Page:The Keeper of the Bees.pdf/400

 “What kind of a back number are you?” she asked.

“As we came here I thought we were going about twenty miles from the station I came in at.”

“And so you were,” replied Jamie. “You are a good guesser.”

“And what would a girl, just when she has a right to have a good time, want to be marooned in a place like this for? If there is anything I am afraid of it’s a bee. If there’s anything I hate it’s a mountain. If there’s anything I hate worse than a mountain it’s the sea. If there is anything I can’t abide for a few hours at a stretch it is such stillness as this, such deadening, sickening silence. Does anything ever happen here?”

“Yes,” said Jamie, “you came, and the bees are beginning to swarm every few days. There’s fruit to be picked. There’s sprinkling to be done. There’s hoeing and cleaning and work a-plenty, more work than any one man can do as well as it should be done.”

“In other words,” said the young woman, “you are proposing to stay here and keep an eye on me.”

“You said that,” said Jamie. “What I said was that I was proposing to stay here and take care of the property, to do the sprinkling, to hive the bees.”

“I’m not such a fool that I don’t know why you will not go,” said the young person.

“Draw your own conclusions,” answered Jamie. “This side of the garden needs watering to-day. I am going to water it.” And he quietly went on with his work.

The young woman stood still a minute and then she