But instantly the tiny creature began to struggle with all her might, and rustle her silks, and—queen as she was—scratch and bite in the sharpest manner. And at the same time the bravest little warriors flew to the rescue; shrewdly darting at Andy's face, as if they knew where to strike; and suddenly, while he was laughing at their rage, he got a thrust in his forehead, and another in his neck, and a third under his sleeve, where a courageous little soldier had rushed in and resolutely driven in his rapier up to the hilt! Andy, who had no idea such little weapons could hurt so, was terrified, and began to scream with pain. And now, strange to see! the fairies were no longer fairies, but a nest of bumblebees; it was the queen-bee he held in his fingers; and two of them had left their stings sticking in his wounds!
Andy dropped the queen-bee, left his hat and handkerchief by the stump, and began to run, screaming and brushing away the bees, that still followed him, buzzing in his hair, and stinging him where they could. He did not stop until he had run half across the fallow, and the last of the angry swarm that pursued him had ceased buzzing about his ears.
“Oh! oh! oh!” he sobbed, with grief, and disappointment, and the pain of the stings. “I didn't know they were bumblebees! And I've lost my hat! And I don't know where I am! Oh! oh! oh!” And he sat down on a stone and cried.
“Whoa! hush, haw!” said a loud voice.
And looking up through his tears, he saw an old farmer coming, with a long whip in his hand, driving a yoke of oxen. Andy stopped weeping to ask where he was, and the way home.
“About a peck and a half a day,” replied the farmer.
Andy did not know what to make of this answer. So he said again,—“Can you tell me where my father and mother live?”
“One in one stall, and the other in the other. Hush, haw!” cried the farmer.
“I've got lost, and I wish you'd help me,” said Andy.
“Star and Stripe,” replied the farmer.