"Duck!" he ordered. "Down with you--flat!" And together they crawled
into the low-growing, dense-foliaged thicket, where they lay side by
side, face downwards.
"They won't follow us in here," murmured Uncle Andy. "They don't like
thick bushes."
"But I'm afraid--we've brought some in with us, Uncle Andy," replied
the Babe, trying very hard to keep the tears out of his voice. "I
think I hear one squealing and buzzing in my hair. _Oh_!" And he
clutched wildly at his leg.
"You're right!" said Uncle Andy, his voice suddenly growing very stern
as a bee crawled over his collar and jabbed him with great earnestness
in the neck. He sat up. Several other bees were creeping over him,
seeking an effective spot to administer their fiery admonitions. But
he paid them no heed. They stung him where they would--while he was
quickly looking over the Babe's hair, jacket, sleeves, stockings, and
loose little trousers. He killed half a dozen of the angry crawlers
before they found a chance to do the Babe more damage. Then he pulled
out three stings, and applied moist earth from under the moss to each
red and anguished spot.
The Babe looked up at him with a resolute little laugh, and shook
obstinately from the tip of his nose the tears which he would not
acknowledge by the attentions of his handkerchief or his fist.
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