"You're right!" said Uncle Andy, his voice suddenly growing very stern
as a bee crawled over his collar and jabbed him with great earnestness
in the neck. He sat up. Several other bees were creeping over him,
seeking an effective spot to administer their fiery admonitions. But
he paid them no heed. They stung him where they would--while he was
quickly looking over the Babe's hair, jacket, sleeves, stockings, and
loose little trousers. He killed half a dozen of the angry crawlers
before they found a chance to do the Babe more damage. Then he pulled
out three stings, and applied moist earth from under the moss to each
red and anguished spot.

The Babe looked up at him with a resolute little laugh, and shook
obstinately from the tip of his nose the tears which he would not
acknowledge by the attentions of his handkerchief or his fist.

"Thank you _awfully_," he began politely. "But _oh_! Uncle Andy, your
poor eye is just dreadful. Oh-h-h!"

"Yes, they _have_ been getting after me a bit," agreed Uncle Andy,
dealing firmly with his own assailants, now that the Babe was all
right. "But this jab under the eye is the only one that matters.
Here, see if you can get hold of the sting."

The Babe's keen eyes and nimble little fingers captured it at once.
Then Uncle Andy plastered the spot with a daub of wet, black earth, and
peered over it solemnly at the Babe's swollen ear. He straightened his
grizzled hair, and tried to look as if nothing out of the way had
happened.