the biggest thunderstorm was coming to drown the oldest inhabitant;
and, if they didn't get the start of us and rise, they'd settle on a branch --
generally on one of the scraggy fruit trees. It was rough on the bees --
come to think of it; their instinct told them it was going to be fine,
and the noise and water told them it was raining. They must have thought
that nature was mad, drunk, or gone ratty, or the end of the world had come.
We'd rig up a table, with a box upside down, under the branch,
cover our face with a piece of mosquito net, have rags burning round,
and then give the branch a sudden jerk, turn the box down, and run. If we got
most of the bees in, the rest that were hanging to the bough or flying round
would follow, and then we reckoned we'd shook the queen in.
If the bees in the box came out and joined the others,
we'd reckon we hadn't shook the queen in, and go for them again.
When a hive was full of honey we'd turn the box upside down,
turn the empty box mouth down on top of it, and drum and hammer
on the lower box with a stick till all the bees went up into the top box.
I suppose it made their heads ache, and they went up on that account.

"I suppose things are done differently on proper bee-farms.
I've heard that a bee-farmer will part a hanging swarm with his fingers,
take out the queen bee and arrange matters with her; but our ways suited us,
and there was a lot of expectation and running and excitement in it,
especially when a swarm took us by surprise. The yell of `Bees swarmin'!'
was as good to us as the yell of `Fight!' is now, or `Bolt!' in town,
or `Fire' or `Man overboard!' at sea.

"There was tons of honey. The bees used to go to the vineyards at wine-making
and get honey from the heaps of crushed grape-skins thrown out in the sun,
and get so drunk sometimes that they wobbled in their bee-lines home.
They'd fill all the boxes, and then build in between and under the bark,