Ah! this little creature was no loitering drone. Instead of buzzing about the field, it took a straight, swift course, a “bee line,� to the northeast. Anne and Patsy followed as far as they were sure of its course, and then waited—waited what seemed a very, very long time, and then dusted another honey bee. A minute later, the first flour-coated little creature came flying back, to sip and fly away again. Again they followed, in growing excitement and glee. It led them across a field, through a swamp that they waded recklessly, across another field, and into woods where their progress was slow because they could see only a short distance ahead. They made up for it, however, by dusting several bees, and at last they had a line of little messengers going in the same direction.
They followed the swift-flying, busy creatures to—of all lovely, suitable places in the world—Happy Acres! Happy Acres, their dear garden plot in an old field surrounded by woodland. There was a big oak tree at the edge of that charming, beloved place, to which bees were coming from all directions. The girls forgot caution and ran close to the tree; there was a hole near the ground, and about eight feet up was a larger hole black with bees crawling in and out.
“Listen, Patsy!� exclaimed Anne. “It’s humming! the whole tree is humming like a beehive!�
Oh, there was no doubt of its being a bee tree!
They made their discovery a great sensation in The Village. Mr. Mallett, whose father had kept bees and who had a charm against stings, volunteered to get the honey.
The Village turned out that evening to watch the performance.
Mr. Mallett set to work calmly and like a veteran. He stopped the upper hole and started a smoldering fire of dry leaves and tobacco stalks near the lower opening. After the smoke stupefied the bees, he sawed and cut the upper hole, brushed aside the deadened bees by handfuls, and got out the honey stored in the great hollow tree; there were bucketfuls and bucketfuls of it. Anne and Patsy had a happy, important time dividing it among their friends and neighbors.
“They’re welcome to the honey,� laughed Anne. “But, O Patsy! aren’t you glad you and I had the glory of finding the bee tree?�
“That I am! And now hey for lemonade—cool, and tinkly with ice, and sweet, sweet, sweet!� rejoiced Patsy.
“Oh, goody! we can’t send this to the Belgians and Frenches,� said Sweet William. “Anne, I wish you and Patsy’d find a bee tree every week. Then I wouldn’t mind saving all my sugar. Emma says she’s going to make me a cake, a real cake. And I am going to eat honey, and eat honey, and eat honey!� He heaved a sigh of blissful content.