Naturally, the other twin was now more eager than ever to capture a bumblebee of his own. And since Johnnie did not want to disappoint a guest he soon suggested that they go over to the clover patch.
"There's a lot of bumblebees over there, always," said Johnnie Green hopefully.
So Buster had a free ride to the clover field; for his twin insisted on taking his new pet right along with him.
"Besides, I may want to catch some more like him," he explained.
Looking out through the glass sides of his prison, which his captor held tightly in one hand, Buster Bumblebee saw many of his mother's workers hovering about the clover-tops, gathering nectar for the honeycomb at home.
The twins saw the workers, too. They were delighted. And so was Johnnie Green.
"Take all the bumblebees you want!" said Johnnie. "My father won't care."
Both twins grabbed at the same time. They both shrieked at the same time, too—for each of them felt a sharp pain, as if a red-hot needle had been run into his finger. And Buster Bumblebee felt himself falling. Then followed a crash of splintering glass. And in another moment Buster was hurrying away across the clover field.
When he was stung by the worker he had seized, Buster's twin had dropped the honey box. And it had fallen squarely upon a rock and broken.
If Buster had not been in such haste to escape he would have heard still another shout. For the news spread like wildfire among the workers—the news that an army of boys had attacked them. And a terrible-tempered relation of Buster's known as Peppery Polly darted at Johnnie Green and buried her sting deep in the back of that young gentleman's sun-browned neck.