garden.

Mrs. Bain replied: "I suppose he is about the barn; he doesn't stay in
the house." I knew that, but somehow we Adams will go to our Eves with
anything that goes wrong.

"What's the trouble?" my wife asked.

I told her about the exposure of the bees, (about the effect of which
I knew very little) and said:

"I want Charlie to keep out of that apiary. He'll kill every bee I
have."

Mrs. Bain in a very gentle manner said: "I did that myself. That's the
way father used to do. I was afraid your bees might starve during the
long cold spell, so I made some syrup and placed it in the upper
compartments. I lifted the lids so that the light would attract the
bees up to the syrup. I'm very sorry I did it, but I thought it would
please you."

I said: "Well, I believe you did the right thing, my dear, and I am
very much obliged to you."

If my wife had said in a harsh tone: "I did that, sir. What are you
going to do about it?" then I would have said something.

A little bit of anger let loose in a field of human nature is as
destructible to noble impulses and generous feelings as a cyclone is
to a town. I was in an Iowa cyclone some years ago and I noticed when