Soon one of them stung old Hughy on the ear.

We had to beat a retreat down the gully and wait for the enraged insects to go back into their nest.
The hole they went into was in plain sight and appeared to be the only entrance to the cavity in which they had stored their honey.

It was a round hole and did not look more than two inches in diameter.

While we waited for the bees to return to it old Hughy, still rubbing his sore ear, changed his plan of attack.
"We've got to shet the stingin' varmints in!" he exclaimed.

"One of us has got to walk out with a plug, 'long that 'ere tree trunk, and stop 'em in." We climbed back up the side of the gully to the stump of the basswood.
There the old man, taking out his knife, whittled a plug and wrapped round it his old red handkerchief.
"Now this 'ere has got to be stuck in that thar hole," he said, glancing first along the log that projected out over the gully and then at me.
"When I was a boy o' your age I'd wanted no better fun than to walk out on that log; but my old head is gittin' a leetle giddy.