The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1895-05-11

N1N ing Miss Helen hano'
~ the village school-teach-
y er who, in the course OF
s'boarding round" had come at last
beneath his hospitable roof. "Iame
honey's no good. 1t hasn't got the
curative prop'ties of the wild article.
Them wild bees seem to get the tang
ont of flowers. You can taste 1t IN
their honey. 'Tisn't so insipid-llke
as that made by hive bees. Seems to
be more medicine in it. Now, II
only knew where there was bee
tree, I'd go and chop it down and
get you some wild honey. I'd war
rant it would cure you in two days at
the furtherest."
THANK you, Mr.. Wells" replied
the teacher, in the hollow, huskyvolce
of one who has bad cold on the
lungs. std give almost anything to
get little relief from this weight on
my chest, so that I could draw a full
breath again. Well, I'm glad it's
Saturday, anyway, so shall have
two days rest in the house"
A plump little arm slipped around
Miss Rand's neck, and childish
voice cried, so Miss Rand, I'm SO
sorry you're sick, I'm SO sorry 1t
was little Bessie, Uncle Nathan's
seven ear-old pet, who had stolen
up behind Miss Rand's chair.
"Are you, darling?" And Miss Rand
caught the child in her arms. sit
makes me feel better already to have
you say that you are sorry for me-"
"Does it," smiled the little girl.
s'Then I'm glad I'm sorry But I'd
be ever SO much gladden. if | could
get some wild honey for you. love
you SOL"
It was one of those warm spring
days SO facilitating to a person suf
fering from cold, and Helen Rand,
feeling weak and spiritless, went to
her room Immediately after break
fast and threw herself upon the
lounge. Once little Bessie came and
peeped wistfully in, but seeing that
the teacher was doing she crept
softly away on tiptoe and went out
into the yard. Her aunt was busy
with the household work, and her
uncle and the hired man had gone
down by the river to mend fence,
so the child was left to amuse and
{ care for herself. How she missed
the dear friend who was won't to
romp and ramble with her on their
happy holidays, but who was now ly
ing pale and ill up-stairs-all for the
lack of little wild honey!
Bessie sat down on the chopping-
log by the woodpile and began to
think very intently upon what her
uncle had said at breakfast that
morning, that if he knew where there
was bee-tree, he would go and chop
it down and get the teacher some wild
honey. Then, surely, the wild bees
must hide their honey in some tree
in the woods9 Why couldn't she find
bee-tree, and chop it down herself,
and get poor Miss Rand some honey
to cure her cold9 She could try,
anyway. 1t was Saturday, and she
had no lessons to study.
Bessie went into the woodshed,
climbed on chair and took down
the Ratchet from its place on beam
by the door. Then she walked
through the great barn, out into the
meadow beyond, and started briskly
for the woods. Nobody saw the little
figure under the big tapping straw
hat as it marched straight across the
fields and disappeared in the shadow
of the pines and spruces.
On and on through the great silent
woods wandered the little bee-hunter.
At first she thought she must look
carefully at every tree lest she should
pass one by that contained the pre-
cious hoard of honey. But she soon
found that nearly all the trees were
SO solid that there wasn't hole into
which even one bee could crawl; so
she hurried on, searching for trees
with knot-holes in them, and cloven,
hollow trunks. These she would
pound vigorously with her Ratchet,