"Scores of angry bees came buzzing round her."
OLIVE AND THE BEES.
'I mean to make a study of bees!' said Olive, in an important manner, as she looked up from a big book on natural history which she had been reading for the last ten minutes. 'Listen to this, Charlie,' she went on, addressing her elder brother, who was arranging his fishing tackle; 'it says here, "To such as have leisure, and are desirous of amusement, we know of no study which promises a greater degree of satisfaction." I have plenty of leisure these holidays, and I mean to be like Hüber, and study bees, and find out wonderful things about them. He was blind, you know, and as I am not blind, I ought to find out a lot more than he did!' Olive finished up, complacently.
Charlie, however, far from being impressed with this speech, only burst out laughing. 'You are conceited!' he exclaimed; 'to think that you, at twelve years of age, are going to beat Hüber, who spent a life-time in studying bees! However, there is no doubt you will learn something from them, and by the time you have been well stung you will be able to describe some of their habits,' and he laughed again.
'I shall not be stung,' said Olive calmly; 'bees are wonderfully intelligent little creatures'—here she was again quoting from the big book—'and they will understand that I have no wish to hurt them, but am only studying their ways.'
'And one of their ways is to sting inquisitive folk,' said Charlie. 'Let me advise you to have Mary's blue-bag handy—the thing she uses on washing-days, you know. Nothing like it for the sting of an angry bee!' and picking up his fishing-rod, Charlie walked away to the river.
It was the first summer that Olive had spent in the country, and all its sights and scenes were new to her. So now, rejoicing in the freedom of being able to roam about without her hat or jacket, she ran lightly out of the low French window of the sitting-room, and down the path towards a large clump of lemon-coloured foxgloves.
'The bees were in and out of these foxgloves yesterday,' she said, as she stooped over the bed. 'Ah, yes! here is one—buried quite deep in the flower. I must have that bee,' and taking out her handkerchief, she threw it over the flower, and caught the bee in its folds, carrying it in triumph towards the hives, which stood on a shelf under a sunny wall by the high garden gate.
'Now then, dear bee,' said Olive, loosing the bee with all the calmness of ignorance, 'here is your hive; let me see you go in with your load of honey.'