"Here they are!" I shouted, much elated.
Old Hughy couldn't see them even with his glasses on, they were so high
and looked so small. He knocked on the trunk of the tree, and when I
told him that I could see bees pouring out and distinctly hear the hum
of those in the tree he was satisfied that I had made no mistake.
When bee hunters trace a swarm to a high tree they usually fell the
tree; to that task the old man and I now set ourselves. The basswood was
fully three feet in diameter, and leaned slightly toward the brook. In
spite of the slant, old Hughy thought that by proper cutting the tree
could be made to fall on our side of the gully instead of across it. He
threw off his old coat and set to work, but soon stopped short and began
rubbing his shoulder and groaning, "Oh, my rheumatiz, my rheumatiz!
O-o-oh, how it pains me!"
That may have been partly pretense, intended to make me take the axe;
for he was a wily old fellow. However that may be, I took it and did a
borrowed boy's best to cut the scarfs as he directed, but hardly
succeeded. I toiled a long time and blistered my palms.
Basswood is not a hard wood, however, and at last the tree started to
fall; but instead of coming down on our side of the gully it fell
diagonally across it and crashed into the top of a great hemlock that
stood near the stream below.
Pages:
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286