“But if the runaway bees rushed out and stung the boy, won’t they come out and sting you if you try to get them back?” asked Mrs. Bunker. “I’ll wait until cold weather, until the bees are asleep in the tree, and then, if I find them, I can safely bring them in without getting stung,” said Farmer Joel. “It would be strange if your children should be the means of me finding my lost queen. I’d be very glad to get her back.” “Maybe the peddler boy could tell where the bee tree is,” suggested Adam North. “I guess he won’t want to talk about bees for a long while,” chuckled Farmer Joel. Dr. Snow had stopped at the farmhouse on his way home after visiting the lad, and had said the boy was badly stung. “His face is swelled up like a balloon,” said the physician, “and he can’t see out of his eyes. If you want to find that honey tree, Joel, you’ll have to look for it yourself.” And this Mr. Todd did the next day. As there might be considerable walking to do, only the four older children went along with their father and Farmer Joel. They reached the first picnic ground and Rose pointed out the flat stump where the lunch had been left before the peddler lad took it. Then, as nearly as they could remember, the children pointed out where in the woods they saw the leaping, slapping peddler boy. For it was there that the bees began to sting him. “And as so many came out at once it must have been near their honey tree that it happened,” said the farmer. Laddie and Russ and the two girls followed their father and Mr. Todd over into the woods. It was very still and pleasant, the sun shining down through the green leaves. “I see some bees!” suddenly cried Laddie. “There’s a whole procession of them.” He pointed off to one side and there, flitting through the sunlight and shadows of the forest could be seen a number of bees—dark bees with yellow stripes, or bands, on their bodies. “That’s my kind of bees—the Italian sort,” said Farmer Joel when he had observed two or three near at hand gathering honey from wild flowers. “But where do they have their nest—I mean their hive?” asked Russ. “Oh, somewhere around here,” answered Farmer Joel. “We must look for a hollow tree. But move carefully. I don’t want any of you to get stung, though I brought my smoke machine. Guess I’ll start it going.” He built a smudge fire inside the tin funnel with the bellows beneath it, and soon smoke was being puffed out into the air. This kept the bees away from the searchers for the honey tree. Suddenly Russ exclaimed: “I hear a humming sound. It’s like the humming your bees make in their hives, Mr. Joel.” “I hear it, too,” said Violet. They looked and listened, and then, off to one side, they saw many bees flying in through the hole in a tree. It was a hollow tree, that was evident, and it was a dead one. “Keep back, all of you,” said Farmer Joel, “and I’ll soon find out if there are bees in there.”