“So would you mean business, if you were being smoked out of your home.”
They stood by the tree for quarter of an hour longer, still letting the smoke ascend. Far overhead they saw the bees circling around and around, but at last they flew away to the westward, in an almost solid swarm.
“They are all gone away now, and now we had better get the tree down as soon as possible,” said Joe.
Each had brought an ax along, and, sticking the smoking torches into the ground close beside them, they set to work with a will. The tree, being hollow, fell an easy prey to their blows, and soon it began to quiver, and then came down in exactly the manner they expected.
“Down at last!” cried Harry. “Now to split it open.”
Their experience at wood-cutting stood them in good stead, and by being careful they managed to split the tree from end to end without damaging the honey-combs to any extent.
“Oh, what a fine haul!” came from Harry, as he saw the combs. “How much do you think is here?”
“Seventy-five or a hundred pounds, Harry. Honey is pretty heavy stuff.”
“We’ll have a task getting it home.”
“Never mind. We got the deer home, and we’ll get this home, too.”