Part 37 (1/2)

He stood still for a few minutes, and then, as he looked round, he caught sight of some bean-sticks--tall thin pieces of oak sapling, and drawing one of these out of the ground he rubbed the mould off the pointed end, and, as soon as it was clean, took hold of it, and returned to the hive, where he watched the cl.u.s.tering bees for a few minutes, and then, reaching over, he inserted the thin end of the long stick just by the opening to the hive, thrust it forward, and gave it a good rake to right and left.

There was a tremendous buzz and a rush, and the next moment Dexter, stick in hand, was running down the path toward the river, pursued by quite a cloud of angry bees.

Dexter ran fast, of course, and as it happened, right down one of the most shady paths, beneath the densely growing apple-trees, where the bees could not fly, so that by the time he reached the river-side he was clear of his pursuers, but tingling from a sting on the wrist, and from two more on the neck, one being among the hair at the back, and the other right down in his collar.

”Well, that's nice,” he said, as he rubbed himself, and began mentally to try and do a sum in the Rule of Three--if three stings make so much pain, how much pain would be caused by the stings of a whole hiveful of bees?

”Bother the nasty vicious little things!” he cried, as he had another rub, and he threw the bean-stick angrily away.

”Don't hurt so much now,” he said, after a few minutes' stamping about.

Then his face broke up into a merry smile. ”How they did make me run!”

Just then there was a shout--a yell, and a loud call for help.

Dexter forgot his own pain, and, alarmed by the cries, ran as hard as he could back again towards the spot from whence the sounds came, and to his horror found that Old Dan'l was running here and there, waving his arms, while Peter had come to his help, and was whisking his broom about in all directions.

For a few moments Dexter could not comprehend what was wrong, then, like a flash, he understood that the bees had attacked the old gardener, and that it was due to his having irritated them with the stick.

Dexter knew how a wasp's nest had been taken in the fields by the boys one day, and without a moment's hesitation he ran to the nearest shrub, tore off a good-sized bough, and joined in the task of beating down the bees.

It is pretty sport to fight either bees or wasps in this way, but it requires a great deal of courage, especially as the insects are sure to get the best of it, as they did in this case, putting their enemies to flight, their place of refuge being the tool-house, into whose dark recesses the bees did not attempt to come.

”Much stung, Dan'l!” said Peter.

”Much stung, indeed! I should think I am. Offle!”

”You got it much, youngster?” said Peter.

”I've got three stings,” replied Dexter, who had escaped without further harm.

”And I've got five, I think,” said Peter. ”What was you doing to 'em, Dan'l!”

”Doin' to 'em!” growled Dan'l, who was stamping about and rubbing himself, and looking exceedingly like the bear in the old fable. ”I wasn't doin' nothin' to 'em. One o' the hives have been threatenin' to swarm again, and I was just goin' by, when they come at me like a swarm o' savidges, just as if some one had been teasing them.” Dexter was rubbing the back of his neck, and feeling horribly guilty, as he asked himself whether he had not better own to having disturbed the hive; but there was something so unpleasantly repellent about the old gardener, and he was looking so suspiciously from one to the other, that the boy felt as if he could not speak to him.

If it had been Peter, who, with all his roughness, seemed to be tolerant of his presence, he would have spoken out at once; but he could not to Dan'l, and he remained silent.

”They stings pretty sharp,” said Peter, laughing. ”Blue-bag's best thing. I shall go up and get Maria to touch mine up. Coming?”

”Nay, I'm not coming,” growled Dan'l. ”I can bear a sting or two of a bee without getting myself painted up with blue-bags. Dock leaves is good enough for me.”

”And there aren't a dock left in the garden,” said Peter. ”You found fault with me for not pulling the last up.”

So Peter went up to the house to be blue-bagged, Dan'l remained like a bear in his den, growling to himself, and Dexter, whose stings still throbbed, went off across the lawn to walk off the pain, till it was time to go to Sir James's.

”Who'd have thought that the little things could hurt so much!”

Then the pain began to diminish till it was only a tingle, and the spots where the stings went in were round and hard, and now it was that Dexter's conscience began to p.r.i.c.k him as sharply as the bees' stings, and he walked about the garden trying to make up his mind as to whether he should go and confess to Dan'l that he stirred the bees up with a long stick.

But as soon as he felt that he would do this, something struck him that Dan'l would be sure to think he had done it all out of mischief, and he knew that he could not tell him.