"_We_ must look funny, too," suggested the Babe, staring hard at the
black mud poultice under his uncle's swollen eye. But his uncle
refused to be diverted.

"And his glossy fur was in a state of which his mother would have
strongly disapproved. But his twinkling little eyes burned with wrath
and determination. He sniffed again that honey smell. He stared up at
the bee tree, and noted that the opening was much larger than it had
been before his visit. A big crack extended from it for nearly two
feet down the trunk. Moreover, there did not seem to be so many bees
buzzing about the hole."

The Babe's eyes grew so round with inquiry at this point that Uncle
Andy felt bound to explain.

"You see, as soon as the bees got it into their cunning heads that
their enemy was going to succeed in breaking into their storehouse,
they decided that it was more important to save their treasures than to
fight the enemy. It's like when one's house is on fire. At first one
fights to put the fire out. When that's no use, then one thinks only
of saving the things. That's the principle the bees generally go upon.
At first they attack the enemy, in the hope of driving him off. But if
they find that he is going to succeed in breaking in and burglarizing
the place, then they fling themselves on the precious honey which they
have taken so much pains to store, and begin to stuff their honey sacks
as full as possible. All they think of then is to carry away enough to
keep them going while they are getting established in new quarters.
The trouble with the fool bear who has got us into this mess to-day was
that he tackled a bee tree where the outside wood was too strong for