“Yes, I’m glad they didn’t do any damage,” said the other. “Though I would have been willing to pay for it if they had.”
“I mean I’m glad they didn’t get among my bee hives,” went on Mr. Watson. “A second stinging would have made them wilder than ever.”
“I guess it would!” agreed the drover. “But I don’t see any hives around here,” he added.
This was the first Bert knew honey was produced on the farm.
“Yes, I have quite a few swarms of bees,” replied Mr. Watson. “They’re over in that valley,” and he pointed to a distant one the children had not yet visited. “There’s lots of clover around here, and clover blossoms make the best honey,” he said. “Though some folks like the strong black honey made from buckwheat blossoms, and some say basswood honey is good. But clover suits me.”
“Was anybody hurt?” called Mrs. Watson to her husband. She stood on the side porch of the house, holding Baby Jenny, and with her was Mrs. Martin.
“Nobody hurt,” her husband answered. “Did any of the cattle get up around the house?” he asked, for he had been so busy driving away those near the barn that he had noticed little else.
“There were a few up here,” Mrs. Martin said. “They acted just like they wanted to come into the house.”
“Maybe they wanted to give some milk to the baby,” suggested Freddie.
“Well, they didn’t get a chance!” cried the old lady. “I caught up the broom and drove ’em away. Then they headed for the garden, and I had to go after ’em again!”