not at all sure that I know what you mean by ‘bee immune.’”
“Why, I mean,” said Margaret Cameron, “that there are people in this world whom bees won’t tolerate. There are people to whom it would mean certain and mighty unpleasant death to go down either side line of this garden. There are people whom a bee naturally hates, and there are others with whom they instantly make friends. One man may lift the roof of a hive and scoop up a handful of working bees. There’s a man who comes to help the Bee Master sometimes who carries bees around in the crown of his hat. But that doesn’t prove that they are a safe proposition for everyone.”
Jamie thought that over.
“How do I go about finding out whether I am ‘bee immune’?” he asked, as he leaned against the casing facing the woman before him and noting that she was almost his own height.
“Right there,” said Margaret Cameron, “is where the little Scout comes in. There isn’t anything the Bee Master knows about bees that he hasn’t carefully passed on to his side partner—his first assistant. I imagine you will have a visitor to-day or to-morrow. If you don’t, I will telephone. Take my advice and keep away from the hives until you get your instructions.”
Then Margaret Cameron gathered into a basket the dishes that Jamie had been using, crossed the side yard, and through a small gate entered her own premises.
Jamie stood and watched her going to a low white house
