“There will be times when you must have help,” he said. “I told you about the right man the last time you were here. If you will call Mr. Carey and tell him the circumstances when you find in your examination that the last cell of any hive has been filled, and the bees are growing restless, he will come and help you harvest the honey. He will show you how. Then you can render him the same service and that way you will neither one be put to the expense of hiring a party who may not be compatible to the bees. He will teach you what the first signs of foul brood are and how to go to work on it, and as far as the rest is concerned, my little side partner here can tell you anything you need to know in taking care of the bees. Can’t you, Buddy?” asked the Bee Master, tightening his arm.
“I sure can!” answered the youngster. “I have put him wise to every single thing you ever told me about a bee. I haven’t forgot the first word of anything you told me and I can pretty near hit the bull’s-eye on anything you ever read me from a book. I might not have just all of the big, high-soundin’ words, but I passed on the proper meaning.”
“Yes, I think you could,” said the Bee Master. “I will bear you out in that. I never read anything to you that you failed in getting the proper meaning.”
“And, too, you know,” said the little Scout, “that you read somepin’ wonderful! You go very slow, and you pronounce your words so that almost anything you read is like poetry, and you put in little explanations where the
