Chapter 1

This eBook was produced by Joel Erickson, Charles Franks, Juliet Sutherland

A HIVE of BUSY BEES

Effie M. Williams

TABLE OF CONTENTS

How It Happened

The Sting of the Bee

Bee Obedient

Bee Honest

Bee Truthful

Bee Kind

Bee Polite

Bee Gentle

Bee Helpful

Bee Grateful

Bee Loving

Bee Content

Bee Prayerful

Home Again

How It Happened

"The sun's gone under a cloud," called Grandpa cheerily over his shoulder, as he came into the dining room.

Grandma, following close behind, answered laughingly, "Why, my dear, this is the brightest day we've had for two weeks!"

"But look at Don's face," said Grandpa soberly, "and Joyce's too, for that matter"--glancing from one to the other.

"Children, children," said Grandma kindly, "do tell us what is wrong."

No answer.

"Only," said Daddy at last, "that they are thinking about next summer."

Grandpa threw back his white head, then, and laughed his loud, hearty laugh. "You little trouble-borrowers," he cried, "worrying about next summer! Why, only day before yesterday was Christmas; and by the looks of the dolls, and trains, and picture-books lying all over the house--"

"But, Grandpa," said Don in a small voice, trying not to cry, "summer will be here before we know it--you said so this morning yourself; and Daddy says he's going north on a fishing trip--"

"--And so," added Joyce sorrowfully, "Don and I can't go to the farm and stay with you as we did last year, and the year before last, and every year since we can remember."

Joyce looked anxiously from one face to another. Daddy's eyes were twinkling. Mother looked rather sorry, and so did Grandma. But she knew at once, by the look on Grandpa's face that _he_ understood. He only nodded his white head wisely. "I see," he said. And some way, after that, Joyce felt that it would come out all right.

It did.

On the last morning that Grandpa and Grandma were there, Daddy said at the breakfast table--quite suddenly, as if he had just thought of it-- "Mother, suppose we let the children choose for themselves. You and I will go to the lake next summer, and catch the big fish; but if they would be happier on the old farm, why--"

"Oo-oo-ooh!" cried Joyce delightedly. "Don, you and I may go to Grandpa's house next summer, if we like!"

"How do you know?" said Don rather crossly. "Daddy hasn't said that we could."

"Why, he said it just now--didn't you, Daddy?"

"Not exactly; but that's what I was going to say," said Daddy, smiling into Joyce's shining eyes.

After that, it wasn't a bit hard to tell Grandpa and Grandma good-by. "Only until next summer," whispered Joyce when she kissed Grandma for the last time.

Long months followed, but June came at last. One happy day the children came home and threw their books down on the table; and Don raced through the house singing the last song he had learned at school:

"School is done! school is done! Toss up caps and have a run!"

"And now," said Mother that night, "we must begin to get ready for our trips. Are you sure, children, that you still want to go to Grandma's?"

"Sure!" whooped Don, dancing about the room; while Joyce answered quietly, "You know, Mother, that nothing could ever change my mind."

"Very well," said Mother. "Tomorrow we must go shopping, for you will need some new clothes--good, dark colored clothes to work and play in, so Grandma won't have to be washing all summer."

What fun they had in the days that followed! Mother's sewing machine hummed for many hours every day. And at last she got out the little trunk and began to carefully pack away the neatly folded gingham dresses, the blue shirts and overalls, a few toys and other things she knew the children would need. A letter had already been written to Grandma, telling her when to meet them at the station. And she had written back, promising to be there at the very minute.

When the great day came, the children were so excited they could hardly eat any breakfast. Mother wisely remembered that when she packed their lunch-box. The last minute, they ran across the street to tell their playmates good-by. When they came back, Daddy had brought the car to the front of the house and was carrying out the little trunk. Mother was already waiting in the car.

It was getting near train time, so Daddy quickly drove off to the station. He bought the children's tickets, had the trunk checked, and then he gave Joyce some money to put into the new red purse Mother had given her as a parting gift. He slipped a few coins into Don's pocket, too, and the little boy rattled and jingled them with delight. How grown-up he felt!

The children were very brave, until the train whistled and they knew they must say good-by. Joyce could not keep the tears back, as she threw her arms around her mother's neck; but she brushed them away and smiled. "Joyce, dear," Mother was saying, "I am expecting you to be my good, brave little daughter. Take care of Don. Remember to pray every day--and be sure to write to Mother."

Joyce promised; and then, almost before the children knew what was happening, they were aboard the train, the engine was puffing, the wheels were grinding on the rails, and they were speeding along through the green countryside.

Joyce was trying very hard to be brave, for Don's sake. But a lump _would_ keep coming in her throat, when she thought of Mother standing beside the train and waving her handkerchief as it moved away.

Although Joyce was only twelve herself, she really began to feel quite like a mother to eight-year-old Don. She must try to help him forget his loneliness. Soon they were looking out the window; and what interesting sights were whirling past! First there was a big flock of chickens; then some calves in a meadow, running away from the train in a great fright. A flock of sheep with their little lambs frolicked on a green hillside; and a frisky colt kicked up its heels and darted across the pasture as the train went by.

By and by, in her most grown-up way, Joyce looked at the watch on her wrist. It was just noon, so she opened the lunch-box; and dainty sandwiches and fruit soon disappeared. But they saved two big slices of Mother's good cake--to take to Grandma and Grandpa.

After lunch, the train seemed to creep along rather slowly. But at last it stopped at the station where Grandma had promised to meet them. And sure enough, there stood Grandpa with his snowy hair and his big broad smile. Grandma was waiting nearby in the car.

It was late afternoon when they reached the old farmhouse, and Grandma soon had supper ready. After supper, Joyce helped to clear away the dishes; and then the little trunk was unpacked.

Grandma was watching keenly, to see if the children were lonely. "Now," she said briskly, "it is milking time. Run down the lane, children, and let the bars down for the cows to come through the lot; and we will give them a good drink of water."

Away scampered Joyce and Don; and soon the cows were standing at the trough and Grandpa was pumping water for them.

"Let us pump!" cried Joyce.

"Fine!" said Grandpa--"that will be your job every evening--to water the cows."

After that, they watched the foaming milk stream into the shiny pails; and then they all went into the house together. It was almost dark now; two sleepy children said their prayers, and Grandma soon had them tucked snugly in bed.

The Sting of the Bee

"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" called Don in a shrill voice, dancing into his sister's room.

Joyce opened her eyes and looked about her. The bright morning sunlight was streaming in through the little pink-and-white curtains. "Wh--where am I?" she asked sleepily, seeing Don standing there.

"Where _are_ you?" cried Don merrily. "Why, on the farm, of course! Don't you hear that old rooster telling you to get up? There he is," he added, pulling aside the curtain. "He is stretching himself, and standing on his tiptoes. Grandpa says he's saying, 'Welcome to the farm, Don and Joyce!' Do hurry and get up! We must go out and help Grandpa do the milking."

Half an hour later, Grandma called two hungry children in to breakfast. After that, they were busy and happy all the morning long. Joyce helped Grandma to wash the dishes and tidy the house, and Don followed close at Grandpa's heels as he did his morning's work about the farm. He felt very grown-up indeed when a neighbor came by, and Grandpa told him he had a "new hand."

After dinner, Grandma settled down for her afternoon's nap. Grandpa went to help a neighbor with some work, and so the children were left alone.

They began to run races in the wide grassy space in front of the old farm house.

But they made so much noise that soon Joyce said, "I'm afraid we will wake Grandma, Don. We'd better be quiet."

"Let's go to the orchard," said Don. "We can be as noisy as we like there, and she won't even hear us." So away they scampered, to play in the shade of the old apple trees.

But Grandma's nap was not to last long; for soon she was awakened by a scream from the orchard. Hurrying out, she found Joyce dancing up and down, with her hand pressed tightly over one eye. Don stood watching her with round, frightened eyes. He could not imagine what had happened, to make his sister act like that.

But Grandma knew. Away back in the orchard, Grandpa had several hives of bees. Joyce had gone too near one of the hives; and a bee had done the rest.

Grandma did not say much. Quietly she took the little girl's hand and led her back to the house. Soon Joyce was lying on the couch, and Grandma was wringing cold water out of a cloth, and gently placing it on her eye. Before long the pain was gone; but the eye began to swell, and soon she was not able to see out of it at all.

"It's all my fault that we went to the orchard," said Don, looking sober.

"No, it's mine," said Joyce. "I was afraid we would wake Grandma."

"Well," laughed Grandma, "I guess it was mine, because I forgot to tell you about the bees."

When it was time to get ready for bed that night, Grandma bathed the swollen eye again. "I wish there were no bees, Grandma," said the little girl suddenly.

"Why, you like honey, don't you, dear?" asked Grandma.

"Ye-es, I like honey; but I don't like bees--they sting so!"

"Bees are very interesting and hard-working little creatures," said Grandma; "and if they are let alone, they will not harm anyone."

"I didn't mean to bother them," said Joyce, "but one stung _me_."

"That's so," said Grandma; "but they have certain rules, and you must have broken one of them. A bee's sting is the only thing she can use to protect the hive against intruders--and the bee that stings you always dies. That's the price she has to pay to do her duty."

"Oh!" said Joyce, "I'm sorry I went too near. But please, Grandma, tell me some more about bees."

"There are lots of things to learn about them," said Grandma. "They live in queer little houses called hives. They have a queen; and if she is stolen, or dies, they will not go on working without her. Only one queen can live in each house; when a new queen is about to come out of her cell, the old queen gathers her followers and they swarm.

"The queen bee lays the eggs; and when the eggs hatch, the hive is so full of bees that it cannot hold them all. As soon as they find another queen, some of them must move out.

"When the bees are swarming, they always take good care of their queen. Sometimes they settle on a limb of a tree; and while they are there, they keep their queen covered, so no one can find her. They send out scouts to find a new home; and as soon as it is found, they all move the re.

"Sometimes Grandpa finds the queen, and puts her in the hive. Then she makes a sort of drumming noise, and the other bees follow her inside."

"Was it the queen bee that stung me?" asked Joyce.

"No, the queen never uses her sting except when in battle with another queen bee; but the other bees take care of her, even if they must die for her sake. There are different kinds of bees in the hive. Drone bees cannot sting; and they will not work--they are lazy fellows. In the fall they are all killed, so that during the long winter months they cannot eat the honey which the workers have gathered.

"Bees are busy all the time. On sunny days, they gather honey; and on cloudy days they make little wax cells in which to store the honey."

"That's why they say, 'busy as a bee,'" said Joyce. "It means 'busy all the time.' I didn't know there was so much to learn about bees."

"I have been thinking about another kind of bee," said Grandma.

"Do they sting, like the bees in the orchard?" asked Joyce with a little shiver.

"Their stings are much sharper," answered Grandma, "and the pain lasts much longer. There is a hive full of these bees, and they are always very busy. But it is bedtime now. Wait till tomorrow night, and perhaps I shall tell you about one of them."

Ten minutes later Don fell asleep, wondering what the strange sort of bee was like, and hoping it would never sting him as the cross bee had stung Joyce.

Bee Obedient

"I have something to show you," said Grandma after breakfast the next morning. "Come with me."

"Oh, a little calf!" exclaimed Don a moment later.

"Isn't he cute?" cried Joyce. "See how wobbly his legs are. What's his name, Grandma?"

"Grandpa says he's not going to bother naming him, when he has two bright grandchildren here on the farm," answered Grandma, smiling.

"Does he mean that _we_ can name him?" asked Joyce.

"Yes," replied Grandma, "he means just that."

"Oh, Don," cried Joyce, "what shall we call him?"

"I think Bruno is a nice name," said Don.

"So do I; we'll call him Bruno," agreed Joyce.

"I wonder if he would let me pet him," said Don, gently touching the calf on his small white nose.

The little fellow tossed his head and wobbled over to the other side of his mother. The children laughed merrily; and they were so interested in watching the little creature that Grandma had to leave them and go back to her work.

The hours passed by very quickly and very happily--there were so many new things to do! Of course Joyce had to write a long letter to Mother, telling her about the sting of the bee, the new little calf, and many other interesting things.

Late in the afternoon the children remembered about the cows, and they thought they would pump the trough full of water ahead of time. It was such fun that they kept on pumping until the trough overflowed, and the ground around it was all muddy.

After supper, they let down the bars for the cows to come through. The cows had just finished drinking, when Don slipped in the mud and fell backward right into the trough. He kicked and splashed about, trying to get out; and Joyce got a good drenching when she tried to help him. Grandpa had to come to the rescue, and fish him out; and then they all had a good laugh--even Don. The children could not watch the milking that night, because they had to go to the house and put on dry clothes.

Later in the evening, they reminded Grandma that she had promised to tell them a story. They drew their chairs close to hers, and she began:

"It was to be a story about a bee, wasn't it? Well, this bee has a sharp sting, and it goes very deep."

"I hope it will never sting me, then," said Joyce.

"I hope not," said Grandma. "The boy and girl in my story were stung severely; but it was all their own fault, as you shall see.

"Anna and her brother lived near a pond, and when the cold weather came it was great fun to skate on the ice. Oftentimes they would slide across it on their way to school. One morning, as their mother buttoned their coats, she said, 'Don't go across the ice this morning, children. It has begun to thaw, and it is dangerous.'

"'No, we won't,' they promised.

"When they reached the pond, Willie said, 'Why, see, Anna, how hard and thick the ice looks. Come on, let's slide across it.'

"Instantly the bee began to buzz about Anna's ears. 'Bz-z-z-z-z! Don't do it!' said the bee. 'It's dangerous. You promised Mother.'

"'We'd better not, Willie,' said Anna quickly. 'We promised Mother, you know.'

"'But Mother'll never know,' said Willie.

"'But you _promised_,' buzzed the bee again.

"'Mother thought the ice was thawing,' added Willie. 'She won't care, when she knows it isn't. You may do as you like, Anna; but I'm going to slide across right now.'

"When Anna saw her brother starting across the pond, she followed, in spite of the bee. But they had gone only a little way when the ice began to crack, and then to give way under them.

"Anna turned and hurried back to the bank; but Willie had gone too far. She saw him go down in the icy water; and she ran to the road, screaming at the top of her voice.

"A man was passing by at that moment. He picked up a board and ran to the pond as fast as he could. And he reached it just in time to save little Willie.

"Dragging the lad up on to the bank, he called loudly for someone to come and help him. Two or three men came running; and they worked over Willie, until at last he opened his blue eyes and asked faintly, 'Where am I?' Then they took him home to his mother.

"She thanked God for saving the life of her disobedient boy, but the danger was not yet past. For many weeks, Willie was a very sick little boy. When at last they carried him downstairs, he lay on the sofa day after day, pale and quiet--sadly changed from the merry, romping Willie of other days. The springtime came; but it was a long time before he could go into the woods with Anna to hunt for wild flowers or sail his toy boats on the pond.

"There was no more school for Willie that year. As Anna trudged off alone day after day, she seemed to hear again and again the buzzing of the bee about her ears--'Bz-z-z-z! You promised Mother!'

"'I heard it so plainly,' she would say to herself. 'It must have been my conscience. But I wouldn't listen--and I _almost_ lost my brother.'"

The old farmhouse kitchen was very quiet for a moment, after Grandma had finished her story. Nothing was heard but the ticking of the old-fashioned clock.

"I'm so glad it didn't happen--_quite_!" said Joyce at last. "What was the bee's name, Grandma?"

"Bee Obedient," answered Grandma. "It has sometimes stung boys and girls so deeply that the hurt has never been healed.

"But," said Grandma cheerily, "this bee will never bother you, if you listen to its first little buzz."

"We will, Grandma, we will!" cried the children as they drifted off to the Land of Dreams.

Bee Honest

It seemed to Don that he had just fallen asleep when he heard Grandma's cheery voice calling, "Breakfast!" He dressed as quickly as he could; but when he got downstairs, all the others were waiting for him.

After breakfast Joyce dried the dishes for Grandma; and then she helped with the sweeping and dusting. Don helped Grandpa to grease the wagon and oil some harness; and he handed staples to Grandpa, while he mended some broken places in the fence.

The children were kept busy until dinner time; but in the afternoon they were free to do anything they liked. Today, they decided to play house in the orchard; so they got out some of the things that Mother had packed in the little trunk, to fix up their house.

But Don soon grew tired of that sort of play. "Let's play hide-and-seek," he said.

"All right," answered Joyce. "I'll run and hide, while you count to one hundred."

Away she ran, and Don began to count. Just as he said, "Ninety-five," she ran to the chicken-house door. It was standing open, so she stepped inside.

Now there was something in the chicken-house that Joyce did not expect to find. One of Grandpa's pigs was there, rooting around in the loose straw.

The pig was not looking for company; and he was so frightened that he ran toward the door pell-mell. Joyce, standing just inside, was in his way; and as he ran against her, she was lifted off her feet and thrown on to his back. Mr. Piggy dashed wildly out of the chicken-house.

Just outside the door was a large, shallow pan full of water, which Grandma kept there for the chickens. Joyce fell off the pig's back into the pan of water; and then she rolled over in the dirt.

Don stopped counting when he heard her screams, and Grandma came hurrying out. Poor Joyce! What a sight she was! And she was so frightened that it took Grandma quite a while to quiet her sobs. But a bath and a change of clothes made the little girl feel quite like herself again.

That evening when Grandma came up from the milking, she found the children on the porch waiting for another story.

"Very well," said Grandma, "I shall tell you a story tonight about Bee Honest.

"Many years ago there lived three little boys--Joe, Henry, and Charles. They all started to school at the same time. For a long while they kept together in their classes; and they were very good friends.

"But when they were about fourteen, two of the boys--Joe and Henry--began to go out nights; and it was always late when they got home. Charles stayed at home in the evening and studied his lessons for the next day, as he had always done.

"Of course, the difference soon showed up in their school work. Charles always knew his lessons, while Joe and Henry fell far behind.

"When examination time came, the boys begged Charles to help them.

"'No,' said Charles firmly, 'I will never do anything like that. My mother says that my father wanted me to be honest; and I mean to be.'

"'Aw,' said Henry, 'your father has been dead a long time; and your mother'll never know.'

"'I say there's no harm in giving a fellow a lift in his examinations,' grumbled Joe.

"'It would be cheating,' said Charles quietly; 'or helping you to, and that would be just as bad.' And with that he turned to his own work, and began to write diligently.

"Of course Charles passed all his examinations with honors; and of course Joe and Henry failed.

"After that, the boys tormented Charles in every way they could. They called him 'Mother's honest little darling'; and when they saw him coming they yelled, 'Go home and hang on to your mother's apron string.'

"Mother knew, by Charles' sober face, that something had gone wrong. 'What is it, son?' she asked; and Charles told her what had happened. She told him how glad she was that he would not do wrong; and how proud his father would be of such a son.

"'I shall never be ashamed of you,' she said, 'as long as you are perfectly honest. Sometimes you will find it rather hard; but just wait a few years, and you will see that it pays.'

"Charles had been almost discouraged; but Mother's words made him feel quite strong and brave again. The next time he saw the boys, his honest blue eyes looked straight into their faces, unashamed and unafraid. They dropped their eyes, and hurried away as quickly as they could. They did not bother Charles again; for the principal had heard of their actions, and had punished them severely.

"When school was out, the boys began to think about doing something to earn a little money. Henry was passing the drug store one day when he noticed a sign in the window--'Boy Wanted, Apply in Person.' He went into the store at once, and asked for the job.

"The druggist took him to a little room back of the store. 'Here,' he said, 'is a chest of nails and bolts. You may sort them.'

"The boy worked for a while, and then he said to himself, 'What a queer job this is!' He went back into the store and said to the druggist, 'If that is all you have for me to do, I don't believe I want the job.'

"'Very well,' said the druggist, 'that is all I have for you to do just now.' He paid Henry for the work he had already done, and the boy went home.

"The druggist went back to the little room, and found bolts and nails scattered all over the floor. He put them back in the chest; and then he hung his sign in the window again.