Coffee then took the axe and stuck it in his loin-cloth, and a patch of burning turf in his hand. Then nimbly climbed up to the hole, where he held the smoking turf before him, to keep off the bees from his naked body, and clinging tightly with his legs, he proceeded to ply the axe so vigorously, and with such skill, that the rotten bark soon gave way, the tree being little more than a shell, and he laid bare range upon range of the beautiful comb.
A little more tearing away of the bark was necessary, and then Coffee descended for a pail and a knife, dispensing now with his burning turf, and going up to return with the pail full of delicious comb.
This was turned into the General’s tub, and the boy ascended again, filled his pail and descended, and once more going up filled the other.
The General then solemnly took a piece of the comb and placed it in the fork of a tree for the honey-guide, assuring those who looked on, that it was necessary to propitiate the bird and pay it for its services—a plan of which the little thing seemed highly to approve, for it flew to the comb at once, and began to feed.
Enough having been procured to fill the pails and tub, Chicory, evidently approving of his brother’s sticky state, went up the tree in turn, and cut out three combs for present use, offering some to each of his masters, and then dividing the remainder between his father, brother, and self.
In fact, after removing to a little distance from the hive-tree, all sat down and had a good feast of the delicious honey, Coffee and Chicory grinning with delight as they munched up the wax and sweet together.
“Well, of all the sticky objects I ever saw, they beat everything,” said Dick, laughing. “Why, Coffee’s all over honey.”
“Yes, tick all over,” said the boy, rubbing his finger down his chest, and then sucking it, for he had got to be pretty thickly smeared in carrying the honey down.
“Didn’t the bees sting?” said Jack.
“Only tiddlum’s back;” said Coffee, giving himself a writhe.