"Just then the bee began to buzz about Alfred's ears. 'Help your mother!
Help your mother!' it said. But Alfred did not pay any attention. 'Let
the dishes go,' he cried. 'I don't care whether they are ever washed or
not.' And picking up the lunch which his mother had packed so nicely for
him, he started toward the creek. He did not even look back to say 'good
-by.'

"The boys found fishing very good that day. They caught a fine string
of trout, ate their lunch, and in the middle of the afternoon were ready
to start for home. Alfred was much pleased with their catch, and on the
way home he said over and over, 'Won't Mother be glad we went fishing
today, when she sees our string of trout? She is so fond of trout.' But
even while he was saying it, he could not forget the tired look on his
mother's face, or the hurt look in her eyes when he had refused to wash
the dishes for her.

"When the boys reached the house, it seemed strangely quiet. They found
the dishes cleared away, and the kitchen neatly swept. Alfred's mother
was lying on the couch, and she seemed to be resting very comfortably.

"'See, Mother,' said Alfred, 'isn't this a nice string of trout?'

"But Mother did not answer. Alfred spoke to her again. Still no answer.
He touched her hand then, and found it icy-cold.

"Then the awful truth dawned upon him--his mother was dead! She had died
while he was fishing; but she had done the work that she had asked her
boy to do.

"All his life, poor Alfred felt the sting of the bee that had buzzed