Troost said every thing
flourished for Mrs. Hill, while her garden was all choked up with weeds.
"And you have bees, too--don't they sting the children, and give you a
great deal of trouble? Along in May, I guess it was, Troost [Mrs. Troost
always called her husband so] bought a hive, or, rather, he traded a
calf for one--a nice, likely calf, too, it was--and they never did us a
bit of good;" and the unhappy woman sighed.
"They _do_ say," said Mrs. Hill, sympathizingly, "that bees won't work
for some folks; in case their king dies they are very likely to quarrel
and not do well; but we have never had any ill luck with ours; and we
last year sold forty dollars' worth of honey, besides having all we
wanted for our own use. Did yours die off, or what, Mrs. Troost?"
"Why," said the ill-natured visitor, "my oldest boy got stung one day,
and being angry, upset the hive, and I never found it out for two or
three days; and, sending Troost to put it up in its place, there was not
a bee to be found high or low."
"You don't tell! the obstinate little creatures! But they must be
treated kindly, and I have heard of their going off for less things."
The basin was by this time filled with currants, and they returned to
the house. Mrs. Hill, seating herself on the sill of the kitchen door,
began to prepare her fruit for tea, while Mrs. Troost drew her chair
near, saying, "Did you ever hear about William McMicken's bees?"
Mrs. Hill had never heard, and, expressing an anxiety to do so, was told
the following story:
"His wife, you know, was she that was Sally May, and it's an old
saying--
'To change the name and not the letter,
You marry for worse and not for better.
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