"I hear it!" he exclaimed, his whole face lighting up. "Nothing but the hum of a hive of bees could make that noise, Bob, could it?"
"Look up into that sycamore tree and tell me if you can't see them flying around? Those must be the young ones trying their wings. Pat said they came out every fine day, and buzzed about. He told me he had found more than one bee tree just by tracing the sound. Once heard in the quiet forest it can never be forgotten."
"Hurrah! then we've traced the little rascals to their house!" cried Sandy, as he threw his gun aside, and, clutching the ax, stepped forward to strike the first blow toward cutting down the big tree in which the bees had their hive.
Bob did not try to discourage him, for he knew that when some of this enthusiasm had died away his turn at the chopping would arrive.
And sure enough it did; for Sandy gave out before a quarter of the task had been completed, though later on he would recover his breath and show a willingness to go at it again.
Both lads knew just how to chop a tree so as to lay it where they wished, and, having chosen the best place to throw the big sycamore, they kept hacking away with steady strokes, making the chips fairly fly in showers.
CHAPTER IV
WATCHING FOR THE HONEY THIEF
"Whoop! there she goes over with a crash!" shouted Sandy, throwing his cap up into the air, as the tall sycamore came down just as they had planned.