“If you’ll move over far enough on this bench to let me be comfortable,” growled Billy.
“Oh, certainly, certainly; excuse me.” Mary Frances almost fell off the end. “Oh, say, Billy, let’s go over under the trees and I’ll swing in the hammock, and you can take the bench.”
“All right,” said Billy, following Mary Frances.
“Now,” suggested Mary Frances, settling herself in the hammock, “I know you feel just like telling me the whole story.”
“All right,” agreed Billy, “and I have a surprise for you—I just caught that honey bee you saw. Here, in my cap.”
“Oh, let’s see it, Billy,” Mary Frances put out her hand.
“Take care!” warned Billy. “I guess you forget how a bee stings. Go get a large-mouth bottle and I’ll slip it in.”
Billy gently slipped the bee into the large bottle Mary Frances brought.
“Notice, Mary Frances, how furry its little body is.”
“Why, it’s covered with yellow!” exclaimed Mary Frances. “I thought bees were rather dark in color.”