UNCLE PAUL was still talking when they heard a persistent noise in the garden: pom! pom! pom! pom! as if some smith had set up his anvil under the big elder-tree. They ran to see what it was. Jacques was gravely tapping with a key on the watering can: pom! pom! pom! pom! Mother Ambroisine was busily beating a copper saucepan with a small stone: pom! pom! pom! pom!

Have our two good servants lost their heads, that they are giving themselves up, with the most serious air in the world, to this charivari? Without suspending their singular occupation, they exchange a few words. “They are going toward the currant-bush,” says Jacques. “They look as if they were going away,” answers Mother Ambroisine; and the pom! pom! pom! pom! is resumed.

Just then Uncle Paul and his nephews and niece come up. One glance is enough to explain everything to Uncle Paul. Over the garden there is a kind of red smoke flying, which sometimes rises and sometimes sinks, sometimes scatters and sometimes comes together in a compact mass. A monotonous whirring of wings proceeds from the midst of the red smoke. Jacques and Mother Ambroisine, still tapping, follow the cloud. Uncle Paul looks on, greatly preoccupied. Emile, Jules, and Claire look at each other, surprised at what is going on.

The little cloud descends, it approaches the currant-bush, as Jacques had foreseen, passes around it, examines it, chooses a branch. And now pom! pom! pom! pom! louder than ever. On the branch selected a round mass is formed, visibly increasing while the cloud, less and less compact, whirls around. Jacques and Mother Ambroisine stop tapping. Soon there hangs from the branch of the currant-bush a large bunch, from which the last comers of the living cloud depart to return an instant later. All is over; one can now approach.

Emile, who suspects it is bees, would like to return to the house. His old misadventure with the hive has left him with lively remembrances. To reassure him his uncle takes him by the hand. Emile bravely approaches the currant-bush. What risk can he run with his uncle? Jules and Claire come close also; it is worth the trouble.

Now, on the currant-bush hangs a bunch of bees, all close together. Some belated ones come from here and there, choose a good place, and cling on to the preceding ones. The branch bends under the burden, for there are several thousands on it. The first arrivals, doubtless the most robust, since they will have to support the whole load, have seized the branch with the claws of their forefeet; others have come and fastened themselves to the hind feet of the first bees, and in their turn have served as suspension points to a third rank; then, gradually, to a fourth, fifth, sixth, and more still, meantime diminishing in number, until finally they are all clinging there by their hands, as one might say. The children stand in wonder before the bunch of bees, whose red down and lustrous wings shine in the sun; but they prudently keep at a distance.

“Do we not run the risk of being stung by getting so near?” Jules asked.

“In their present condition bees rarely make use of their sting. If you foolishly went and tormented them, I would not answer for their conduct; but leave them alone, and you can watch them at your ease, without any fear. They have other cares n............