Bee Helpful

“What are you going to do with that rope?” asked Don, as Grandpa came from the shed with a coil of rope on his arm.

“Come with me, and you will find out,” answered Grandpa. “And you may call Joyce, too, if you wish.”

Don ran to the house to get Joyce, and soon the two came back together. They followed Grandpa down the lane toward the pasture where he kept his pigs. The children kept asking him what he intended to do, but he would only answer, “Wait and see.”

Grandpa had a good many grown hogs, and ten little pigs. He opened the pasture gate and called to them, and they all came out into the lane, grunting and squealing. Then he coaxed them toward the pigpen that he had been building. He closed the gate, and, turning to the children, said, “Now if you watch me, you will see what I intend to do with the rope.”

When the children were both safe on the other side of the fence, Grandpa climbed into the pigpen and coiled the rope a number of times in his hands. Then he cast it from him, and it fell over one of the little pigs. He drew it in, and the pig was caught. Then he lifted him and placed him in the pen. How the little fellow squealed, and how hard the old hogs tried to get to him! Some of the larger ones started toward the fence where Don and Joyce were perched on posts. Grandpa laughed to see how quickly the children scrambled down.

“Now,” said Grandpa, “you see why I wanted the fence between you and those hogs, don’t you? If they could get to you, they might tear you in pieces; for they want to take care of the little pigs.”

Grandpa coiled the rope again, caught another of the little pigs, and then another and another, until all ten of them were in in the pen. Then he opened the gate and turned the others back into the pasture.

Grandpa had caught the pigs so easily—only once or twice had he had to try a second time. “I don’t see how you could catch them when they were running away from you,” said Don. “I couldn’t catch them if they were standing still.”

“Perhaps not,” said Grandpa. “But I can catch you if you try to get away from me. Just try it.”

At that, Don began to run as fast as he could; but he had not gone far when he felt the rope slip over his shoulders, and he was lifted off his feet.

“What fun!” shouted Joyce. “Now try it on me.”

Grandpa spent quite a while catching first one and then the other. Joyce was the hardest to catch, for after a few times she learned how to dodge the rope.

“Why did you put those little pigs in the pen?” asked Don, following close at his heels.

“They are getting in the cornfield,” answered Grandpa, “and eating too much of my corn.”

“But can’t you keep them out?” asked Don.

“No,” said Grandpa; “for when I mend one place in the fence, the little pigs are sure to find another place big enough to squeeze through. So the only way I can keep them out is to pen them up. Don, you may carry water for the little pigs—and they will need plenty, too, because it is so warm.”

That pleased Don, and he began at once to fill the trough which Grandpa had placed in the pen.

That evening, Grandpa and Grandma and the children sat on the porch, listening to the chirp of the katydids and the call of the whippoorwills.

“Grandma,” said Don, “what kind of bee will you tell us about tonight?”

“Bee Sleepy, and go to bed,” said Grandpa, with a wink at Grandma.

The children laughed. “No,” said Don, “I don’t want to hear about that bee—not yet.”

“All right,” said Grandma, “we’ll have our story first; but we must begin right away, because it is almost bedtime. The bee I am thinking about tonight comes often to us all—especially to little children.

“Once there was a boy named Alfred who was the only child in his home. He was very selfish; and often he was determined to have his own way. But he had his good points, too.

“Alfred lived in the country; and during the Christmas holidays, he visited a friend of his who lived in the city. Then his friend in turn visited him during the summer vacation.

“As soon as his company came, Alfred thought it was quite too much for his mother to ask him to help her. He forgot how very ill she had been, and how frail she still was. Indeed, it was hard for him to think of anything but having a good time with his friend.

“The two boys had planned to spend a certain day at the creek, fishing. Of course they were eager to start as early as they could that morning. After they had gathered together everything that they needed for their trip, they went out to the kitchen and found Alfred’s mother packing a lunch for them.

“ ‘Alfred,’ she said, ‘I wish you would help me a little with the work before you go. I am afraid that I shall not be able to do it all alone. Would you mind stopping long enough to wash the dishes and clean up the kitchen for me?’

“Alfred began to pout, but his mother continued, ‘I really wish you were not going fishing today. Your father will be away all day; and I would rather not be left alone, for I do not feel as well as usual. But I will not keep you, if you will wash the dishes before you go.’

“ ‘Now, Mother,’ said Alfred angrily, ‘why do you ask me to do that, when you know I want to get started early? If I have to wait half the day, I don’t care to go at all.’

“Just then the bee began to buzz about Alfred’s ears. ‘Help your mother! Help your mother!’ it said. But Alfred did not pay any attention. ‘Let the dishes go,’ he cried. ‘I don’t care whether they are ever washed or not.’ And picking up the lunch which his mother had packed so nicely for him, he started toward the creek. He did not even look back to say ‘goodbye.’

“The boys found fishing very good that day. They caught a fine string of trout, ate their lunch, and in the middle of the afternoon were ready to start for home. Alfred was much pleased with their catch, and on the way home he said over and over, ‘Won’t Mother be glad we went fishing today, when she sees our string of trout? She is so fond of trout.’ But even while he was saying it, he could not forget the tired look on his mother’s face, or the hurt look in her eyes when he had refused to wash the dishes for her.

“When the boys reached the house, it seemed strangely quiet. They found the dishes cleared away, and the kitchen neatly swept. Alfred’s mother was lying on the couch, and she seemed to be resting very comfortably.

“ ‘See, Mother,’ said Alfred, ‘isn’t this a nice string of trout?’

“But Mother did not answer. Alfred spoke to her again. Still no answer. He touched her hand then, and found it icy cold.

“Then the awful truth dawned upon him—his mother was dead! She had died while he was fishing; but she had done the work that she had asked her boy to do.

“All his life, poor Alfred felt the sting of the bee that had buzzed about him on that summer morning. What hurt him most deeply was that he would never again have a chance to help his frail little mother who had done so much for him.”

“I’m so glad,” said Joyce, “that I still have my mother, and that I can do things for her when she is tired.”

“It’s a sad story, Grandma,” said little Don, “but I’m glad you told it to us. I’m going to remember it always.”