"Hivit is"

Ladies' Mirror, Volume V, Issue 2, 2 August 1926, Page 76

"Hivit is"

Tansy

It happened last summer, when one's thoughts naturally turned to the seaside. My friend Touch's did; so he and family decided to leave the city and go and dwell near the briney. As a matter of fact, Touch would rather have stayed in town. but, of course, wife and kiddies must be considered, so the seaside won. St. Helier's Bay was the destination, because Touch had a friend there, who kindly lent him his shack for a few weeks. Everybody was happy but Touch. "It was alright," he said, "but too much travelling"— but there again he considered others. Touch is always considering others very good-hearted fellow, Touch. To the delight of the whole family a hive of bees were enjoying themselves at the new seaside home. One night Touch's son and heir suggested robbing the hive, and was loudly seconded by the rest of the family. Touch had never tried his hand at honey-snatching before, and he was hopeful that they would all forget about the bees, so he fell in with his youthful son's suggestion. The next day was Friday, and Touch arrived home feeling very tired and fed up with things in general. Just at this moment his son and heir rushed up to him in great excitement: "What about robbing the bees. Dad?" said the small one. "Oh, alright, there's plenty of time. I'll rob the bees alright!" "But do it to-night," insisted the small one. "No! I am too tired to-night. I'll do it to-morrow afternoon." To he quite candid, this honeysnatching was not in Touch's line, but a promise is a promise. Saturday afternoon arrived all too soon, and Touch was not feeling the happiest individual in the world as he donned his armour. About a yard of muslin was duly and faithfully, placed on his head underneath his 111111111111;i■ 11 ■: 111:1111111■■111 ii rlllln ri:111111111s1111111111 iill■i 111■■111111i1111

hat, because the bees could not sting him had he put it over his hat, and Touch wanted to give them a fair "go." Being at the seaside, he was not wearing socks, which fact, of course, did not occur to him. Forth he marched to battle, urged on by the excited yells of the youthful son who, by this time, was joined by his sister. Together they gave Touch wonderful encouragement. As the battle raged things were not all on Touch's side, although the points were slightly in his favour. "Go on, Dad," yelled the little girlie. "Yes, go on. Dad," shouted the boy, who, by the way, was well in the rear. ; I Hie girl, being the braver, was -*- very near the front line. "That's it, Dad. . . That's it," she yelled, as Touch fought the bees. "Oh! . . . . Ooh! ... Boo! . . .Hoo! . . . The girl was wounded, the hoy retreated at top. Still the battle of honey and bees raged. Touch fell back a few inches for a breather. Then a shriek of agony filled the air Touch had been stung right on the chin, and his efforts to join his son are best left to the imagination. The next night Touch decided to finish the job, hut this time he was minus spectators and encouragement. Nothing daunted, he mad/-' a wild grab at the hive, and immediately the sides fell in (it had originally been an old petrol case). The honey fell out, and whilst Touch was giving a very fair imitation of a Maori haka, somehow he managed to stand on it, killing half the bees. In his anxiety to rush off before he again got wounded he tripped over the remnants of the hive, and sat right in the middle of the comb. Having succeeded in killing what bees were left, and after his wife had come to the rescue and extracted him from his honey seat, he reckoned the bees had been well and trulv robbed