“I hate to write compositions,” declared Sam to Bert. “Don’t you?”
“I sure do,” was the answer. “I’d rather go fishing any day!”
From a safe distance, when they had gone back to the little bee-farm, the children watched the hive of runaways and their captive queen set down amid the rows of other busy insects. The piece of wood that had blocked the “front door” was taken away and soon the members of the new colony of honey-gatherers were flying out and in.
Then Mr. Stern brought out some honey, from the crop of the previous season, and gave the Bobbsey twins and Sam a treat.
“Lots has happened to-day,” remarked Bert, when Sam had gone home after getting his string of fish from the cellar and the children were sitting on the porch of the farmhouse, waiting for the evening meal, which was almost ready.
“I’m glad of it,” announced Nan, who was writing with an old, big geography book on her knees. “I’m making a list of the different things,” she went on, “and I’m going to put the best of them in my composition. Tell me how you felt, Bert, when you pulled out the big fish.”
“Oh, I felt fine!” he answered, with a laugh.
“I wish I could catch a fish,” sighed Freddie. “I’m kind of tired playing with my fire engine.”
“I’ll take you fishing to-morrow,” promised Bert. “I know a dandy place now. Sam showed me.”
“I wouldn’t go to-morrow,” said Mrs. Bobbsey.