"They're my bees!" Her words reached Lew Veazie.

For a moment the kicking legs were stilled, though the hat was not withdrawn.
"Take 'em away then, pleathe!" he begged, from under the hat.

"I don't want to hurt your beethe, but they're hurting me! Take 'em away, pleathe!" The boy stopped his jangling bell.
"They are honey bees!" he said.

Then added, as if he feared this might not be clear to the intellects of city-bred youths: "They make honey!" "I'll tantalize them!" Skelding fiercely exclaimed, striking at the bees that were hovering round his head.

"I'll treat 'em gently! Oh, yes! I'll pick them off very tenderly and put them in your lap, old lady! I don't think! Keep your old bees at home!" "But they're swarming!" the old farmer exclaimed.