How Bees Spend the Winter
The bees spend the winter in a kind of sleep. They cluster together to keep warm.
When the early Spring days come, and some of the bees begin to bring in pollen and nectar, the queen begins to lay eggs.
These eggs will be hatched out into worker bees to carry on the work of the hive, and the bees that lived over winter will live only long enough to care for them until they can carry on the work of the hive.
At length the Bee sighted her hive. “We are home,” she said to Miss Gardener, “and I will explain to the guard bees that it is all right for you to enter, as you are one of us.”
Miss Gardener thanked her. They flew to the Bee City entrance gate, and her new friend disappeared within.
Miss Gardener just poked her head inside to see how it seemed, when all the guard bees started toward her, and the foremost one stung her and stung her until—she woke up shrieking, to find that there was a hive of bees swarming on the tree just over her head.
“Oh,” cried Mary Frances, “did they sting her?”
“No, not really,” said Billy; “it was only a dream, but somehow the fact that the bees were swarming there must have made her dream of the stinging.”
“Well, I just believe Miss Gardener never had to study the lesson about the bees,” said Mary Frances. “I imagine her wonderful dream taught her.”
“But she was always sorry, she said, that she did not get inside the hive in her dream,” replied Billy.
“What wonderful little creatures bees are!” exclaimed Mary Frances. “When people sell honey, do they steal it from the bees?”
“Yes, practically that,” said Billy; “yet it is not a serious theft, for the bees generally store up much more honey than is needed, and the bee keeper always leaves enough for them to use.”
“Billy, wouldn’t it be lovely to have a hive?”[E] said Mary Frances.
“I’ve thought of it myself,” acknowledged Billy. “One hive would make from four dollars upward in a year, but I don’t think we’d better experiment along any other line than gardening this year at least.”
“Well, I guess you’re right, Billy,” laughed Mary Frances, “although you’re a pretty good manager, we don’t want too many ‘bees in our bonnets’ at one time, do we? Oh, Billy, do you remember the verses we used to say when we were little—
“The great round sun is sleepy,
And wants to go to bed;
So he hides his face so shiny
Behind a kerchief red.
“Then all the little clovers
That dot the velvet lawn,
Begin to nod their tiny heads
And put their night-caps on.
“Good-night, you winsome clovers,
All snug in grassy beds;
You’ll dream of busy bumble bees
A-buzzing round your heads.”
“That would please ’most any youngster,” remarked Billy, as Mary Frances finished, “but I think it is about time for us to let this honey bee fly away. She is anxious, no doubt, to get to work,” as he opened the bottle.
“Good-bye, good Mrs. Bee!” called Mary Frances as it flew away.
[CHAPTER XXII]
The Children’s Money-making Plans
THE children were in the garden, pulling weeds and “cultivating.”
The little plants had come up quite a way through the soil.
With her hoe Mary Frances was drawing little mounds of earth quite high around the stems of the plants.
“Now, Mary Frances,” exclaimed Billy, “you’re doing just wrong! That is one of the garden ‘don’ts.’ Don’t pile the earth high over the stems.”
“Why, if you please, Mr. Billy?” asked Mary Frances.
“Because—” started Billy; then: “Oh, you must know, Mary Frances.”
“I suppose because the little rootlets need rain, and little hills would make the water run off,” guessed Mary Frances, “and I’ll do it right after this; but, really, Billy, I’m afraid I’ll never learn all my lessons as well as you know yours. It is a marvel to me how much you know. How you must have studied!”
“Humm!” said Billy, hoeing away. “I did study; but, somehow, I like gardening so much, it didn’t seem hard work.”
“You must have worked hard, though, or you wouldn’t have won that garden prize of five dollars at school. Billy, you must feel rich! What are you going to buy with it?”
“I don’t think I’ll buy anything with what I have left; it seems fine to me to just keep it in my bank account.”
“Oh, dear,” sighed Mary Frances, “I wish I could make some money—not just save some of what is given to me.”
“Why don’t you?” asked Billy.
“Why don’t I what?” Mary Frances looked up from her work.
“Make some money,” said Billy.
“How could I?” asked Mary Frances in bewilderment.
“Why, sell some of the vegetables you raise in the garden.”
“Oh, Billy! Billy!” cried Mary Frances. “Do you suppose for a minute I could?”
“Course you could,” answered Billy, “if I helped you, especially. I would like some spending money myself. Suppose we go into partnership?”
“Oh, let’s!” cried Mary Frances. “How much better than trying to do such a thing alone! And I wouldn’t want you to help me unless we divided the profits.”
“And I wouldn’t want to help you on any other basis,” agreed Billy.
“But,” exclaimed Mary Frances suddenly, “what about your own garden? You’ll not need any partnership with me. You yourself will raise all you can sell.”
“Have you noticed what I have growing there, Mary Frances?”
“Billy,” said the little girl shamefacedly, “I haven’t. I haven’t noticed at all. How selfish I am!”
“Well,” laughed Billy, “I don’t mind at all, so you needn’t feel bad, but I’ll tell you. Chiefly rhubarb and asparagus; and they are both plants which need two years, or three, before they may be disturbed, so you see why I’m so generous with my offer.”
“I understand now, Billy,” smiled Mary Frances. “My, won’t you be rich when the rhubarb and asparagus are ready to sell!”
“I do expect to make some money,” said Billy. “Father said he would pay me something for what is used by the family. It cost quite a sum to buy the little plants I set out—all I spent of the prize money was for them.”
“Well, I certainly am glad you will help me, Billy,” said Mary Frances, falling to work.
“All right; then it is settled,” Billy said. “It won’t be long before that lettuce and those radishes will be some size.”
“But the parsley bed has shown only the tiniest little green leaves here and there! I wonder if it’s never going to come up!” exclaimed Mary Frances.
“It often takes six weeks for parsley to germinate,” explained Billy.
“Germinate?” inquired Mary Frances.
“Yes,” answered Billy, “for the seeds to grow—start up, you know—wake up from their sleep.”
“Oh,” said Mary Frances, “I understand.” Then suddenly, “Oh, Billy, I can scarcely wait until we can begin to sell things! I believe, I really believe I can cut some flowers to sell!”
“Certainly you can if they are beautiful enough!” said Billy. “Well, I must make a start or else I’ll never get over to the camp, and the fellows are down on me now for being away so much. So long—get all that hoeing done.”
“Good-bye, Billy; it will all be done when you reach home,” called Mary Frances.
[CHAPTER XXIII]
Mr. Hop Toad Hops In
SHE worked away very hard for half an hour.
“My,” she thought, “this is such warm work I guess I’ll take a little rest,” and she sat down under the tree nearby.
She was just going to sleep when she thought she heard someone speak. Yes, it was Feather Flop, and he seemed to be arguing with someone.
“He wouldn’t talk to a stranger,” thought Mary Frances, “I wonder who it is. I don’t dare peep, for fear they’ll stop talking if they see me.”
Pretty soon the voices came nearer.
“I tell you,” Feather Flop was saying in a boastful tone, “I tell you I am of the greatest benefit to the garden.”
“If so, why so?” The question was asked in a funny, croaking voice.
“If so, why so?” mimicked Feather Flop. “Because it is so. So there!”
“Yes, certainly, if saying so makes it so,” replied the voice. “But it is not so in my opinion. For instance—pardon me till I catch that fly—how many snails do you imagine I have eaten to-day?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Feather Flop; “but I do know this. I know I am the biggest benefit to the garden.”
“I beg pardon, sir,” answered the other; “I think I can easily prove I am the biggest benefit to the garden.”
“Cluck! Caw!” exclaimed Feather Flop. “You mean you are the biggest toad in the puddle, Hoppy, you poor old toad!”
“Ho! Ho!” thought Mary Frances. “So it’s a hop toad! I just believe it’s that big fellow that lives under the stepping stone. I think I’d know him. I believe I’ll peep!”
She looked cautiously around the tree. “It is! It is that same fellow I really believe! My, I wish I could ask him some questions!”
“Indeed, I do not mean anything of the kind, Mr. Feather Flop,” retorted the hop toad, and Mary Frances could see his throat swell with indignation. “I mean that I am actually and truly one of the most helpful living things to have in a garden.”
“Now, now, don’t get angry,” begged Feather Flop, “I want to hear about that! I want to find out, Hoppy, how you are more beneficial to the garden than I am.”
“Well,” answered the hop toad, blinking his eyes with a satisfied smile, “it’s this way: suppose I begin with the baby toads——”
“A crow told me they taste very good,” interrupted Feather Flop.
“For shame!” whispered Mary Frances. “Isn’t that awful of Feather Flop!”
The rooster must have heard her, for he suddenly bowed his head, saying, “Oh, I beg your pardon, Hoppy—really I do! Please excuse me!”
“I suppose you don’t know any better manners,” answered the hop toad, “so I’ll have to excuse you, and I’ll tell you—if you don’t interrupt—