"Nonsense, nonsense," said I. "I'm not afraid of a bee or two. How many are there in the hive?"
"Twenty or twenty-five thousand," said Daphne. "Where are you going?"
"To set my house in order. Heaven forgive you, as I do. I have already forgiven Berry. I should like Jonah to have my stop-watch."
As I walked across the lawn, I heard the wretched girl reading from The Busy Bee-Keeper:
"Toads are among the bees' most deadly enemies. They will sit at the mouth of a hive and snap up bees as fast as they emerge..."
Till then I had always been rather against toads.
I well remember the day on which I learned of the purchase of the bees. It had been raining the night before and all day the clouds hung low and threatening. Misfortune was in the air. Their actual advent I do not recollect, for when I had heard that they were to arrive on Saturday night, I had made a point of going away for the week-end.
On my return I avoided the kitchen garden assiduously for several days, but after a while I began to get used to the presence of the bees, and their old straw home—I could see it from my bedroom—looked rather pretty and comfortable.
Then Daphne, who never will leave ill alone, had announced that they must be moved into a new hive.
In vain I characterized her project as impious, wanton, and indecent in turn.