"Thank you _awfully_," he began politely. "But _oh_! Uncle Andy, your
poor eye is just dreadful. Oh-h-h!"
"Yes, they _have_ been getting after me a bit," agreed Uncle Andy,
dealing firmly with his own assailants, now that the Babe was all
right. "But this jab under the eye is the only one that matters.
Here, see if you can get hold of the sting."
The Babe's keen eyes and nimble little fingers captured it at once.
Then Uncle Andy plastered the spot with a daub of wet, black earth, and
peered over it solemnly at the Babe's swollen ear. He straightened his
grizzled hair, and tried to look as if nothing out of the way had
happened.
"I wish I'd brought my pipe along," he muttered. "It's over there by
the rock. But I reckon it wouldn't be healthy for me to go and get it
just yet!"
"What's made them so awful mad, do you suppose?" inquired the Babe,
nursing his wounds and listening uneasily to the vicious hum which
filled the air outside the thicket.
"It's that fool bear!" replied Uncle Andy. "He's struck a bee tree too
tough for him to tear open, and he fooled at it just long enough to get
the bees good and savage. Then he quit in a hurry. And we'll just
have to stay here till the bees get cooled down.
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