“Smear mud on,” suggested Mary. “Once I got stung by a bumblebee when he went in a hollyhock and I held the flower shut so he couldn’t get out, and he stung me through the flower. Mom put mud on and it helped.”
“Mud!” stormed Lyman, stepping about in the bush and twisting his head in pain. “There isn’t any mud in Lancaster County now. The whole place is dry as punk!”
“If you had some of the mud you slung at me recently it would come in handy now,” Martin could not refrain from saying.
Another oath greeted his words. Then the stung young man started off down the road to find relief from his smarts, ignoring the fling.
“Well,” said Amanda, “well, of all things! For him to tackle a hornets’ nest! Just for the fun of it!”
“But he got his come-uppance for once! Got it from the hornets,” said Martin. “Serves him right.”
“But that hurts,” said Mary sympathetically. “Hornets hurt awful bad!”
“Yes,” said Martin as they turned homeward. “But he’s getting paid for all the mean tricks he’s played on other people.”
“Mebbe God made the hornets sting him if he’s a bad man,” said Charlie.
“We all get what we give out,” agreed Martin. “Lyman Mertzheimer will feel those hornet stings for a few days. While I’ve always been taught not to rejoice at the misfortunes of others I’m not sorry I saw him. I’ll call our account square now. You pitied him, didn’t you?” he asked Amanda suddenly. “I saw it in your eyes. So did Mary and Katie.”