CHAPTER XVI.

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.