A Hive of Busy Bees Part 8

Grandpa had caught the pigs so easily--only once or twice had he had to try a second time. "I don't see how you could catch them when they were running away from you," said Don. "I couldn't catch them if they were standing still."

"Perhaps not," said Grandpa. "But I can catch you if you try to get away from me. Just try it."

At that, Don began to run as fast as he could; but he had not gone far when he felt the rope slip over his shoulders, and he was lifted off his feet.

"What fun!" shouted Joyce. "Now try it on me."

Grandpa spent quite a while catching first one and then the other. Joyce was the hardest to catch, for after a few times she learned how to dodge the rope.

"Why did you put those little pigs in the pen?" asked Don, following close at his heels.

"They are getting in the cornfield," answered Grandpa, "and eating too much of my corn."

"But can't you keep them out?" asked Don.

"No," said Grandpa; "for when I mend one place in the fence, the little pigs are sure to find another place big enough to squeeze through. So the only way I can keep them out is to pen them up. Don, you may carry water for the little pigs--and they will need plenty, too, because it is so warm."

That pleased Don, and he began at once to fill the trough which Grandpa had placed in the pen.

That evening, Grandpa and Grandma and the children sat on the porch, listening to the chirp of the katydids and the call of the whippoorwills.

"Grandma," said Don, "what kind of bee will you tell us about tonight?"

"Bee Sleepy, and go to bed," said Grandpa, with a wink at Grandma.

The children laughed. "No," said Don, "I don't want to hear about that bee--not yet."

"All right," said Grandma, "we'll have our story first; but we must begin right away, because it is almost bedtime. The bee I am thinking about tonight comes often to us all--especially to little children.

"Once there was a boy named Alfred who was the only child in his home.

He was very selfish; and often he was determined to have his own way.

But he had his good points, too.

"Alfred lived in the country; and during the Christmas holidays, he visited a friend of his who lived in the city. Then his friend in turn visited him during the summer vacation.

"As soon as his company came, Alfred thought it was quite too much for his mother to ask him to help her. He forgot how very ill she had been, and how frail she still was. Indeed, it was hard for him to think of anything but having a good time with his friend.

"The two boys had planned to spend a certain day at the creek, fis.h.i.+ng.

Of course they were eager to start as early as they could that morning.

After they had gathered together everything that they needed for their trip, they went out to the kitchen and found Alfred's mother packing a lunch for them.

"'Alfred,' she said, 'I wish you would help me a little with the work before you go. I am afraid that I shall not be able to do it all alone.

Would you mind stopping long enough to wash the dishes and clean up the kitchen for me?'

"Alfred began to pout, but his mother continued, 'I really wish you were not going fis.h.i.+ng today. Your father will be away all day; and I would rather not be left alone, for I do not feel as well as usual. But I will not keep you, if you will wash the dishes before you go.'

"'Now, Mother,' said Alfred angrily, 'why do you ask me to do that, when you know I want to get started early? If I have to wait half the day, I don't care to go at all.'

"Just then the bee began to buzz about Alfred's ears. 'Help your mother!

Help your mother!' it said. But Alfred did not pay any attention. 'Let the dishes go,' he cried. 'I don't care whether they are ever washed or not.' And picking up the lunch which his mother had packed so nicely for him, he started toward the creek. He did not even look back to say 'good -by.'

"The boys found fis.h.i.+ng very good that day. They caught a fine string of trout, ate their lunch, and in the middle of the afternoon were ready to start for home. Alfred was much pleased with their catch, and on the way home he said over and over, 'Won't Mother be glad we went fis.h.i.+ng today, when she sees our string of trout? She is so fond of trout.' But even while he was saying it, he could not forget the tired look on his mother's face, or the hurt look in her eyes when he had refused to wash the dishes for her.

"When the boys reached the house, it seemed strangely quiet. They found the dishes cleared away, and the kitchen neatly swept. Alfred's mother was lying on the couch, and she seemed to be resting very comfortably.

"'See, Mother,' said Alfred, 'isn't this a nice string of trout?'

"But Mother did not answer. Alfred spoke to her again. Still no answer.

He touched her hand then, and found it icy-cold.

"Then the awful truth dawned upon him--his mother was dead! She had died while he was fis.h.i.+ng; but she had done the work that she had asked her boy to do.

"All his life, poor Alfred felt the sting of the bee that had buzzed about him on that summer morning. What hurt him most deeply was that he would never again have a chance to help his frail little mother who had done so much for him."

"I'm so glad," said Joyce, "that I still have my mother, and that I can do things for her when she is tired."

"It's a sad story, Grandma," said little Don, "but I'm glad you told it to us. I'm going to remember it always."

Bee Grateful

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Another morning came to the farm--another day for the children to roam about the fields and enjoy themselves in G.o.d's big, free out-of-doors.

How much more pleasant than having to play in their own yard in the city, these hot summer days!

In that long-ago time when the children's mother had lived on the farm, Grandpa had given her a pony of her own to ride to school in the village.

Old Ned was still on the place. Grandpa was always ready to saddle and bridle him, whenever the children wished to go for a ride.

Today, as the children wandered to the back of the orchard, wis.h.i.+ng for something to do, Ned stood on the other side of the fence and neighed at them. That gave Don an idea.

"O Joyce!" he cried, "let's ride Ned around in the pasture."

"Without a saddle?" exclaimed Joyce.

"Of course," answered Don in his most grown up tone. "Why not?"

"All right," said Joyce a little doubtfully.

They went out through the barn lot, leaving the gate open behind them.

Then, letting down the bars, they soon found themselves in the pasture.

Joyce led old Ned to the fence, holding to his mane. She climbed up on the fence, and then onto the horse's back. Don quickly climbed on behind her.

In his younger days, Ned had been taught a number of tricks, which he still remembered. He would shake hands, and nod his head, and ride up the steps. And when a rider was on his back, if he gripped his knees in Ned's sides, the old horse would gallop away as fast as he could.

Always, before this, the children had ridden with a saddle; and so they had never had to hold fast with their knees. But today Joyce knew she would have to hold on tightly, so she pressed her knees hard against old Ned's sides. Instantly he started to gallop across the pasture. He went up the lane, through the open gate into the barn lot, and on to the watering trough. Joyce still held to his mane with all her might, gripping him tightly with her knees. Don bounced up and down behind her, with his arms about her waist.