entire civil war that point was thought important on account of the
bridge; army stores were constantly shipped South that way.

So the three children started off, merry as larks, with their trusty
companion.

On either side of the turnpike road were green fields flushed with light.
The morning air stirred about them, redolent in sweet scents and attuned
with the many voices of summer. They heard the drowsy hum of bees; and
butterflies were there, thick as motes in the midday sun. Roberta's
observant, nature-loving eyes roved delightedly from one point to another
of the sunny landscape, while she repeated gaily to Mam' Sarah a little
couplet. The child's memory was stored with quaint rhymes:

"A country lane between fields of clover
Rippling in sunshine over and over.
There the whirl of gay revelrie,
Butterflies waltzing mad with glee,
Honey-bees, powdered in dust of gold,
Chassezing around like gay knights of old,
Clad in silken doublet and hose;
Lookout, lookout, if you tread on their toes."

Suddenly Polly broke away, pulled up an iron-weed growing on the
road-side, and fell to whipping a large purple thistle. Her thirst grew;
she left the thistle and fell to whipping the rank grass. Then was heard
an angry buzz, as the assaulted bees swarmed out of their defenses and
literally stormed her.

They settled all over her. Head, face, bare feet and legs were attacked