“You’re quite right, Ranald,” answered Turkey; “but there are several things to be considered. In the first place, the nest is by the roadside, and somebody else might find it. Next, Elsie has never tasted honey all her life, and it _is_ so nice, and here she is, all ready to eat some. Thirdly, and lastly, as your father says--though not very often,” added Turkey slyly, meaning that the _lastly_ seldom came with the _thirdly_,--“if we take the honey now, the bees will have plenty of time to gather enough for the winter before the flowers are gone, whereas if we leave it too long they will starve.” I was satisfied with this reasoning, and made no further objection. “You must keep a sharp look-out though, Ranald,” he said; “for they’ll be mad enough, and you must keep them off with your cap.” He took off his own, and gave it to Elsie, saying: “Here, Elsie: you must look out, and keep off the bees. I can tell you a sting is no joke. I’ve had three myself.” “But what are _you_ to do, Turkey?” asked Elsie, with an anxious face. “Oh, Ranald will keep them off me and himself too. I shan’t heed them. I must dig away, and get at the honey.” All things being thus arranged, Turkey manfully approached the _dyke_, as they call any kind of wall-fence there. In the midst of the grass and moss was one little hole, through which the bees kept going and coming very busily. Turkey put in his finger and felt in what direction the hole went, and thence judging the position of the hoard, struck his spade with firm foot into the dyke. What bees were in came rushing out in fear and rage, and I had quite enough to do to keep them off our bare heads with my cap. Those who were returning, laden as they were, joined in the defence, but I did my best, and with tolerable success. Elsie being at a little distance, and comparatively still, was less the object of their resentment. In a few moments Turkey had reached the store. Then he began to dig about it carefully to keep from spoiling the honey. First he took out a quantity of cells with nothing in them but grub-like things--the cradles of the young bees they were. He threw them away, and went on digging as coolly as if he had been gardening. All the defence he left to me, and I assure you I had enough of it, and thought mine the harder work of the two: hand or eye had no rest, and my mind was on the stretch of anxiety all the time.