But Grandma knew. Away back in the orchard, Grandpa had several hives
of bees. Joyce had gone too near one of the hives; and a bee had done
the rest.

Grandma did not say much. Quietly she took the little girl's hand and
led her back to the house. Soon Joyce was lying on the couch, and Grandma
was wringing cold water out of a cloth, and gently placing it on her
eye. Before long the pain was gone; but the eye began to swell, and soon
she was not able to see out of it at all.

"It's all my fault that we went to the orchard," said Don, looking sober.

"No, it's mine," said Joyce. "I was afraid we would wake Grandma."

"Well," laughed Grandma, "I guess it was mine, because I forgot to tell
you about the bees."

When it was time to get ready for bed that night, Grandma bathed the
swollen eye again. "I wish there were no bees, Grandma," said the little
girl suddenly.

"Why, you like honey, don't you, dear?" asked Grandma.

"Ye-es, I like honey; but I don't like bees--they sting so!"

"Bees are very interesting and hard-working little creatures," said
Grandma; "and if they are let alone, they will not harm anyone."

"I didn't mean to bother them," said Joyce, "but one stung _me_."