“I suppose a boy can seek his fortune whether it is hot or cold,” thought Hansel, and he set off bravely to walk in the third road. This seemed to lead directly across a vast plain; but he could not see very far, for there were thick clouds of dust blowing in little whirlwinds. “All this dust must come from some great city,” thought the boy. “Perhaps I shall come to it before long. I will go straight to the Lord Mayor, and say, ‘Sir Lord Mayor, is there anything for a boy to do to make his fortune?’ He will answer, ‘Yes, one of my ships is all ready to sail. You may sail with her, and if you have anything to venture, perhaps you will make your fortune in one voyage. What have you to send?’ Then I’ll say, ‘Sir Lord Mayor, I have a black seed and a white one.’ No, I forget, if he happens to be a giant, I must say ‘Yes’ to the first question. That will be such nonsense that he will think I am a philosopher, and he will say, ‘I need another counselor, and I’ll take you. You shall have a long red gown and a white wig, and every morning before breakfast you shall have a great piece of red, red gold.’ I will say ‘Thank you, I--’” Without thinking what he was about, Hansel had been talking aloud; and now the words were fairly blown from his lips, for a great storm had suddenly arisen. Big hailstones beat upon him. He was thrown into the brambles and against the stones. His cap was lost, his clothes were torn, and he was almost exhausted when at last he managed to get into the shelter of a high rock that kept the biting wind from him. It seemed to him that he had hardly taken three long breaths before he heard a loud buzzing. “Come and help us,” it said; “come and help us.” “I knew cocks could talk,” thought Hansel in surprise, “and cats can, of course, but I never heard bees talk before. They must be in some great trouble. I can’t do anything to help them, that’s sure, for it is all I can do to get my breath.” “Come and help us,” buzzed the bees, until Hansel could not bear to hear their pleading any longer and he asked:-- “What is the matter?” “Our hive is blown over,” they replied. “The storm came up so suddenly that many bees are away, and when they come back, they will not know where to go if the hive is not in its place. Do put it back for us.” “Surely, I can do so much for them if I am tired,” thought Hansel; and he asked, “Where does your hive belong?” “On top of this high rock,” they replied. “I shouldn’t think it would stay there in this wind,” said Hansel to himself, “but I suppose they know best. People say that bees are wise, and maybe they know some way of making it firm.”--“I don’t know whether I can climb the rock in this storm,” he said aloud, “but at least I can try.”