“GETTING tired?” asked Billy as Mary Frances finished planting the last of her radish seeds.
“Not so very,” answered Mary Frances, “but I would like to take a little rest,” sitting down on the garden bench. “Doesn’t everything look lovely—the beds all laid out, and neat as biscuits in a baking pan!”
“It is some garden, believe me!” agreed Billy, wiping his brow. “I guess I’ll stop for a few minutes, too,” throwing himself down at the foot of the tree.
“Oh, Billy, you oughtn’t to lie there on the ground,” chided Mary Frances; “you’ll take your death of cold.”
“Ha! Ha!” roared Billy, getting up. “Yes, Grandmother, certainly, your darling grandchild understands your kind admonition and obeys,” taking a seat beside Mary Frances, who made room for him.
“Oh, Billy, don’t tease,” she begged. “Please don’t! I’ve enjoyed my Garden Lessons so much, and you’ve been so kind——”
“Say, Mary Frances, if you want me to go away, just keep on praising me, will you,” interrupted Billy.
“All right,” said Mary Frances, “I’ll stop, but I’ve gone over and over in my mind the lesson about the seed babies. It all seems so wonderful to me. Do you know, Billy, I’ve often wondered how the little seed babies are made. Where does their mother get them?”
“Well,” began Billy, “I guess I can explain.”
“Oh,” shrieked Mary Frances suddenly. “Oh, Billy, excuse me, please, but that bee nearly dashed in my face.”
“It’s not after you, Mary Frances,” laughed Billy. “That’s good Mrs. Bee looking for honey. And she’ll have hard work to find it to-day, I’m thinking. Still, I saw a few very early blossoms out on the shrubs at the end of the garden.”
“I saw them, too, Billy. Isn’t it lovely that we have such beautiful things to enjoy.”
“That’s what Mrs. Bee thinks, too,” said Billy;“and in fact, the flowers are made beautiful, not for us especially, but to attract the bees and moths and butterflies.”
“But I can’t imagine why,” said Mary Frances; “the bees only steal honey from them.”
“Only steal honey!” exclaimed Billy. “But then, I used to think so myself, Mary Frances, until about a year ago, when I learned better. You see, the bees do every bit as much for the flowers as the flowers do for the bees.”
“Oh, do they? That’s wonderful, Billy. Please tell me about it?”
“If you’ll move over far enough on this bench to let me be comfortable,” growled Billy.
“Oh, certainly, certainly; excuse me.” Mary Frances almost fell off the end. “Oh, say, Billy, let’s go over under the trees and I’ll swing in the hammock, and you can take the bench.”
“All right,” said Billy, following Mary Frances.
“Now,” suggested Mary Frances, settling herself in the hammock, “I know you feel just like telling me the whole story.”
“All right,” agreed Billy, “and I have a surprisefor you—I just caught that honey bee you saw. Here, in my cap.”
“Oh, let’s see it, Billy,” Mary Frances put out her hand.
“Take care!” warned Billy. “I guess you forget how a bee stings. Go get a large-mouth bottle and I’ll slip it in.”
Billy gently slipped the bee into the large bottle Mary Frances brought.
“Notice, Mary Frances, how furry its little body is.”
“Why, it’s covered with yellow!” exclaimed Mary Frances. “I thought bees were rather dark in color.”
“Yes,” said Billy, “yes, this bee is quite dark in color; the yellow you see is pollen powder.”
“Oh, off the anther bead!” exclaimed Mary Frances. “It’s off the anther bead of some flower!”
“Guessed right that time,” said Billy. “That’s what it is, all right. I wish I could tell you the whole story of the bee and of fertilization the way Miss Gardener told us in class.”
“Won’t you try to remember, Billy; won’t you try?” begged Mary Frances.