88 
FOLLOWING THE BEE LINE 
fly to safety—if possible. . . . But how to turn 
around in a narrow country road? 
We came to a neighbor’s circular driveway and 
around it we swung, at a dead gallop, like Buffalo 
Bill on the Deadwood coach. 
Out of the corner of my eye I could see two 
dogs jump high in the air, then run and howl. 
On we went. A lady approached in her surrey, 
with a decorous coachman in charge. I composed 
myself and bowed sedatelv as we passed—but I 
did not dare look back! 
We drew near our stable and I began shouting 
to a man outside. He recognized the urgency in 
my tone, and when I drew rein, he undid the traces 
on one side of the horse and I the other in record 
time, and we ran the poor trembling animal into 
the stable and shut the door behind us. 
The bees, left outside in the buggy, raised riot. 
Men ran in from the garden tearing bees out of 
their hair. The butcher’s boy came jogging along 
with his feet on the dasher and a cigarette drooping 
from his lip. In an instant the feet came down, the 
cigarette fell, and the whip was pulled from its 
socket and descended on Dobbin’s back. They dis¬ 
appeared in a cloud of dust. 
Till things quieted down a little I just sat in 
