n a swarm took us by surprise. The yell of 'Bees
swarmin'!' was as good to us as the yell of 'Fight!' is now, or 'Bolt!'
in town, or 'Fire' or 'Man overboard!' at sea.

"There was tons of honey. The bees used to go to the vineyards at
wine-making and get honey from the heaps of crushed grape-skins thrown
out in the sun, and get so drunk sometimes that they wobbled in their
bee-lines home. They'd fill all the boxes, and then build in between and
under the bark, and board, and tin covers. They never seemed to get the
idea out of their heads that this wasn't an evergreen country, and it
wasn't going to snow all winter. My younger brother Joe used to put
pieces of meat on the tables near the boxes, and in front of the holes
where the bees went in and out, for the dogs to grab at. But one old
dog, 'Black Bill', was a match for him; if it was worth Bill's while,
he'd camp there, and keep Joe and the other dogs from touching the
meat--once it was put down--till the bees turned in for the night. And
Joe would get the other kids round there, and when they weren't looking
or thinking, he'd brush the bees with a stick and run. I'd lam him when
I caught him at it. He was an awful young devil, was Joe, and he grew up
steady, and respectable, and respected--and I went to the bad. I never
trust a good boy now.... Ah, well!

"I remember the first swarm we got. We'd been talking of getting a few
swarms for a long time. That was what was the matter with us English
and Irish and English-Irish Australian farmers: we used to talk so much
about doing things while the Germans and Scotch did them. And we even
talked in a lazy, easy-going sort of way.

"Well, one blazing hot day I saw father coming along the road, home
to dinner (we had it in the middle of the day), with his axe over his
shoulder. I noticed the axe particularly because father was bringing it
home to grind, and Joe and I had to turn the stone; but, when I noticed
Joe dragging along home in the dust about fifty yards behind father, I
felt easier in my mind. Suddenly father dropped the axe and started
to run back along the road towards Joe, who, as soon as he saw father
coming, shied for the fence and got through. He thought he was going to
catch it for something he'd done--or hadn't done. Joe used to do so many
things and leave so many things not done that he could never be sure
of father. Besides, father had a way of starting to hammer us
unexpectedly--when the idea struck him