The sun was not so hot, for there were some clouds in the sky and a gentle breeze blew.
Soon they reached a great clover field at the end of which were a number of large trees. They made their way toward the tallest of these, a very big tree, one that it would have taken Bobby quite a little while to go around.
"Father, what is that buzzing sound?" asked Bobby.
His father had a twinkle in his eye as he replied: "Why, my boy, that's the honey growing."
This puzzled Bobby. "Honey growing, how do you mean?"
"Wait," said Father Bear, "you'll see."
"Oh, my, father," called out Bobby. "Look at all the flies! I can count fifty hundred. Look, there's another. And here come some more. Where are they all going?"
His father had been standing watching with a smile upon his face.
"You had better give up counting. There are far too many for me to try to count. No little Bobby Bear could possibly do it. Now, my boy, if you will look up in that tree you will see a great hole. Do you see it?"
"Where?" asked Bobby, bending his neck, so that he was looking at the very tip-top of the tree, where the branches seemed to hit the clouds.