"It's all my fault that we went to the orchard," said Don, looking sober.
"No, it's mine," said Joyce. "I was afraid we would wake Grandma."
"Well," laughed Grandma, "I guess it was mine, because I forgot to tell you about the bees."
When it was time to get ready for bed that night, Grandma bathed the swollen eye again. "I wish there were no bees, Grandma," said the little girl suddenly.
"Why, you like honey, don't you, dear?" asked Grandma.
"Ye-es, I like honey; but I don't like bees—they sting so!"
"Bees are very interesting and hard-working little creatures," said
Grandma; "and if they are let alone, they will not harm anyone."
"I didn't mean to bother them," said Joyce, "but one stung me."
"That's so," said Grandma; "but they have certain rules, and you must have broken one of them. A bee's sting is the only thing she can use to protect the hive against intruders—and the bee that stings you always dies. That's the price she has to pay to do her duty."
"Oh!" said Joyce, "I'm sorry I went too near. But please, Grandma, tell me some more about bees."