“What are you looking at?” asked Joe.
“I’m looking at the warm sun shining agin yonder side of the hill,” said Sneak; “how’d you like to go a bee-hunting?”
“A bee-hunting!” iterated Joe. “I wonder if you think we could find a bee at this season of the year? and I should like to know what it’d be worth when we found it.”
“Plague take the bee—I mean the honey—don’t you like wild honey?” continued Sneak.
“Yes,” said Joe; “but how can you find any when there’s such a snow as this on the ground?”
“When there’s a snow, that’s the time to find ’em,” said Sneak; “peticuly when the sun shines warm. Jest come out here and look,” he continued, stepping along, and followed by Joe; “don’t you see yander big stooping limb?”
“Yes,” replied Joe, gazing at the bough pointed out.
“Well,” continued Sneak, “there’s a bee’s nest in that. Look here,” he added, picking from the snow several dead bees that had been thrown from the hive; “now this is the way with all wild bees (but these are tame, for they live in my house), for when there comes a warm day they’re sartin as fate to throw out the dead ones, and we can find where they are as easy as any thing in the world.”
“Sneak, my mouth’s watering—suppose we take the axe and go and hunt for some honey.”
“Let’s be off, then,” said Sneak, getting his axe, and preparing to place the stone against the tree.