"Not they, mistress. I like the boys to come round to the orchards, and shout and go round the apple-trees in a ring," he said, stopping to hold his reaping-hook horizontally, and making a movement with his left hand, as if to complete the circle, while he closed his eyes and repeated the following doggerel, as if it were some sacred verse:-- `Stand fast, root; bear well, top; Pray the God send us a good howling crop. Every twig apples big; Every bough apples enow; Hats full, caps full, Full quarters sacks full.' "That's it, mistress; that brings the apples. There's a fine cluster o' little wild strawbries here," he cried, as he "brushed," as he called it, the thistles and nettles that were springing up under the orchard trees. "I'll bring a basket and pick them, Tom," cried Mace; and she ran quickly back to the house. "A swap soon gets dull, master," said Tom, stopping to sharpen the broad-bladed reaping-hook he held, and gazing the while after Mace. "Eh, but it ought to be a girt and good man, master, who has young mistress for a wife. A king wouldn't be good enough for she." "Right, Tom," said the founder. "Hallo, what's the matter?" he cried, as Mace came running back in a state of great excitement. "The bees, father--a swarm." Down went Tom Croftly's hook and whet-stone, and away he and the founder ran to where the bees were in full flight, a late colony, after hanging in a pocket-shaped cluster outside their straw dome for days, having at last persuaded their queen to start. It was a headlong flight, but not off and away, for as the founder and his man came up it was to find that the busy little insects were darting to and fro, as if bound to describe as many elongated diamonds as they could in the hot sunshine. There was a sharp angry buzzing hum in the air, and, after running into the kitchen, Tom came back with a broken poker and the brass preserving-pan, which he belaboured wildly like a gong, evidently under the belief that the bees would be charmed or stunned into repose. "Nothing like dinging 'em well, master," he cried, as the bees darted here and there. "They won't sting thee, mistress. There, look at the pretties!" he cried. "Well done! What a cast, and as big as a May-day swarm." This was as he saw that the queen had settled upon a pendent branch of a young plum-tree, the workers clustering round and over and under, and clinging one to the other, till there was a great insect mass, which made the bough drop lower and lower till it nearly touched the ground. "That be the very place to have 'em, master," he cried. "Now, mistress, thou'lt take them, won't thee? It's a fine girt swarm. Ye marn't be afraid, and they won't hurt thee. I'll fetch a hive."