant spring 

 months; seAved carpet-rags, and did eA^ery 

 thing she could think of to keep up appear- 

 ances, and have John and Mary at least Jialf 

 AA'ay presentable Avhen they Aventto Sabbath- 

 school over to the little church, and hoped 

 and prayed for better things. Yes, prayed 

 for better things. She had never belonged 

 to any church, for in her childhood she had 

 hardly known AA^hat want was. Years had 

 made changes. She was far aAvay from her 

 former home and friends. None seemed to 

 care for her or their family particularly, un- 

 less it was kind-hearted Merrybanks, To 

 AA'hom should she go in her trouble? In one 

 of Mary's little Sunday-school books she had 

 read of answers to prayer ; and from that, 

 in her late trouble she had taken to reading 

 her Bible, 



"Come over and see our pail bee-hive," 

 This was the salutation that caused the fam- 

 ily to look around suddenly one May morn- 

 ing ; and as they did so, they saw friend ]SI, 

 at the open door, and John just behind him, 

 Avitli a smile on his face almost as broad as 

 the one Ave saw when he had climbed down 

 out of the tree Avith that SAvarm of bees. 

 John's father arose in a sort of listless, ab- 

 sent Avay, but Mary and her mother got their 

 things with a cheerful willingness that 

 shoAved they expected to see some thing 

 pleasant at least, and all followed John, 

 who could hardly restrain his impatience as 

 they crossed the road over to their neighbor's 

 a little beyond. Under the broad spreading 

 limbs of a large apple-tree w^as a rustic seat 

 where John's father and mother sat down. 

 At a little distance two stout stakes had 

 been driven, so that their tops were about 

 tAVO feet above the ground. On the top of 

 each Avas a common wooden pail, laid on its 

 side in a hollow cut in the top of the stake. 

 To keep it in place securely, a piece of hoop 

 iron Avas nailed to each side of the stake, so 

 as to pass over the pail. To keep the pail 

 from getting loose by any possibility, after 

 it Avas croAvded tightly into the hoop attached 

 to the stake, a cou])le of tinned tacks Avere 

 pushed into the Avood, back of the hoop. The 

 hollOAVs in the tops of the stakes were so 

 made that the bottom of the pail stood ex- 

 actly perpendicular. 



One of the pails had an entrance made 

 through the bottom of it, like the pail hive 

 Ave saAV put inside of the barrel. The other 

 permitted the bees to pass out just under 



