Jim picked up the larger capot and tried it on. “I can’t wear this, Willie. It’s too small.”
Willie had already put on his capot and adjusted its hood over his head. “You can’t? Say, you’re bigger than I thought. That’s my mother’s capot, but I guess you need a man-sized one. Just put the hood over your head and let the cloak fly,” he suggested as he tied a scarf over his face.
Jim looked at the capot dubiously. “Why are we wearing all this stuff anyway, Willie?”
“To keep the bees from stinging us, of course.”
“We’ll smother, Willie, and we can’t see with the scarfs over our faces.”
Willie nodded. “That’s right. I’m a stupid ox not to think of that. Well, I’ll fix it.” He picked up the knife and cut two slits in each scarf. “Now we have peepholes. Put one on, and the mittens too, Jim. If the bees are in a bad mood, they can’t sting us through the buckskin and these winter clothes.”
Jim put them on and then asked, “Now what do we do?”
“I’ll climb up and start cutting the honey and wax away. It’s up there in a deep hole in the fork of the tree. You put your bucket at the base of the tree and I’ll try to drop the honey and wax into it. This is a beautiful day, so maybe most of the bees will be gone from their hive.”
Jim watched as Willie climbed the tree. What a ridiculous sight he was, with the blue capot flapping against his skinny legs.
Willie thrust the long knife into the hole and began turning it slowly around and around. Only a few bees emerged and buzzed around his blue hood.