“That’s Mr. Wasson’s wife; he always calls her mother,” whispered Paul to Kirke, as a woman appeared at the door of the house and hastily retreated.
Mr. Wasson looked at his guests with a comical grin.
“Mother likes to fix herself up before strangers come in. Women are made that way.”
“Oh! we don’t want to go into the house yet, Mr. Wasson,” interposed Molly with ready tact. “We want to see what you are doing to the hives.”
“I’m lifting the covers, miss.”
“To give the bees an airing, Mr. Wasson?”
“Yes, miss; I’m drying off the hives. We’ve had drenching fogs lately, and I’m afraid my bees will catch cold.”
Molly looked surprised. Kirke, less on his good behavior, laughed outright.
“Who ever heard of a bee with a cold?” he said. “Do they sneeze, I wonder? You must be joking, Mr. Wasson.”
