I crouched to the ground and looked into the box; there was great activity and noise. "I think they are going up," I said.
Suddenly the pounding on the box ceased; I heard an outcry and a groan; I looked up, and there was Gray-beard rolling on the ground. He was badly stung in the face. Brush went to his assistance and painted his wounds with mud. I went to the box and pounded as Gray-beard had done.
"Look under, Warren, and see what they are doing," I said.
Warren put his head to the ground and looked, "I guess that old king went up; they're all gone," he said; "I can't see them."
Having recaptured our bees, we securely fastened the box so that the wind could not blow it over; we gathered up our pans, milk pails, and bells and formed a homeward procession. Brush headed it, leading Gray-beard, whose eyes were now both closed and bandaged with his white handkerchief, and in this way we reached the Mission building.
The ladies and the school girls were waiting on the porch for our return, and as we approached the gate a number called out, "How many of you are stung?"
"Two!" cried the boys; "teacher and Lester."
When we were passing the girls on the porch to go to our quarters, pretty little black-eyed Rosalie, my sweetheart, came up to me and asked, "Frank, was you stung?"
"No; but the bees wouldn't go in the box for anybody but me," I answered proudly.
"But I wish you was stung like Lester," she said; "his girl is telling the rest of them all about it, and they think he's right smart because he got stung."