Laura looked at her father anxiously.
"I am a peaceful man, keeper, and I cannot believe my neighbor would do us such an injury."
"It is certain, Mr. Hummel," said the park-keeper; "see, there is one of the yellow things now."
"That's so," cried Hummel, shaking his head; "it's yellow."
"Don't mind, Henry; perhaps it will not be so bad," said his wife, soothingly.
"Not so bad?" asked Hummel, angrily. "Shall I have to see the bees buzzing around your nose? Shall I have to suffer my wife to go about the whole summer with her nose swollen up as large as an apple? Prepare a room for the surgeon immediately: he will never be out of our house during the next month."
Laura approached her father.
"I can see you wish to begin a quarrel anew with our neighbors: if you love me, do not do so. I cannot tell you, father, how much this quarreling annoys me. Indeed I have suffered too much from it."
"I believe you," replied Hummel, cheerfully. "But it is because I love you that I must in good time put an end to this annoyance from over there, before these winged nuisances carry away honey from our garden. I don't intend to have you attacked by the bees of any of our neighbors, do you understand me?"
Laura turned and looked gloomily in the water, on which the fallen catkins of the birch were swimming slowly towards the town.