“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.