A LITTLE KNOWLEDGE, WELL EARNED.
“A false alarm, boys!” sang out the envious Giraffe, as they all came
hurrying up to the spot where Bumpus was dancing about excitedly, with a
wide grin on his rosy fat face.
“It is, hey?” declared the discoverer, indignantly; “well, you just wait
and see what Allan here says. There’s the tree it’s in; and if you put on
your specs, Giraffe, p’raps even you c’n see the swarm buzzin’ around up
yonder.”
“He’s right, boys,” declared Allan, quickly; “even before I look I can
hear the noise that tells the truth. We’ve found our bee tree; and the
honor goes after all to our chum, Bumpus.”
“Hurrah for Bumpus!” exclaimed Step Hen, pounding the fat scout on the
back, after the custom of boys in general.
They were all soon able to locate the buzzing sound, and gaped up with
growing eagerness at the place where the swarm was in motion.
“Looks like a big hive, too,” ventured Giraffe.
“You never can tell,” Allan declared; “but from the signs I wouldn’t be
surprised if it was an old one, and just stocked to the doors with
honey.”
“Wow! that suits me,” Giraffe went on; “I can stand it every meal, right
along. Never yet did get enough of the stuff.”
“But it’s awful high up,” ventured Step Hen. “How under the sun will we
ever climb up there, and dig it out?”
“Don’t have to,” remarked Bumpus, placidly; “that tree’s just got to be
chopped down, so’s to let us scoop up all the stuff we can carry back
home.”
“But it’s a whopper of a tree,” Step Hen went on; “and who’s goin’ to
chop it down, I’d like to know?”
“Oh!” remarked Bumpus, pleasantly, “that was all fixed long ago. You may
remember that once Giraffe here promised to chop down the tree, if ever I
located a hive. Well, there’s the tree; so get busy, Giraffe. It’s a
pretty hefty axe, too, I should think; but you know how to swing one.
I’ll sit down on this log, and see how you get on; because I’ve done my
part.”
Giraffe started to answer back; then thought better of it; and seizing
hold of the axe that Jim the guide carried, he started to hack the tree.
But Giraffe was no woodsman, and made such a sorry mess of it that Jim
finally took pity on him. He knew the scout would never get that tree
down in a day, judging from the clumsy way he started in. Besides, there
would be danger of the amateur chopper bringing it down on himself. It
takes an experienced woodsman to judge how a tree is inclined to fall.
One of these fellows can drop a tree almost in any exact place he wants,
unless the slant of the trunk is entirely too great to be overcome by
judicious work with the axe.
From time to time Allan “spelled” the guide, for he knew how to handle an
axe to some advantage. And the others stood around, watching with
interest the clever way in which the sharp axe cut into the wood, exactly
on a line with preceding strokes.
“I could never learn to do that in a coon’s age,” admitted Bumpus.
“But I mean to, and before I quit these here Maine woods,” declared
Giraffe. “A feller that’s as fond of fires as me, ought to know how to
chop down a tree, so’s to always have plenty of wood for burnin’.”
“And I can see the finish of these grand woods, after _you_ do learn
how,” remarked Step Hen, a little sarcastically. “You’ll never rest as
long as there’s one tree left to burn.”
“Hey, she’s shivering, now; better look out, fellers, because that tree’s
goin’ to come down right soon!” called out Bumpus, edging away.
After a little more work Jim made the rest all get back beyond the danger
line, in case the tree did chance to swing around; which he knew would
not be the case; because Jim had once been a logger, and doubtless felled
hundreds of larger trees than this one.
With a crash it came plunging down, just where the man with the axe had
said he meant to drop it.
“Whoop! Hurrah!” shrilled the excited Bumpus, who held a kettle in his
hands; and carried away by the thrill of the moment, he forgot all the
warning he had received from Allan, plunging straight toward the upper
part of the tree.
“Split wide open, fellers, and oh! my, just look at the honey spilled all
over the ground! What a wicked waste. Oh! Oh!”
“Come back from there!” shouted Jim.
It was too late. Bumpus was in the midst of the excited swarm of bees
that had started to whirl around, dazed at first by the sudden
catastrophe that had overtaken their house, but rapidly becoming
furiously angry.
“Look at the silly, would you?” cried Step Hen, staring aghast at Bumpus,
who had already started to fill his receptacle with the honey comb that
lay around, partly broken by the fall of the tree.
“They’re after him!” shrieked Giraffe, who thought it a comical sight to
see the fat boy trying to gather up the sweet stuff with one hand, while
the other was busily engaged slapping at the insects that began to get
their work in on various parts of his anatomy.
Finally even the fortitude of Bumpus gave way before the onslaught of
that army of angry bees, each member of which was armed with a sting that
could make things exceedingly interesting for the intruder.
So Bumpus began a masterly retreat. At first he clung to his spoils; and
then, finding that he needed a dozen arms to ward off the savage little
insects he dropped his plunder, and set out on a wild run, kicking and
slapping at a tremendous rate.
Giraffe laughed heartily at the sight. He had advanced much further than
the others, before realizing that the example of Bumpus was reckless, and
Step Hen’s calling warned him to pull up.
In the midst of his merriment Giraffe was seen to give a vicious lunge at
the side of his head; this was followed by another, and another, as more
bees found him out; until with a yell he too had to seek safety in
flight, his long arms waving every which way, like flails on a barn
floor; or the wings of a Dutch windmill in action.
It was a pair of very contrite boys that presently asked Allan’s advice
as to what was best for bee stings. Step Hen himself could not keep from
grinning at the enlarged appearance of their heads, and even gave them
some fatherly advice about the folly of being so conceited, and having
such swelled heads over a little thing like that.
But Allan found some mud on the border of a nearby pond, with which he
plastered their hurts in the good old-fashioned way known to the early
pioneers. After which there were two of the most comical looking fellows
ever seen wearing the uniform of Boy Scouts. All the same, the cool mud
did seem to ease the terrible burning caused by the stings, and Allan
said it would in a measure take out the poison.
“No more rheumatism cures for me, I tell you,” remarked Giraffe. “Whew! I
guess the remedy is some worse than the disease. And can’t those little
beggars just poke it into you, though? Every time one stung me, I felt
like he was pushing a six-inch knife into me, and heated red hot at that.
Honey, oh! yes, I like you; but I’d rather buy it in the market after
this.”
“But don’t think of giving up so soon,” remarked Step Hen. “I’m dead sure
Allan here knows of a way to get all the honey we want, and never be
stung once, don’t you, Allan?”
“I’ll show you how it’s done,” replied the other, “though in the summer
time the bee hunters often carry a piece of mosquito netting along, which
they fasten over their hats, so the insects can’t get at them. But
there’s another way. Bees are in deadly fear of smoke. All bee men give
them a few puffs of smoke before they open the hive.”
“What does that do, stupefy the poor little critters?” asked Step Hen,
who did not know as much about bees as even Bumpus.
“Why, you see,” volunteered the latter, wishing to air his knowledge,
“bees, as soon as they scent smoke, believe their hive is on fire. Every
feller gets busy right away, loading up with honey. And when they’re
doing that, they won’t take any notice of other things, so they c’n be
handled easy enough. I know somethin’ ’bout bees, because we got a new
fangled hive at home.”
“Huh! I just guess you know more about ’em right now than ever you did
before, Bumpus,” chuckled Step Hen, who had not been stung once; “and
it’s been impressed on you pretty strong, too, so’s to keep you from
forgettin’ the same. After this you ain’t agoin’ to romp into a hive of
bees that’s been upset, not in a hurry.”
“Allan, s’pose you get busy with that smoke,” remarked Bumpus, disdaining
to appear to notice this slur on his capacity for bee lore.
“We’d better wait a little longer,” the other advised; “so we can get
closer. They’ll quiet down in a little while, and then we can make the
fire on the windward side, so that the smoke must drift right across the
hive.”
Presently he set them to work collecting just the kind of fuel he wanted,
and which was calculated to make a dense smoke. When this smudge was
started going it seemed to set the bees working with feverish eagerness
to load themselves down with honey. No one ever has learned just why they
do this, unless it is the desire to save enough food for self support;
because they never attempt to rescue any of the young brood in the cells.
“Ain’t it near time now?” asked the impatient Bumpus, whom even the
swollen condition of his neck and cheeks did not seem to entirely cure of
that eager desire to snatch the fruits of his victory from the savage
little army of protectors.
“A little longer, and then we can set to work. Better let Jim and me do
the main part of it, boys. You might be too excited; and it’s always that
kind of a fellow the bees tackle. I’ve known bee keepers who handle their
hives day in and day out all season, and seldom get a sting. They’re
cool, and never make a false move, such as knocking the box, or coughing,
or any sort of sound that will anger the insects.”
He went on to tell them some interesting facts connected with the finding
of bee trees, which he had either heard from the lips of others, or
witnessed himself.
Ten minutes passed, and Bumpus was growing impatient again, when Allan
remarked:
“Now, the time is up, I guess; and if you keep back of us, and hand us
the buckets, Jim and myself can begin to get some of that clear stuff,
which looks like this season’s make. It won’t take only a little time
till we fill everything we brought, and there must be a ton of the stuff,
all told, in this big old hive.”
Even Giraffe forgot his late unpleasantness as he again advanced nearer
the spot where the stores of scattered sweetness lay.