“Hello; this must be one of those white anthills,” he said, and he gave the mound a kick.
Instantly a tiny object whirred up and struck him in the face.
“Whee!” he exclaimed, springing back and striking out. “A hornet! No; it’s a bee!”
“Did it sting you?” cried Miss Leslie.
“Sting? Keep back; there’s a lot more of ’em. Sting? Oh, no; he only hypodermicked me with a red-hot darning needle! Shy around here. There’s a whole swarm of the little devils, and they’re hopping mad. Hear ’em buzz!”
“But where is their hive?” asked Winthrope, as all three drew back behind the nearest bushes.
“Guess they’ve borrowed that ant-hill,” replied Blake, gingerly fingering the white lump which marked the spot where the bee had struck him.
“Wouldn’t it be delightful if we had some honey?” exclaimed Miss Leslie.
“By Jove, that really wouldn’t be half bad!” chimed in Winthrope.
“Maybe we can, Miss Jenny; only we’ll need a fire to tackle those buzzers. Guess it’ll be as well to let them cool off a bit also. The cocoanuts are only a little way ahead now. Here; give me the pot.”