THE PIRATE’S CAVE
While the Bobbsey twins and Sam, standing near Mrs. Bobbsey, watched,
the peach-grower suddenly jarred the branch on which had gathered the
runaway bees, clustered about their queen like faithful subjects. Down
dropped the buzzing brown mass of honey-gatherers into the open hive
box.
“You got most of ’em!” shouted Jason Stern, as, with a quick motion, he
clapped the cover on the hive and started drawing the cart away.
“Won’t the bees get out the little front door?” asked Flossie, for she
had noticed that the hive box had a slit at the bottom.
“I stopped that up before I put the hive on the cart,” said Mr. Stern.
“The bees are safely caged now--that is all but a few that got away.”
The children could see a few of the insects, which had not fallen into
the hive, flying around the tree and around the white box that now
contained the queen and thousands of workers. Perhaps these stray bees
were wondering where their monarch had disappeared to.
“Don’t wheel your cart over toward the children,” warned Mr. Watson,
as he climbed down out of the tree. “Some of the stray bees may sting
them.”
“I’ll be careful,” said the bee-man. He puffed into the air around the
hive some smoke from the smoker, and this served to drive away the
humming bees that, after circling about for a while, flew off in the
direction of the orchard.
“They’ll go back to the old hive,” Mr. Watson said, as he took off
his veil and gloves, for there was no longer need of them. “And the
bees and the queen in this new hive will start making the wax cells
into which they will put honey a little later. I’m glad you saw this
swarm and came to tell me, boys,” he said to Sam and Bert. “It’s worth
quite a few dollars, or will be this fall when the hive is filled with
honey.”
“I like honey,” remarked Freddie, looking carefully at Mr. Watson to
make sure no bees had followed him. But none had.
“Well, I’ll send you some when you get back home,” promised the
peach-grower.
“That was very interesting,” said Mrs. Bobbsey as she turned to take
the path across the fields to Cloverbank. “Bees are very smart little
creatures.”
“And they’ll make you smart if they sting you!” said Bert.
“Oh, that’s a good joke!” exclaimed Nan, with a laugh. “I’m going to
put that in my composition.”
“You can put in about your brother catching a big fish, too,” said Sam.
“He got the biggest one of the lot.”
“Oh, did you?” cried Nan. “I’m glad of that. And I can write about it.
Oh, I do hope I win that prize!” she went on.
“I hate to write compositions,” declared Sam to Bert. “Don’t you?”
“I sure do,” was the answer. “I’d rather go fishing any day!”
From a safe distance, when they had gone back to the little bee-farm,
the children watched the hive of runaways and their captive queen set
down amid the rows of other busy insects. The piece of wood that had
blocked the “front door” was taken away and soon the members of the new
colony of honey-gatherers were flying out and in.
Then Mr. Stern brought out some honey, from the crop of the previous
season, and gave the Bobbsey twins and Sam a treat.
“Lots has happened to-day,” remarked Bert, when Sam had gone home
after getting his string of fish from the cellar and the children were
sitting on the porch of the farmhouse, waiting for the evening meal,
which was almost ready.
“I’m glad of it,” announced Nan, who was writing with an old, big
geography book on her knees. “I’m making a list of the different
things,” she went on, “and I’m going to put the best of them in my
composition. Tell me how you felt, Bert, when you pulled out the big
fish.”
“Oh, I felt fine!” he answered, with a laugh.
“I wish I could catch a fish,” sighed Freddie. “I’m kind of tired
playing with my fire engine.”
“I’ll take you fishing to-morrow,” promised Bert. “I know a dandy place
now. Sam showed me.”
“I wouldn’t go to-morrow,” said Mrs. Bobbsey.
“Why not?” Bert wanted to know.
“Because that’s the day Daddy promised to take you to the woods for a
picnic.”
“Oh, so it is!” cried Bert. “I forgot about that. We’ll go fishing some
other time, Freddie.”
“All right,” agreed the little boy. “Picnics are just as nice as fish.”
“Nicer, I think,” Flossie said. “’Cause you can eat at picnics and you
can’t eat fish!”
“Sure, you can eat fish!” exclaimed Bert. “What did I catch ’em for if
they aren’t to be eaten?”
“Well, I don’t like to eat fish,” Flossie went on; “so I’d rather have
a picnic.”
“We’ll go to-morrow,” promised her mother.
Mrs. Martin came out on the porch, looking from side to side anxiously.
“Have you found your glasses yet?” asked Nan.
“No, dearie, I haven’t,” was the answer. “And I feel quite lost without
them. I can’t read a word. You children haven’t seen them anywhere,
have you?”
None of the Bobbseys had, though, led by Nan, Flossie and Freddie gave
another search about the house and the side porch. But the old lady’s
glasses seemed to have vanished completely, and she did not know what
to do about getting another pair.
“I guess I’ll just have to wait until my doctor comes back in the
fall,” she said, with a sigh.
The next day proved to be a bright and sunshiny one--just the best kind
for a picnic.
Mrs. Watson decided to take Baby Jenny with them on the outing, and
soon after breakfast she and the little one joined the Bobbsey family
in Mr. Bobbsey’s auto. They were to go to a glen about ten miles away,
there to spend the day. In the glen, or little valley between two high,
rocky places, was a waterfall, much larger than the one in the brook
where Bert had placed his wooden mill.
“I wish I had made a bigger paddle wheel so I could fasten it under the
big waterfall we are going to see,” said Bert, when they were almost
ready to start.
“It would have to be a big paddle, for there is quite a fall in
Buttermilk Glen,” Mrs. Watson said, with a laugh.
“Why do they call it that?” asked Nan.
“Because some one thought the water, falling over the ledge of rocks,
looked like buttermilk, I suppose,” was the answer. “Do you want to
go to Nan?” the mother asked Baby Jenny who was holding out her hands
toward Bert’s twin sister. “Well, I guess you may.” So, to her delight,
Nan was allowed to hold the baby during part of the auto ride to
Buttermilk Glen.
Baskets of food had been packed, for the picnic was to last all day and
they would eat in the woods, the prospect of which gave the twins joy
and delight.
“We’ll have more peaches picked ready for you to sort when you get
back,” Mr. Watson called to the picnic party as they drove away. “I
never had such a big crop.”
“We’ll help you to-morrow,” promised Bert.
Buttermilk Glen was soon reached. It was a picnic ground well known for
miles around, though when those from Cloverbank arrived they had the
place to themselves.
“I hear the waterfall!” cried Freddie as soon as they alighted from the
auto at the entrance to the glen. The road was too rough to drive all
the way up into the place.
“Yes, that’s it,” said Mrs. Watson. “It’s very pretty when the water is
high; and in winter, when it freezes, it is even more beautiful. But I
know some one who is sleepy!” she went on in a singing voice.
“I’m not!” quickly cried Flossie. “I didn’t come here to sleep.”
“She means Jenny,” whispered Nan, and, sure enough, the little one’s
head was nodding and her eyes were closing. Her mother wrapped Jenny in
a blanket and put her down under a tree, while Mr. Bobbsey got out the
lunch baskets and the Bobbsey twins scattered here and there to play.
“You may have fun for about two hours, and then we’ll eat,” said Mrs.
Bobbsey. “After lunch you may play about some more before we start for
home.”
With shouts of delight the boys and girls began exploring the picnic
ground. They had never been there before, and there was much to see
and admire.
“We’ll climb up the sides and get to the top of the waterfall after
lunch,” Bert decided. “Maybe I can fish up there. It’s a big fall--too
big for my little paddle wheel in the brook. But maybe I could make a
big wheel that would turn here.”
A path led up one side of the cliff a little distance below the fall,
and up this, Mrs. Watson said, the children could make their way to the
top of the fall.
But there was plenty to see down below, and what with exploring,
finding pretty stones, and wading barefooted in little pools, the four
had lots of fun.
After a time Bert and Freddie found themselves some distance up in the
glen, which divided into two parts--one where the stream ran down the
center, and another part where it was dry. Flossie and Nan had gone
back to their mother and father, who sat talking with Mrs. Watson.
“Look, there’s a cave!” suddenly exclaimed Freddie, pointing to a dark
opening in the rocky side of the gorge.
“So it is!” agreed Bert. “A regular pirate’s cave, I’ll say! Let’s go
in!”
Freddie hesitated a moment. The place looked dark and not very inviting.
“Oh, I don’t guess I want to,” Freddie said.
“Well, I’m going in,” Bert declared. “I want to see what’s there.
Nothing can hurt you,” he went on. “Even if a pirate was there once
he’s gone now.”
“You go in first, and then maybe I will,” Freddie suggested. So Bert
disappeared into the blackness. Freddie was just going to ask if
everything was all right when Bert suddenly shouted:
“Oh! Oh! I’m falling! Oh, Freddie!”
Then the older boy’s voice died away and Freddie was left alone,
outside the pirate’s cave.