Hazel Squirrel | Page 6

BOYS]
A raccoon was dozing, perched up in a big tree one fine, bright summer
day. He lay on a broad limb high up in the tree. There was a fresh
breeze stirring, and he swayed to and fro with the branches.
He had been rocking on this lofty perch for some time, with his eyes
half closed, when he was roused by the shouting of some small,
bare-footed boys who were playing in a hayfield close by. Coonie, as
he was called for short, after yawning and stretching for some minutes,
finally shifted his position so as to see the boys. He had watched them
often from the top of a tree, and he always enjoyed the fun, because
they did such queer things.
It was some minutes before he could find out what they were doing, but
at last he discovered that they had found a bumble-bees' nest. They had
long paddles in their hands and were running around, yelling, and

waving the paddles frantically. Occasionally one of the boys screamed,
and then several of the others would run toward him, all beating the air
with their paddles.
Coonie watched very closely and saw one boy run up to the hive, give
it a quick poke, and then scamper away. With every poke at the hive, a
number of bees would fly out of the opening and sail away on the air.
Finally a small boy approached the hive and gave it a hard poke.
Instantly about a dozen bees swarmed out, and the boy started to run.
He had gone but half a dozen feet, however, when he tripped and fell,
and by the way he rolled and kicked, it was plain to be seen that the
bees were getting the better of him.
It was great fun watching them, and Coonie decided that he would get a
nearer view, so he crawled down the tree in a hurry and ran to the big
oak at the edge of the field. From there he could get a full view of the
battle. He chuckled to himself as he thought of the fun he was having
all by himself.
The battle between the boys and the bees was raging furiously by this
time. The boys charged time after time, and with each attack became
bolder and bolder, until finally Coonie saw that they were winning. The
plucky little bees fought bravely to defend their home, but the boys
were too strong for them, and one by one they fell and were crushed or
beaten to pieces with the paddles.
After two or three pokes at the hive to make sure that none of the bees
remained, a great shout went up from the boys who surrounded the
deserted nest.
Children, have you ever seen a wild bees' nest--a real bumble-bees'
home?
They are nearly always built on the ground, and are made of little
pieces of grass piled and woven together into a little mound. At the
very top there is a small hole which is used as the doorway through
which the bees enter. The wall is not very thick, but is put together

tightly so the wind will not blow it away, and it is hollow.
It is in this mound that the bees store their honey for the winter. During
the warm summer days they work hard, carrying tiny drops of honey
which they gather from the flowers and storing it so they will have
something to eat during the cold weather.
When the cold winds come, in the fall and winter, and the flowers are
dead, the little workers stop their labor and gather together in the home
they have been preparing all summer. When the snow comes, the little
grass storehouse is buried snug and warm underneath the white blanket.
It was just such a nest as this that Coonie watched the boys robbing of
its treasure. Poor little bees! All their hard work had been in vain, and
they had even lost their little lives in the brave effort to protect their
winter's food supply.
But even from his hiding place Coonie could see that the boys had not
won the battle without some losses. Big lumps were beginning to swell
up on their faces and arms, and the little boy who had tripped and fallen
could hardly see because his eyes were nearly swollen shut.
The boys tore away the mound and took out the honey, layer by layer,
and squeezed out the golden syrup. Just as they were licking the last
drops from their sticky fingers, Coonie saw a man walking towards
them. When he was near enough, he began talking to them in an angry
way.
"Why, Mr. Jones," Coonie heard one boy say, "you don't use
bumble-bees' honey, do you?"