When he had the most of them in, the old woman threw the cloth over
them. The farmer was now down on his knees, and the bees that were still
on Veazie he began to pick off and pop into the pail as if they were
grains of gold.
"I've got 'em!" he triumphantly declared. "This is my fu'st swarm this
spring. I thought the blamed things was goin' to git away, but I've got
'em. Giner'ly they light on a tree when they're swarmin', or on
somethin' green!"
"That's why they struck Veazie!" some one shouted from the crowd.
"Can I get up?" Veazie gasped. "I'm wetter than the thea!"
"Yes, young man, an' I'm 'bliged to ye. The rest of 'em will find their
way to the queen, I guess. When these bees makes honey, if you'll come
over I'll give you a hunk."
CHAPTER IX.
SHOOTING.
Lew Veazie was a sorry sight when he got up from the ground. The water
had converted the soil into mud, which plastered him now from head to
foot. And here and there on his face and hands were red spots made by
the bee stings.
Gene Skelding was flailing at some bees that did not seem to have
discovered that the queen was captured and their rightful domicile was
the farmer's pail. There were other bees also at liberty, and one of
them, angered no doubt by the turn of events, popped a stinger into the
cuticle of Bink Stubbs.
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