Apparently the swarm was a large one.
Old Hughy was a good deal disappointed.

"I snum, that 'ere's a bad mess," he grumbled.
At last he concluded that we should have to fell the hemlock.

Judging from the ticklish way the basswood hung on it, the task looked dangerous.

We climbed down into the gully, however, and, with many an apprehensive glance aloft where the top of the basswood hung threateningly over our heads, approached the foot of the hemlock and began to chop it.

The bees immediately descended about our heads.