Still Gibbie heard nothing, but as he was about to put down the saddle I became aware that the noise came from it. "Take it back quickly to the piazza, Gibbie, and put it down gently." I followed, and as he set it down out from the inside crawled a bumblebee, and then another and another. The bees had excavated the padding and built inside of the saddle, leaving only the small hole which they had bored visible. The saddle might have been put on a horse's back and girthed on before the bees stirred, and what a circus there would have been.
Nothing would induce Gibbie to touch it again. He fled down the piazza steps, and the saddle remains upside down on a stand. I do not know how to get rid of the things. The sting of the bumblebee is said to be more severe than that of the honey-bee. If I pour hot water down the hole, as I first thought of doing, the saddle will be ruined, and I do not know how else to reach them. Certainly strange things happen to me!
When I reached Peaceville at three o'clock the mercury in the coolest spot on the piazza marked 96, and I was so thirsty. Alas the artesian water brought and kept in a demijohn is lukewarm and there is no use pretending that it is refreshing. The well water is cool, but it has a taste which makes me prefer the tepid contents of the demijohn. I have made great efforts to cool it; sewed it up in cloth and swung it from a nail in the piazza—all in vain. From contrast to my expectations, I suppose, it seems hotter than ever, so I gulp down the clear liquid, saying to myself, "you are obeying one of the first laws of health in not drinking cold water—only fools fill their digestive organs with icy fluid."
Peaceville, July 18.
Rose at 5 o'clock and had breakfast before 6 o'clock, so as to make an early start to drive to Gregory to attend the farmers' meeting and hear the lectures by the agricultural experts. The heat is so great that the early morning or late afternoon is the only time to travel.
I got through the eighteen mile drive very quickly it seemed to me, for it had looked interminable to my mind's eye when I started, and had an hour in town before the meeting.
The hall was quite full and I was very glad when D. came forward and met me and ushered me in. It was quite a tribute to him that so many of the most primitive farmers came. They looked quite lost until he met them at the door and found seats for them with a delightful courtesy and interest.
I saw many that I knew rarely left the deep recesses of the pine forest, and it was quite touching to see the attention with which they listened. Near me were two I knew well, quite young lads, whose life had been spent in a struggle with the soil, beginning as small boys; Colonel Ben and Solomon.
I had handed the former to the Bishop to be christened. His father had selected as his name "Colonel Ben." Fortunately I asked the Bishop about it before the service began, and he answered, "He cannot be christened Colonel Ben. They can call him by that name, but the title must be left off in the service."
When I repeated this to the mother she was very stolid and said, "Par, he named him Colonel Ben, en he wishes him baptized the same."