Chapter 13

"Well, I've never done it before, Mr. White," he replied, "but I think I can manage it."

"Perhaps you better take Tony along to help you," suggested his uncle.

"No, I'll take care of them myself, Uncle Joe," he replied, and started for the house to get his veil and smoker.

When he arrived at the apiary, much to his surprise, not one but three of the colonies had swarmed. One had left the hive and alighted on an apple tree nearby, the second was just getting ready to leave, and the third was hanging outside in a way that showed they would soon be on the wing.

Bob was so intent on his work that he was not aware that anyone was near him, until he heard a voice say:

"Won't you let me help you, Bob; I'm not afraid of being stung."

He looked up quickly, and there was Edith--her head concealed in a quickly constructed veil. She was wearing a white cotton blouse and she also had on a pair of kid gloves with the fingers cut off.

"Aren't you afraid you'll get stung, Edith," said Bob.

"I'm like yourself, Bob; I've never handled bees before, but I think they're the most interesting thing we have on the farm. I've been reading many books about them recently. Won't you let me help you?"

"Yes, if you're not afraid, I'd be glad to have you," he replied, "for there's going to be two more swarms soon."

They brushed off the swarm into a small box and carried it over to a new hive. As soon as the queen had entered, they left it there and went back to watch the second one.

They were just in time, for the swarm that filled the air was starting to settle and they, too, were soon gathered and put into a new hive. By this time the third one was out and they saw it was getting ready for a long flight, for it kept getting higher and higher, despite the racket they made, and started off. It flew for quite a distance before it settled on the limb of a shell-bark hickory tree in a field on the adjoining farm.

"Of all the places for them to pick out," said Bob, as he and Edith came up and saw where they had finally settled, "but nevertheless I'm not going to lose that swarm, if I can help it; though it's going to be pretty hard climbing that tree. Every time I climb a hickory tree, I think of Jim Black."

"Why, who was he?" asked Edith.

"Oh, he was the meanest man in the country. They say he'd wear out a pair of new overalls climbing a sell-bark hickory tree to get the wool out of a robin's nest," laughed Bob.

"He must have been pretty mean if he'd do that," said Edith.

After considerable work, Bob managed to get up over the rough jagged trunk and finally succeeded in cutting off the limb on which the bees were hanging. With the end of the limb in one hand, he worked his way back to the trunk and then gradually on down to the ground, where Edith took the limb from him. After putting the bees into a box they carried them back and put them into a new hive.

Shortly after the bees had arrived at the farm, Bob had purchased ten new sectional hives and a supply of ready-made combs to aid them in rapid honey-making. Much to his surprise he found two of these hives had been set up and had colonies working in them.

"I wonder when those hives got bees in them, Edith?" he inquired, surprised to see he had two more colonies than he knew about.

"That's a secret," she laughed.

"What do you mean--a secret?" he asked.

"Well, yesterday when you were in town two colonies swarmed and Aunt Bettie and I didn't know what to do with them, but Tony overheard us talking about it, and what do you suppose he did?"

"It looks as though he hived them," replied Bob.

"That's just what he did. He wouldn't put on a veil or gloves, either, but just went over to the limb, scraped them into a box, carried them over and put them in the hive. He even picked up the queen and held it up and showed it to me. I was afraid to get too close for fear I'd get stung, for I didn't have a veil on. He said he understands bees and that they never sting him."

"That's fine," said Bob. "I'd lost them if it hadn't been for Tony."

"Yes, I think they would probably have gotten away," said Edith, "so you'll have to thank Tony for saving them for you. I think your hives are too hot, Bob. The trees don't shade them from the afternoon sun. Why don't you design a concrete apiary, a sort of an umbrella, and keep them cooler, then they're not so apt to swarm. You could make it so it could be closed up in the winter, too, then you wouldn't need a cellar."

"I'll do that to-night," said Bob, "because we can't afford to lose any bees, they're too valuable this time of the year, just when the honey-making season's opening."

"I think, Bob," said Edith, on the way back to the house, "that the bees and the chickens are the most interesting things you have on the farm. I really believe I could manage both myself after a little while," she continued, smiling at him, as they walked along.

"I think myself you could, Edith," he added, looking full into her eyes in an understanding way, and then they both became suddenly silent and didn't speak again until they reached the house.

XIX

THE STORM

Joe Williams found that they had enough fence posts made to erect a section along his property fronting on the main road. That there might be no dispute about the line, he had a surveyor come out from the town to set stakes giving the dividing lines. In order that his neighbors would all be satisfied, he invited them over and showed them just where the stakes would come, referring to the original survey of the property in order to establish the monuments. When they were all satisfied that the lines were right, he had the monuments re- established by iron pipe put deep into the ground until such times as he could put in monuments of concrete.

The farm fronted on the main road for a distance of twelve hundred feet. There were now two entrances--the old main entrance at the lane on the west side of the farm, and the new road to the sand pit over the breast of the old dam, near the eastern border. There was a small corner of about an acre and a half between the new pond and the road-- sort of triangular shape piece.

As soon as the holes were all dug, Bob got his sketch, showing the placing of the fence posts and the location of the two gates at the entrance to the property; also sketches for two extra large posts, one on each side of the driveway. These posts were ornamental and made specially strong by steel rods, not only to support the gates, but with two bolts placed near the top for attaching a sign, for it had been decided that there should be a sign, cast in concrete for permanency, and painted white with deep blue letters and border. The sign was to be fifteen inches high and twenty inches long and contain the words: "Brookside Farm, Joseph Williams, Proprietor."

Tony had made a set of forms for these posts, which were to be cast in place, though the other posts had all been pre-cast at the sand pit and were set up in the holes as they were dug. The old rail fence had been moved back and the fence row thoroughly grubbed out before the wire fence was strung. When the wire was finally put in place and the old rails hauled away, it gave a very neat appearance to the entrance of the farm.

Between this fence and the new ditch, and lying between the two entrances to the farm, was a field of about seven acres which they decided to plant in potatoes, as this field was the most fertile of all on the farm.

"What will we do with the little corner down by the pond, Bob?" asked his uncle that evening as they sat around the table for their daily conference.

"I've a suggestion to make for that," said his wife.

"Well, what is it, now?" asked her husband smiling.

"Build a little cottage there for Tony and Maria. When we get through with our concrete work, Tony can then make fence posts, apiaries and other standard concrete sections at the pit and we can sell them; besides, he can keep account of all the sand and gravel that is taken away, and, of course, if he lives there, he'll always be on hand when we need him. You remember what John White said about other farmers putting up concrete buildings, and that each time they erected one we could sell them the materials. It will make Tony and Maria happy, and keep them where their services will be most available."

"That's a good idea, Bettie," said her husband. "How much would such a house cost?"

"I don't know, but I think we ought to make them comfortable in a house that would cost not much over $1000 to $1500. It should be of the bungalow type and will help to give our farm a very artistic look."

"What were you and Maria doing down around the pond the other day?" asked her husband, suddenly remembering that he saw them there.

"Oh, we were planting slips for willow trees. When they grow up, if we trim them, it will enhance the appearance very much."

"Oh, that was it?" added her husband, winking at Bob. "I saw the young willow trees, but didn't know who planted them."

"Now, you're only joking," said his wife. "You knew all the time what we were doing."

"Fine idea, although I must confess I didn't quite understand at first what it was, but I see now: we're not only going to have prosperity at Brookside, but beauty as well," and coming over to the side of the table where she was sitting, he kissed her.

"What are you and Ruth so busy at, Edith?" asked her uncle, looking across at them.

"We've so many bulletins, Uncle Joe, that I am indexing and filing them on a shelf, so we can get them just when we want them," said Edith. "You see, information, unless it's used, is of no value, and if we don't arrange our information so it's easily available when we need it, it will be of little service to us."

"I'm glad the old job's done," said Ruth, "for Edith has been making me write all the names and numbers in a book and it's been a terrible job, Uncle Joe--a good deal worse than running the concrete mixer."

At nine o'clock the family retired and had been in bed but a short time when a severe thunderstorm broke over Brookside Farm. Bob had seen many storms in his eighteen years, but never one so violent as the one which now burst in fury upon them. Peal after peal of thunder followed the bright flashes of lightning, as they struck all around them. The house fairly rocked on its foundations and the storm was so severe they all got up and dressed. Bob had never been frightened by a storm before, but as the heavy claps of thunder followed each other almost as fast as he could wink, he shivered a little at the thought of what would happen if the lightning should strike the house. The whole family assembled in the sitting room wondering what might happen. Bob walked over and stood beside Edith, who was looking out of a window. Involuntarily she leaned against him for protection, and he caught and held her trembling hand. They were standing thus looking out at the storm, when suddenly a brighter flash than any of the others, followed immediately by a loud clap of thunder, almost stunned them. Edith swayed and would have fallen to the floor had Bob not caught her in his arms. Though stunned himself, he managed to keep her from falling, and had scarcely recovered from the shock, when as he looked out through the window he saw the barn was in flames.

"Our barn's been struck," he shouted, and they rushed to the window to look, and sure enough the barn was in flames.

Joe Williams reached for his hat to start out in the storm, but felt a detaining hand on his arm.

"Joe," said his wife quickly, "there's not an animal in the barn, and besides there's scarcely any hay or grain left, and what other things are there, certainly are not worth your risking your life. About the only thing you'll lose will be the harness and some small tools," and catching him firmly by the arms, as she felt him pull away, she continued:

"I'm not going to let you risk your life for those things. There are no other buildings near by that the fire can damage. The rain is coming down in torrents, and it will prevent the flames setting anything else on fire. Let's all go out on the porch and watch it burn," she added, and while the storm continued unabated, they huddled together at the end of the porch watching while the barn slowly burned to its foundations.

"For how much did you have it insured, Joe?" asked his wife, as the fire died down.

"Five hundred dollars," said her husband.

"Well, it's a loss, I know," she said, "but it's lucky it burned now instead of later in the season, when it would have been full of grain and implements. I'm glad we've been keeping the live stock in the fields lately."

"Well," said her husband, "there's no use of crying over spilled milk or burned barns, so I say we all go back to bed, for the fire's nearly out and this rain would soon put out any new place it might start up."

"I think it's perfectly splendid, Uncle Joe," said Ruth, now that the lightning had ceased flashing; "this will give Bob and me a chance to build you and Aunt Bettie a new barn."

"All right," said her uncle; "you'll probably have a chance now, Ruth, to show us what you can do with a real building."

Hay making soon arrived and now that the barn had been burned, it was necessary that the hay should be cut and stacked in the field to be brought to the new barn later. It was fortunate, indeed, that the implements did not arrive until the week following the destruction of the barn and that the ones already delivered had been in the wagon shed out of danger--consequently they were all saved.

While Joe Williams was sorry to lose his barn, yet in a way he was glad, now that it was gone, for it had always been an eyesore, standing there between the house and the main road. While his wife, too, felt sorry for the loss, she was secretly happy that she could now carry out her plans and build a new house where the old barn had stood, giving it the prominence it should have. Her husband was sure this had been in her mind when they located the dairy house, for he saw it was in the right place to be a part of the group of buildings.

Ruth was in the hay field every day now, helping her uncle with the work. This work seemed to delight her more than anything she had found on the farm. She was very busy driving the hay rake one day when John White's runabout drove up into the barnyard. The banker, however, was not in the car. His nephew, Eddie Brown, and his chum, Herbert Potter, were the occupants. Bob, with Tony and four of the neighbors' boys, were putting the finishing touches on the cow barn and saw them coming. He was not particularly interested in them; they did not like farm work any more than he liked them, and their coming always annoyed him. He was evidently not to be bothered with their society, however, for they went into the house, and a few minutes later he saw them going over to the hay field, where Ruth and her uncle were working.

Bob was so busy with his work that he had practically forgotten them until he looked over and saw Edith at the apiary examining the bees. With her was Eddie Brown, and Bob smiled as he noticed that Eddie was standing at a safe distance from the hives.

It was perhaps a quarter of an hour later when Bob again looked over into the hay field and saw the two boys with pitchforks turning hay, in a portion of the field that was swampy and full of elderberry bushes. He was still watching them when he saw Eddie use his fork to strike at something in the air and a moment later his friend Herbert did the same thing. Then as he and his helpers watched, the boys seemed to be striking all around them with their pitchforks. Suddenly Eddie and Herbert fell to the ground and began to roll, and Bob saw his uncle stop the team, jump from the mower and rush over in their direction.

There was no further doubt in Bob's mind what was going on. As soon as his uncle had gotten near them, he took a bundle of hay and struck in all directions as he rushed in and got one of the boys by his legs and started to drag him out.

Ruth, not to be outdone by her uncle, stopped her horse and rushed back and grabbed Eddie Brown's legs and started to pull him away. She no sooner had hold of his legs than she snatched off her straw hat and began waving it frantically around in the air, then turned and rushed for the house as fast as she could go.

Bob looked to see what had become of Edith, and noticed her leaning against a tree near the apiary. Even at the distance he was from her, he could tell she was enjoying the situation as much as himself.

There was no question of what had happened. The boys had stirred up a nest of swamp bumble bees, and instead of running away from them had stopped to fight them. It suddenly occurred to Bob that his uncle liked these two boys about as much as he liked them himself, and he figured it was perhaps for this reason his uncle had forgotten the existence of the bumble bees, that he doubtless located when he ran the mower over them. Perhaps it was also for this reason he would not let Ruth rake there, but instead set the boys at work with forks.

As he watched, Bob saw them all go down to the brook where his uncle dabbed wet clay on the stings and where a few minutes later Edith joined them and escorted them back to the house.

Ruth was so badly stung that she was ill and her aunt put her to bed at once. The boys sat on the porch for a while, the picture of distress, listening to Edith narrate the story of the fight. Both of Herbert's eyes were swollen tight shut and Eddie was able to see out of only one of his. After sitting restlessly on the porch for a half hour, they got into their car and started for home.

"What are you laughing at, Tony?" asked Bob, as they watched the car disappear down the lane.

"The boys no-a like-a da work, and-a the bees they no-a like-a da boys."

"I guess that's about right," said Bob; "we probably won't see them again for some time."

XX

GOOD ROADS

As the Fourth of July approached, John White, the banker, and Joe Williams, proprietor of Brookside Farm, held a number of conferences. It was finally decided to celebrate the Fourth with a picnic on the farm.

"I don't think we'll make it exactly a day of rest though," said the banker, "for I notice your wheat is just about ready for cutting, Joe. Why not use the tractor to draw your new binder instead of the team."

"I'll have to do that anyway, whether I want to or not," smiled Joe.

"How's that?" asked the banker.

"Well, we have two of the finest little Belgian colts you've ever seen," he replied.

"Indeed!" exclaimed the banker. "They will be worth money to you."

"Yes," said Joe Williams, "those colts will easily bring from $150 to $250 by next spring."

"Now, you can see why it pays to keep good stock, Joe," said the banker. "No farmer should waste feed on horses that weigh less than 1600 pounds--from that on up to 2000 pounds is the coming horse in this country. Look what a difference there is in their capacity for work and a large horse really eats little more than a small scrub."

After some discussion it was decided that the County Commissioners should be invited to the picnic, also a representative of the Portland Cement Association, to tell them about the making of concrete roads, and that Mr. Patterson, too, should be included in the invitation.

Shortly after moving to town, Bob's grandparents had gone for an extended visit to their relatives and had just returned to their new home a few days before the picnic, so on the morning of the Fourth, the first to arrive at Brookside were his grandparents. Bob was not only delighted to see them, but fully enjoyed their surprise at the changed appearance of the farm. Of course, the loss of the barn was one of the things that made the farm look different, but the neat wire fence, with its self-opening gates at the main road, the new buildings which were fast taking shape, and the replacing of the old pond with a field of fine growing corn, all helped to give the farm a changed look.

Bob's grandmother had evidently changed her mind regarding the son's trip to the poorhouse. Her rest from farm labor and the long visit among old friends had rekindled her interest in all things. She was as eager as a child and listened keenly as Bob took them from building to building and showed what had been done and explained the details and new devices; also the other buildings that were contemplated. His grandmother was delighted, most of all with the dairy and hen house.

"I tell you, Bob," she said, "you've certainly made the work light for a woman on this farm, and I'm glad now that Joe has been able to put in a modern farm equipment. I suppose the next thing you'll be doing will be to put up a new house and barn."

"Oh, yes, we've arranged that already, grandmother," said Bob. "You see, when the lightning struck the old barn we didn't have our plans made or anything, so after John White and Uncle Joe talked it over they decided to get Mr. Brady, the contractor, to help them out with the buildings. It would have been a pretty big job for Tony and me to get them all up this summer."

"You've really accomplished wonders already, Bob, with the dairy house, hen house and cow barn," said his grandmother.

"These are the contractor's tools and materials over here, grandma," said Bob; "he says he's going to have all the buildings finished by September first."

"Not the new house, Bob?"

"Well, it may take longer for that building, as the house will have to be plastered and painted, but he has agreed to have the barn up by the first of September and the house not later than the first of November. They're all going to be of concrete and fireproof, too, like our smaller buildings," he said proudly.

"They must be costing a good deal, Bob."

"Not so much, grandma; the contract price for the barn is $2000 and the house $4500."

"My, Bob, that's a terrible amount of money to spend for two buildings."

"Yes, but wait till you see all we're getting out of the farm this year, grandma. Now, come over and see the laundry we've fitted up in the old wash house. Of course, we'll have a real laundry in the new house, but this will give you some idea of what it will be like," he said, as he opened the door and showed her in. "This is the washing machine and wringer, and this is the mangle."

"Why, what's the mangle for?" she asked.

"Oh, that's the machine for ironing the clothes," answered Bob. "They all run by electricity, too. The waste water from the pond runs a turbine water wheel and that's connected by a belt to an electric generator, a machine for changing mechanical energy to electrical energy, you know; and all we need to do is to throw this switch over and the wheel starts turning down at the pond and we have current. Of course, at night we take the current from the storage batteries for lights, after we shut down the wheel, but these motors require too much current to use the batteries for them, economically."

"Why, do you have electric lights in the house, Bob?" she asked.

"Not in the house, grandma--only in the new buildings, and the laundry. We didn't think it would pay to put the lights in the house for only a few weeks in the summer, when we'll soon have our new house finished, but, of course, there'll be electric lights in the new house."