Page:The Keeper of the Bees.pdf/106

 fairly on his lips the hardest, hottest, sweetest little kiss of all his experience. He found his hands on the shoulders of the small person and his eyes intent on the face.

“Look here!” he said. “Are you a girl or a boy?”

The small person, with a deft twist, slipped through his fingers like shifting sand and took a step or two backward.

“If you can’t tell, it doesn’t make a darn bit of difference, does it?”

And Jamie was constrained to admit that it did not.

“I guess I’d better be goin’,” said the little Scout. “I wish you’d get on the job with that hot dog impressive. The Master likes ’em with the bun toasted and the boiled wienie split and fried and striped with a line of mustard and a thick slather of fried onions on and a slice of dill pickle. Can you remember that? Is that the way you like ’em?”

“Love o’ Mike!” said Jamie, licking his lips, “I haven’t had one in ages! Sure I can remember!”

“Then that’s that!” said the small person. “Do you feel like you’re sure goin’ to get on the job and you’re sure goin’ to take care of things here?”

“The level best I can,” said Jamie. “But I’ll have to tell you as I told your partner, I don’t know the first thing about bees.”

“And you don’t look chipper enough,” said the small person, “to coast down the east side and climb up the west side of two acres of bees. You sit still and I’ll go see if they are all right myself.”

So Jamie sat under the jacqueranda and waited while