“Not at all,” said Captain Featherweight, “not unless we hear from Colonel Claw. How would you like to have the insect choir devoured in the midst of the serenade?”
Then the music-elf bowed low to the Captain in token of obedience, and said: “Your word is law, noble Captain.”
“Right! Left! Shoulder arms!” called the Captain.
At this command every elf scampered off and went to work. Iris-Wing went into the orchard to see if the bees that had been working there during the day had done their work well. But the flower-elf did not think so, and he called at the honey-bees’ hive to say that he was not quite satisfied.
The bees were very indignant that the quality of their work should be questioned, until the flower-elf explained that the elves had charge of the growing of plants, and that he was responsible for Templeton Grounds.
“Captain Featherweight,” said he, “is very strict, and if I don’t make a good report I’ll lose my place and be sent to Doomdell.”
“We understand,” said the bees, “and accept your apology.”
“And then, of course, it may perhaps be barely possible,” suggested a sister bee, “that the work of the dying honey-bee was somewhat at fault.
“The honey-bees were humming
In a smiling orchard gay,