The impact was so tremendous that many of
the brittle branches of both trees were broken off. At first we thought
that the basswood was going to break clear, but it finally hung
precariously against the hemlock at a height of thirty feet or more
above the bed of the brook. From the stump the long trunk extended out
across the brook in a gentle, upward slant to the hemlock. The bees came
out in force. Though in felling the tree I had disturbed them
considerably, none of them had come down to sting us, but now they
filled the air. Apparently the swarm was a large one.
Old Hughy was a good deal disappointed. "I snum, that 'ere's a bad
mess," he grumbled.
At last he concluded that we should have to fell the hemlock. Judging
from the ticklish way the basswood hung on it, the task looked
dangerous. We climbed down into the gully, however, and, with many an
apprehensive glance aloft where the top of the basswood hung
threateningly over our heads, approached the foot of the hemlock and
began to chop it. The bees immediately descended about our heads. 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.
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