“If the basswood only yields as it should we’ll manage it, after all,” said Bob, trying to be optimistic.
Alas! the basswood flowered in the midst of a hot wave, when the whole land lay baked and panting. The bloom lasted only a day or two, dried up, and withered. Scarcely a bee had touched the blossoms.
The Harmans felt unspeakably gloomy and discouraged. The failure of their hopes, after so much anticipation, labor, and experience, was hard to bear.
“We may as well look the thing square in the face, Allie,” said Carl one morning, when he was alone with his sister in the cabin. “The season’s over, and it’s a failure. I don’t know how we’ll save the bees.”
“Surely we’ll have money enough to pay Mr. Farr. We must save the bees if we starve ourselves, for they mean everything to us. How much money have we left?”
“About two hundred dollars. It has just melted away, with all the expenses of fresh supplies and sugar and then the cost of establishing the new yard, besides our own living.”
“Well, surely we can get three hundred dollars’ worth of honey, to make up enough for our payment. We can manage to live some way and rub along till another season comes.”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk about,” went on Carl, earnestly. “You see, Bob’s university work mustn’t be interrupted on any account. He’ll want to drop it, I know, to save the money, but we mustn’t let him. We’ve got to find the money somehow. Now, I’ve been thinking that you might go back to Harman’s Corners, where you could live in our old house for little or nothing, and I might get some kind of a job in Toronto.”
“You’re right,” Alice agreed. “Bob must keep up his work. But I wouldn’t stay at home all alone. I’d rather get a job in Toronto, too.”
Then began a long discussion of plans, but they revealed nothing of all this to Bob. That very evening, however, Bob proposed that his sister take a walk with him.