“Bother the nasty vicious little things!” he cried, as he had another rub, and he threw the bean-stick angrily away.
“Don’t hurt so much now,” he said, after a few minutes’ stamping about. Then his face broke up into a merry smile. “How they did make me run!”
Just then there was a shout—a yell, and a loud call for help.
Dexter forgot his own pain, and, alarmed by the cries, ran as hard as he could back again towards the spot from whence the sounds came, and to his horror found that Old Dan’l was running here and there, waving his arms, while Peter had come to his help, and was whisking his broom about in all directions.
For a few moments Dexter could not comprehend what was wrong, then, like a flash, he understood that the bees had attacked the old gardener, and that it was due to his having irritated them with the stick.
Dexter knew how a wasp’s nest had been taken in the fields by the boys one day, and without a moment’s hesitation he ran to the nearest shrub, tore off a good-sized bough, and joined in the task of beating down the bees.
It is pretty sport to fight either bees or wasps in this way, but it requires a great deal of courage, especially as the insects are sure to get the best of it, as they did in this case, putting their enemies to flight, their place of refuge being the tool-house, into whose dark recesses the bees did not attempt to come.
“Much stung, Dan’l!” said Peter.
“Much stung, indeed! I should think I am. Offle!”
“You got it much, youngster?” said Peter.