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.