The Tale of Buster b.u.mblebee.

by Arthur Scott Bailey.

I

THE BIG FAMILY

When Mrs. Field Mouse moved from her home in Farmer Green's meadow to the more fashionable neighborhood near the gristmill, she had no idea that anyone would care to live in the little old house that she had left.

So she was much surprised, the following summer, when she heard that a new family was occupying her former home.

"If it's a small family they'll get along well enough," she remarked to Aunt Polly Woodchuck, who had told her the news.

"Small!" Aunt Polly exclaimed, lifting both her hands (with the black mitts on them) high in the air. "They say it's a dreadful big family--at least two hundred of 'em, so I've been told."

Well, for a moment Mrs. Field Mouse couldn't say a word, she was so astonished. Then she managed to gasp:

"What's their name?"

"I declare, I can't just remember," said Aunt Polly Woodchuck. "But it's a name that rhymes with _apple tree_--though that's not quite it....

They're a very musical family, I understand. My nephew, Billy Woodchuck, pa.s.sed right by their door only yesterday; and he says he heard music and the sound of dancing from inside the house."

"Two hundred of them dancing in that little house!" cried Mrs. Field Mouse. "Why, it's positively dangerous! I should think they'd trample one another."

And Aunt Polly Woodchuck agreed, before she went off towards her home under the hill, that there were queer goings-on over there in the meadow.

Later she sent her nephew Billy to tell Mrs. Field Mouse that on her way home she had remembered the name of the big family. It was _b.u.mblebee_.

"They must be an odd lot," Mrs. Field Mouse remarked to her husband.

"Farmer Green's meadow is becoming more unfashionable than ever. And I shall never regret having moved away from there."

So that was Buster b.u.mblebee's first home--the old house in the meadow.

It was true that the b.u.mblebee family numbered at least two hundred souls. n.o.body knew what the exact count might have been; for in the daytime all the members of the family were bustling about, never staying in one place long enough to be counted. And at night they were all too drowsy to bother their heads over anything but sleep.

It was true, too, that the b.u.mblebee family filled their house almost to overflowing--especially when they began to store away great quant.i.ties of honey in it. But they never seemed to mind being crowded. And if any of them wanted more room he had only to go out of doors and get it.

Buster b.u.mblebee's mother was the head of the whole family. Everybody always spoke of her as "the Queen." And she never had to lift her hand, because there were other members of the family that were both ready and eager to do everything for her. She was really quite a fine lady.

And it was generally understood that her son Buster favored his mother.

Certainly he was--like her--very handsome, in his suit of black and yellow velvet. Like his mother, too, he never did a stroke of work. And although everybody said that Buster b.u.mblebee was a drone, he never seemed to mind it in the least.

II

CHIRPY CRICKET'S ADVICE

If the summers in Pleasant Valley had been longer perhaps the honey-makers in Buster b.u.mblebee's home would have taken a holiday now and then. But they knew that every day that pa.s.sed brought cold weather that much the nearer. So they never once stopped working--except to sleep at night. And, like Farmer Green himself, they felt that they must not waste any of the precious daylight by lying abed late in the morning.

They wanted to be up and in the clover field as soon as it was light.

Now, with Rusty Wren living right beneath his bedroom window to wake him at dawn, Farmer Green had no trouble in getting up in good season. But the b.u.mblebee family were in no such luck. Even if Rusty Wren had lived near them in the meadow they could scarcely have heard his dawn song, because their home was beneath the surface of the ground, in the old house that had once belonged to Mrs. Field Mouse.

If they could have found an alarm clock somewhere it would have been easy for them to rise as early in the morning as they wished. But lacking a clock of that kind--or any other--they had to find a different way of waking themselves.

That was why the workers chose one of their number to be a trumpeter. And it was her duty to get up bright and early, at three or four o'clock, and trumpet loudly to rouse all the other workers.

How the trumpeter herself managed to awake is something that never bothered anybody else. It was her business not to oversleep. And she knew that it would be very unpleasant for her if she failed even once to do her duty.

Now, it was all well enough for the workers to have the morning silence broken by the blare of trumpeting. They were eager to get up and begin their day's work. But Buster b.u.mblebee did not like that arrangement in the least. He preferred a good, long night's sleep. And since he never did any work he thought it was a shame that he should be rudely awakened in such a fashion.

At home, however, he did not mention his grievance to anyone. But he talked the matter over with a number of his friends--outside the family.

And one and all agreed that something ought to be done to put a stop to the trumpeter's noise.

"Why don't you have a pleasant talk with her?" Chirpy Cricket suggested.

"Perhaps she would be willing to trumpet a little more softly if she knew that she was disturbing you."

That plan did not quite suit Buster b.u.mblebee.

"It would be hard to have a pleasant talk with the trumpeter," he said.

"She's quite likely to lose her temper. And she might sting me if she became angry enough."

"Then you must first put her in a good humor," Chirpy Cricket told him cheerfully. "Begin by saying what a good trumpeter she is and tell her that her hat is _very_ becoming."

Still Buster b.u.mblebee was a bit doubtful of the outcome of the scheme.

But at last he agreed to give it a trial. "Though I must say I feel quite nervous," he added. And all Chirpy Cricket's sprightly jokes failed to make Buster smile.

III

THE RUDE TRUMPETER

Yes! At last Buster b.u.mblebee was worried. Every time he looked at the trumpeter she seemed in a more peppery temper than ever. Beside her, some of the other workers appeared positively pleasant. But the trumpeter wore a frown. And what was still worse, she wore no hat.

How, then, was Buster to follow Chirpy Cricket's advice and tell her what a becoming hat she was wearing?

"I'll have to think of some other way of making her feel happy--since she's bareheaded," said Buster.

Now, without thinking what he was doing he had spoken his thought right out loud. And since he was quite near the trumpeter and staring directly at her, it was no wonder that she heard what he said.

"Don't be impertinent, young man!" the trumpeter snapped, growing somewhat red in the face. "I'm sure it's no affair of yours whether I wear a hat or whether I don't. And if you want to make me happy, I'll tell you the best way in the world."

"Oh! Will you?" cried Buster b.u.mblebee hopefully. And in his eagerness he drew even nearer to the trumpeter, who actually smiled at him. But there was something in her smile that sent a shiver up and down Buster's back.