Adjusting his hat so that the mosquito netting veil hung down all around his head, Adrian started out with the smoke-machine trailing a fleecy cloud behind him.
"Come on," he called to Roger, handing him a pair of gloves. "Put these on. They're rubber, you see, and the bees can't put their stingers through them."
"Where's yours?" asked Roger, as he drew the gauntlets well over his wrists.
"Oh, I couldn't take off honey in gloves. They'd be too clumsy. But I seldom get stung barehanded, and if I do I don't mind one or two. Got used to 'em. A little ammonia on the sting takes the pain out."
He kept on toward the cluster of hives, and Roger could not help noticing how much his cousin seemed like a diver, with the big head piece on. He, himself, must look the same, he thought.
"You see," explained Adrian, as he saw Roger glancing curiously at the rows of bee houses, "each hive is divided into two parts, top and bottom. In the lower part the bees live, raise their young, and store honey in what we call the big sections. These are beeswax combs, set in light wooden frames. In the top part of the hive are several smaller, square, wooden frames, into which the bees build the comb and fill it with honey. When they have these upper sections filled and capped up, or sealed over, we lift them off and sell them."
"It's rather rough on the bees," observed Roger.
"We always leave them enough," explained Adrian.
As he talked Adrian approached the bee colonies.
"You'd better stay back, now, under that tree," he called to Roger, and the latter was glad enough not to be asked to go any nearer the hives, from which he could hear a busy, droning hum. He much preferred to watch Adrian from this vantage point.