The limb upon which the bees had settled was at last reached; the boy pulled up the hand-saw that was tied to the other end of the rope. He looked down at us with mischief in his face, then straddled the branch with his face toward the trunk of the tree and began to saw. Gray-beard, seeing this, called up in great excitement, "Stop! stop! Lester, stop! Turn the other way." The boy, having had his fun, turned, and, moving as near to the bees as he dared, began sawing slowly until the branch hung down, then he severed it. It did not fall because before he began to saw he had tied one end of the rope near to the bees, and had fastened the other part near to the place where he was sitting, so that he was able gradually to lower the bees to the ground. We did not know that anything had happened to Lester until he came down, then we saw that he was stung on the eyebrow and his face was swollen. Brush moistened a bit of earth and smeared it around the injured part to prevent further swelling, but it did no good. Gray-beard put the box over the bees and began pounding the top, "Look under there, Frank, and see if they are going up," he said; "if the queen goes, they will all go." I crouched to the ground and looked into the box; there was great activity and noise. "I think they are going up," I said. Suddenly the pounding on the box ceased; I heard an outcry and a groan; I looked up, and there was Gray-beard rolling on the ground. He was badly stung in the face. Brush went to his assistance and painted his wounds with mud. I went to the box and pounded as Gray-beard had done. "Look under, Warren, and see what they are doing," I said. Warren put his head to the ground and looked, "I guess that old king went up; they're all gone," he said; "I can't see them." Having recaptured our bees, we securely fastened the box so that the wind could not blow it over; we gathered up our pans, milk pails, and bells and formed a homeward procession. Brush headed it, leading Gray-beard, whose eyes were now both closed and bandaged with his white handkerchief, and in this way we reached the Mission building. The ladies and the school girls were waiting on the porch for our return, and as we approached the gate a number called out, "How many of you are stung?" "Two!" cried the boys; "teacher and Lester." When we were passing the girls on the porch to go to our quarters, pretty little black-eyed Rosalie, my sweetheart, came up to me and asked, "Frank, was you stung?" "No; but the bees wouldn't go in the box for anybody but me," I answered proudly. "But I wish you was stung like Lester," she said; "his girl is telling the rest of them all about it, and they think he's right smart because he got stung." Some of the big girls, overhearing this confidence, put their aprons up to their faces to hide their laughter. The teachers never knew that there were lovers among the pupils and that little romances were going on right under their eyes.