Page:St. Nicholas, vol. 40.1 (1912-1913).djvu/382

236 succeed in breaking into their storehouse, they decided that it was more important to save their treasures than to fight the enemy. It was just as it is when one’s house is on fire. At first one fights to put the fire out. When that ’s no use, then one thinks only of saving the things. That’s the principle the bees generally go upon. At first they attack the enemy, in the hope of driving him off. But if they find that he is going to succeed in breaking in and burglarizing the place, then they fling themselves on the precious honey which they have taken so much pains to store, and begin to stuff their honey-sacks as full as possible. All they think of, then, is to carry away enough to keep them going while they are getting established in new quarters. The trouble with the fool bear who has got us into this mess to-day was that he tackled a bee-tree where the outside wood was too strong for him to rip open. The bees knew he could n’t get in at them, so they all turned out after him, to give him a good lesson. When he got away through the underbrush so quickly, they just turned on us, because they felt they must give a lesson to somebody!”

“We did n’t want to steal their old honey!” muttered the Babe, in an injured voice.

“Oh, I ’m not so sure!” said Uncle Andy. “I should n’t wonder if Bill and I ’d come over here some night and smoke the rascals out. But we can wait. That ’s the difference between us and Teddy Bear. He would n’t even wait to clean the leaves off his face, he was so anxious for that honey—and his revenge.

“This time he went up the tree slowly and quietly, keeping out of sight all the way. When he was exactly on a level with the entrance, he braced himself solidly, reached his right paw around the trunk, got a fine hold on the edge of the new crack, and wrenched with all his might.

“A big strip of half-rotten wood came away so suddenly, that Teddy Bear nearly fell off the tree.

“A lot of bees came with it; and once more, Teddy Bear’s head was in a swarm of little, darting, piercing flames. But his blood was up. He held on to that chunk of bee-tree. A big piece of comb, dripping with honey and crawling with bees, was sticking to it. Whimpering, and pawing at his face, he crunched a great mouthful of the comb, bees and all.

“Never had he tasted, never had he dreamed of, anything so delicious! What was the pain of his smarting muzzle to that ecstatic mouthful? He snatched another, which took all the rest of the comb. Then he flung the piece of wood to the ground.

“The bees, meanwhile,—except those which had stung him and were now crawling, stingless and soon to die, in His fur,—had suddenly left him. The whole interior of their hive was exposed to the glare of daylight, and their one thought now was to save all they could. Teddy Bear’s one thought was to seize all he could. He clawed himself around boldly to the front of the tree, plunged one greedy paw straight into the heart of the hive, snatched forth a big, dripping, crawling comb, and fell to munching it up as fast as he could,—honey, bees, brood-comb, bee-bread, all together indiscriminately. The distracted bees paid him no more attention. They were too busy filling their honey-sacks.”

The Babe smacked his lips. He was beginning to get pretty hungry himself.

“Well,” continued Uncle Andy, “Teddy Bear chewed and chewed, finally plunging his whole head into the sticky mess,—getting a few stings, of course, but never thinking of them,—till he was just so gorged that he could n’t hold another morsel. Then, very slowly and heavily, grunting all the time, he climbed down the bee-tree. He felt that he wanted to go to sleep. When he reached the bottom, he sat up on his haunches to look around for some sort of a snug corner. His eyelids were swollen with stings, but his little round stomach was swollen with honey, so he did n’t care a penny. His face was all daubed with honey and dead bees. And his claws were so stuck up with honey and rotten wood and bark that he kept opening and shutting them like a baby who has got a feather stuck to its fingers and does n’t know what to do with it. But he was too sleepy to bother about his appearance. He just waddled over to a nook between the roots of the next tree, curled up with his sticky nose between his sticky paws, and was soon snoring.”

“And did he ever get out of that deep hole?” inquired the Babe, always impatient of the way in which Uncle Andy was wont to end his stories.

“Of course he got out. He climbed out,” answered Uncle Andy. “Do you suppose a bear like that could be kept shut up long? And now I think we might be getting out too! I don’t hear any more humming; I guess the coast ’s clear.”

He peered forth cautiously.

“It ’s all right. Come along,’ he said. “And there ’s my pipe at the foot of the rock, just where I dropped it,” he added, in a tone of great satisfaction. Then, with mud-patched, swollen faces, and crooked, but cheerful, smiles, the two refugees emerged into the golden light of the afternoon, and stretched themselves. But as Uncle Andy surveyed, first the Babe and then himself, in the unobstructed light, his smile faded.

“I ’m afraid Bill ’s going to have the laugh on us when we get home!” said he.