“Stop, Sneak,” said Joe; “let me get my gun before you shut the door.”
“I guess we’d better leave our guns, and then we won’t be so apt to break through,” replied Sneak, closing up the aperture.
“The bees won’t sting us, will they?” asked Joe, turning to his companion when they had attained the high-timbered ridge that ran parallel with the valley.
“If you chaw ’em in your mouth they will,” replied Sneak, striding along under the trees with his head bent down, and minutely examining every small dark object he found lying on the surface of the snow.
“I know that as well as you do,” continued Joe, “because that would thaw them.”
“Well, if they’re froze, how kin they sting you?”
“You needn’t be so snappish,” replied Joe. “I just asked for information. I know as well as anybody they’re frozen or torpid.”
“Or what?” asked Sneak.
“Torpid,” said Joe.
“I’ll try to ’member that word,” continued Sneak, peeping under a spreading oak that was surrounded by a dense hazel thicket.