“Th—that’s lucky, lad,” replied the father breathlessly as his face showed above the hedge, “I feared we’d seed the laist of ’em. Go and fetch a skep and my hat, and don’t forget the bellows, for I’ve hardly a brith left in me. But, dang me,” he added angrily, on sighting the lane in the barley, “what a mess they badgers have made of the corn. It’s all through that theer tree, and down it shall come.” “What, Johanna’s tree? Cut down Johanna’s tree? You’ll do nawthin’ of the kind, maister. ’Twas her pride, good soul, so I’ve heered granny say. Cut it down? Why, ’twould be enough to make her turn in her grave, and perhaps visit ’ee, who do knaw? And only think a minit, you’d have lost that swarm of bees, and a handsome swarm it is. Iss fay, and worth a bra bit; ‘a swarm of bees in June is worth a silver spoon,’ and you’d have lost it if the tree hadn’t been theere.” “Well, well, Betty, most likely you’re right. I never looked at it that way.” “Ah, maister, it don’t take much to make people forget their obligations.” “Now, now, Betty, have done, theere’s a good woman; I spoke in haste. I’ll never lay hands on Johanna’s tree. And here comes our Jesse already. The lad’s as fast as a hare, and if he’s forgotten the bellows he’s remembered the cloth to ground the hive on.” Taking the skep, the farmer shook the bees into it and laid it on the cloth which Jesse had spread at the foot of the tree. “They’ll do all right theere till the sun is gone, when I’ll come myself and fetch ’em. Now let’s make haste back and finish our fish and taties, or they’ll be too cold to be worth eating. What do you say, Dick?” “You’re right, maister, a cold pilcher ed’n much account, nor a cold tatie nother. I’d as soon sit down to a basin of sky blue and sinker,[2] and that ed’n sayin’ much.” With that, man and master, Betty and the boys quitted the field, leaving the hare to his reflections. The whole proceeding was a mystery to the timid wildling, who had kept to his seat notwithstanding Betty’s shrill voice and gesticulations. Some hares would have slipped away, but it was instinctive in him to lie close until found; a trait of his strain which went far to explain the survival of his forbears amidst the gradual disappearance of their kind. But though satisfied that he was not the object of the visit as he had at first feared, he was glad when the party went away and left him to solitude. The rest of the day was without incident, save that the farmer, true to his word, came and fetched the bees at sundown.