A Hive of Busy Bees | Page 2

clothes to work and
play in, so Grandma won't have to be washing all summer."
What fun they had in the days that followed! Mother's sewing machine
hummed for many hours every day. And at last she got out the little
trunk and began to carefully pack away the neatly folded gingham
dresses, the blue shirts and overalls, a few toys and other things she
knew the children would need. A letter had already been written to
Grandma, telling her when to meet them at the station. And she had
written back, promising to be there at the very minute.
When the great day came, the children were so excited they could
hardly eat any breakfast. Mother wisely remembered that when she
packed their lunch-box. The last minute, they ran across the street to
tell their playmates good-by. When they came back, Daddy had
brought the car to the front of the house and was carrying out the little
trunk. Mother was already waiting in the car.
It was getting near train time, so Daddy quickly drove off to the station.
He bought the children's tickets, had the trunk checked, and then he
gave Joyce some money to put into the new red purse Mother had
given her as a parting gift. He slipped a few coins into Don's pocket,
too, and the little boy rattled and jingled them with delight. How
grown-up he felt!
The children were very brave, until the train whistled and they knew
they must say good-by. Joyce could not keep the tears back, as she
threw her arms around her mother's neck; but she brushed them away
and smiled. "Joyce, dear," Mother was saying, "I am expecting you to
be my good, brave little daughter. Take care of Don. Remember to pray
every day--and be sure to write to Mother."

Joyce promised; and then, almost before the children knew what was
happening, they were aboard the train, the engine was puffing, the
wheels were grinding on the rails, and they were speeding along
through the green countryside.
Joyce was trying very hard to be brave, for Don's sake. But a lump
would keep coming in her throat, when she thought of Mother standing
beside the train and waving her handkerchief as it moved away.
Although Joyce was only twelve herself, she really began to feel quite
like a mother to eight-year-old Don. She must try to help him forget his
loneliness. Soon they were looking out the window; and what
interesting sights were whirling past! First there was a big flock of
chickens; then some calves in a meadow, running away from the train
in a great fright. A flock of sheep with their little lambs frolicked on a
green hillside; and a frisky colt kicked up its heels and darted across the
pasture as the train went by.
By and by, in her most grown-up way, Joyce looked at the watch on her
wrist. It was just noon, so she opened the lunch-box; and dainty
sandwiches and fruit soon disappeared. But they saved two big slices of
Mother's good cake--to take to Grandma and Grandpa.
After lunch, the train seemed to creep along rather slowly. But at last it
stopped at the station where Grandma had promised to meet them. And
sure enough, there stood Grandpa with his snowy hair and his big broad
smile. Grandma was waiting nearby in the car.
It was late afternoon when they reached the old farmhouse, and
Grandma soon had supper ready. After supper, Joyce helped to clear
away the dishes; and then the little trunk was unpacked.
Grandma was watching keenly, to see if the children were lonely.
"Now," she said briskly, "it is milking time. Run down the lane,
children, and let the bars down for the cows to come through the lot;
and we will give them a good drink of water."
Away scampered Joyce and Don; and soon the cows were standing at

the trough and Grandpa was pumping water for them.
"Let us pump!" cried Joyce.
"Fine!" said Grandpa--"that will be your job every evening--to water
the cows."
After that, they watched the foaming milk stream into the shiny pails;
and then they all went into the house together. It was almost dark now;
two sleepy children said their prayers, and Grandma soon had them
tucked snugly in bed.

The Sting of the Bee
[Illustration: The Sting of the Bee.]
"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" called Don in a shrill voice, dancing into his
sister's room.
Joyce opened her eyes and looked about her. The bright morning
sunlight was streaming in through the little pink-and-white curtains.
"Wh--where am I?" she asked sleepily, seeing Don standing there.
"Where are you?" cried Don merrily. "Why, on the farm, of course!
Don't you hear that old rooster telling you to get