“Gee whiz!” he said, hopping on one leg. “I’m stinging all over! This is no place to be. We’ve got to get to where there is some cool mud to daub on these stings.” Right then I knew why Jibby Jones had said that we had better follow him to the Run after we had dug treasure awhile, and why he had said it was too dry by the pine tree, and why he had said there was plenty of mud in the Run. We trotted toward the Run as fast as we could, because every sting was doing its best to burn, and as we went I began to see the best kind of good sense in every word Jibby had said that we had thought was foolish. He wanted to go to the green sand because that place was far from the bumblebees, and he knew there were bumblebees at the old pine tree because the Tough Customer had yipped and sprinted when he passed close to it. And there was sense in what he had asked about Bill Catlin, too. If Bill Catlin was a good-natured fellow and burned kerosene, he would lend us a can of kerosene and we could burn out the bees before we began to dig. I tried to tell this to the fellows, but they did not pay much attention. They were in a hurry. We all piled in among the trees and down the bank of the Run, and there was Jibby Jones. He was sitting on a large flat rock, in the cool shade, and on the rock were about forty nice little mud pies he had made and put there, each one nice and cool and soppy, all ready to plaster on our bee stings! Jibby Jones looked up when we came piling down to where he was. “I’ve got forty-two made,” he said. “I thought I would make sixty, but you came sooner than I thought you would. Help yourselves.” We did. We grabbed the mud plasters and slapped them on the hot bee stings, and Jibby Jones helped us. Oh, boy! but that cool wet mud felt fine! Jibby plastered the stings on Wampus Smale’s back himself, and Wampus never said a word about any one talking foolish talk. He just said: “Ah! that feels good! Oh! that feels good! Put on another fresh one, Jibby.” CHAPTER XXII A NEW SWIMMING-HOLE By and by we began to sting less and to feel better. “Did you bring the tools?” Jibby asked, innocently. “I should say not!” Skippy said. “What was the use? A bee can’t sting an axe.” “Those bees could,” I said. “I expect that spade will be all swelled up like a balloon by the time we see it again.” That made Wampus laugh, which was a sign he was feeling better, too. I told Jibby I knew now why he wanted to know if Bill Catlin was a good-natured man. “Yes,” Jibby said, “I thought you would figure it out sooner or later.” “Well, the next time,” I said, “don’t be so polite. Don’t treat us as if we had any sense at all. Make a picture of a bee and shove it in our faces.” “Yes, do!” Skippy said. “I’d rather, any day, have a picture of a bee shoved in my face than have a real bee shove itself in my neck.”