After the children had gone back to the house, Mary asked grandmamma why
she did not come to see the bees hived.

"My dear, it is no new sight to me. Why, I hived the very first swarm we
ever had myself."

"_You_ hived them, grandmamma? Do tell us about it."

"It was a year or two after we were married, and a friend had given us a
hive of bees in the spring. They swarmed one sunny day when your
grandpapa had gone to London, and the only man handy was the gardener.
He had not been with us long, and he stayed but a very short time, as he
did not suit us.

"I saw the swarm myself hanging on to a red-currant bush, and I asked
the gardener if he could hive the swarm. He said he didn't know anything
about bees, and he didn't care to meddle with them.

"I didn't care to ask for any help from him, so I went into the kitchen
and said to one of the servants, 'Ann, would you be afraid to help me
hive the bees, for they have swarmed?'

"'Not at all, ma'am,' she said.

"So I told her to draw a pair of stockings over her hands and arms, and
to tie a thin shawl over her head and neck; then, when she was ready, we
went into the garden."

"What did you put on, grandma?"