"The idea!" gasped Miss Dixon. "Those DeVere girls think they are the whole show!"

"I should say they did!"

But it was not the fault of Alice and Ruth that they were young and pretty.

"It won't be a very large cla.s.s--with just us five in it," remarked Paul.

"Oh, I'm going to use some of the regular school children," said the manager. "I've made arrangements with the teacher. We're to go to the schoolhouse this afternoon. Here are your parts--it's a simple little thing," he added, as he distributed the typewritten sheets. "Study 'em a bit, we'll have a little rehearsal, and then we'll film it."

It was not as easy as Mr. Pertell had thought it would be to get the little scenes in the country school. His own players were all right, but the regular school children were either too bashful or too bold--particularly some of the boys. And, just as one side of the room would get quiet, and Russ would be ready to grind out the film, the other side would break out into disorder caused by some mischievous boy.

The children did not really mean to cause trouble, but it was a new thing for them to be made subjects for moving pictures. They would persist in staring straight at the camera, instead of pretending to study their lessons as they should have done.

But finally they were induced to go properly through their little scene, and the action of the play began. At one part Alice was to go to the blackboard to do a sum in arithmetic, and Paul was to pa.s.s her a little love note. This was to be intercepted by Ruth, and then the trouble began--trouble of a jealous nature, all being woven into a little country romance that had its start in the schoolhouse.

All was going well, and Russ was clicking merrily away at the camera, when suddenly one of the real pupils--a red-haired boy--cried at the top of his voice:

"Bees! Look out for the bees! There's a swarm of bees headed this way!"

And through the open windows of the school there came a curious humming sound.

CHAPTER XIX

FILMING THE BEES

There was an instant scramble on the part of the school children.

They made a rush for the door.

"Stop! Keep still--you're spoiling the scene!" cried Mr. Pertell, fairly hopping about in his excitement.

The humming sound came nearer, and there was more haste on the part of the youngsters to leave the schoolroom. The players, on the other hand, seemed to feel no alarm; but there was no use in going on with their parts if the others did not carry out the scene.

"Stop! Stop!" cried the manager. "There's no danger!"

"No danger!" cried the red-haired boy who had given the alarm. "What d'ye call that! Wow!" and he slapped the back of his neck vigorously.

"I'm stung!" he yelled.

"So'm I!" cried a girl near him.

"Me, too!" exclaimed another boy.

The humming sound was much louder now, and several small insects could be seen flying about the room.

"I guess we'd better get out of this!" cried Russ, as he prepared to abandon his camera.

"It would be best," advised the teacher. "There is a swarm of bees outside, and some of them are in here. They may sting all of us."

"Well, this is a new one--a moving picture spoiled by bees!" cried Mr. Pertell. "I never----"

"One got me!" interrupted Mr. Sneed. "I knew something would happen.

If there's anything going I get it--from bulldogs to bees!"

He began rubbing vigorously at his cheek, where a bee had saluted him too ardently.

"Come on--everybody out!" ordered Mr. Pertell, making slaps at a bee that was buzzing angrily around his head. There was no need to give this direction to the school children, for they were already outside, and now the teacher hastened out, while the moving picture players lost no time in following her example.

"Ouch! One got me that time!" cried Paul, who was hurrying out at the side of Alice.

"Did it hurt much?" she asked.

"Not much now; but it will more, later," he said, as he examined his wrist to see if the bee's sting had been left in, as that would make an ugly sore. "I've been stung several times before, and when it swells up, and itches, then it's really bad. Let's go find a mud puddle."

"What in the world for?" she asked curiously.

"Mud is the best thing for a bee sting when you can't get ammonia,"

Paul explained. "Just plaster some mud on, and it draws out the pain.

I don't know the theory, except that when a bee stings you he injects some sort of acid poison under the skin. Mud and ammonia are alkalies, and are opposed to acid, so the chemists say."

"Then I'll help you look for a mud puddle," she said.

There was considerable excitement now, for a number of the school children had been stung, and one or two of the players.

"That's the idea--mud!" cried Sandy, as he saw what Paul was doing.

"Bring the children over here, Miss Arthur," he said to the pretty school teacher, "and we'll help doctor 'em."

"Oh, thank you," she answered. "Here, children, over this way."

Soon a number of the little tots were gathered about her, and Ruth and Alice, who offered to help doctor their stings. Miss Pennington and Miss Dixon, who had come to watch the film being made, had, at the first alarm, gone far enough off so that they were in no danger of being stung.

The bees, in a big cloud, were flying slowly about the school, only a comparatively few having entered the window to rout the pupils.

Suddenly Russ darted back into the building.

"What are you going to do?" asked Mr. Pertell, who was fretting over the spoiling of the school scene film.

"I'm going to get my camera," he called back over his shoulder. "I'm going to make a film of this. Look, there comes the bee man after his swarm."

Across the field came running several men, and one of them carried a dishpan on which he was vigorously beating with an iron spoon.

Another had a dinner bell which he clanged constantly.

"Great Scott!" cried Mr. Pertell, "What does all this mean?"

"They're trying to make the swarm settle, so they can put 'em back in a hive," explained Sandy. "You see, a swarm of bees is valuable this time of year. There's an old saying, 'a swarm of bees in May is worth a load of hay; a swarm of bees in June is worth a silver spoon; but a swarm in July ain't worth a fly.' That means a swarm in May will make enough honey to be worth a load of hay, more or less, but in July th' season is so far gone that th' bees won't make more than enough for themselves durin' th' winter."