"Take 'em away then, pleathe!" he begged, from under the hat. "I don't
want to hurt your beethe, but they're hurting me! Take 'em away,
pleathe!"
The boy stopped his jangling bell.
"They are honey bees!" he said. Then added, as if he feared this might
not be clear to the intellects of city-bred youths: "They make honey!"
"I'll tantalize them!" Skelding fiercely exclaimed, striking at the bees
that were hovering round his head. "I'll treat 'em gently! Oh, yes! I'll
pick them off very tenderly and put them in your lap, old lady! I don't
think! Keep your old bees at home!"
"But they're swarming!" the old farmer exclaimed. "They're going out to
hunt a new hive. We've been follerin' 'em."
Then Lew Veazie began to bellow again, more frantically than ever. A
large crowd was gathering, men hurrying from all directions, Merriwell
and his friends had arrived on the scene.
"Ow-wow!" Veazie shrieked. "They're worthe than ever!"
For a few seconds he had not been troubled except by the stings
previously given, which pained intensely. Merriwell looked down and saw
a big bunch of bees gathering along the top of Veazie's collar at the
back.
"They're killing me!" Veazie screeched, rubbing a hand into this mass
and leaping to his feet.
But the pile grew.
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