XXXIII
TWINKLY AGAIN MEETS THE PORCUPINE
Twinkly Eyes, the little Black Bear, cocked first one ear and then another.
There was certainly a buzzing somewhere that sounded mighty like the sound that honey bees made. The memory of his feast at the bee tree made him lick his chops in delight.
He followed the sound to the tree around which it centered, clambered up the trunk, and was soon following the particular limb on the end of which most of the “bees” were clustered.
Twinkly, after all, had had but one experience with bees, and it is not surprising that these insects should have fooled him.
True, he had not expected to find the honey out at the end of the branch inside a round gray ball. The time he had had that feast, the honey had been in a great mass of comb inside the hollow trunk.
But then, one never could tell. His ears told him that there were bees, and he always trusted more to his ears than his eyes.
But then, he trusted more to his nose than either of them,—at least generally.
At any other time he would have listened to the warning of his nose. This time he wondered why he could not smell the honey as he had before. But perhaps he didn’t want to be warned. He hoped so dreadfully that there was honey that he tried to persuade himself it was there, even if he couldn’t smell it.
So on he went, straight to the end of the swaying limb! Then he sat down to think it over.
It was certainly very peculiar, that huge gray ball into which the “bees” were pouring. For while a few tried to sting the intruder and only got as far as his fur, so quiet had been his approach that most of them were going inside as if he had not been there. There is no animal in all the Deep Woods that can move as noiselessly as a little Black Bear when he wants to.
Finally, when every “bee” had gone into the gray ball through a little round hole, he cautiously put out one paw and tried to reach after them. But it was too small for him; he only succeeded in closing it so the “bees” couldn’t get out. An angry buzz answered this move on his part.
Unk Wunk, the yearling porcupine, who had been watching from the tree across the way, gave a grunt of amusement.
“Those aren’t bees,” he jeered. “Those are wasps. So you won’t find any honey. I’d hate to be in your place when you take your paw off that hole!”
“Hello, there,” grinned Twinkly Eyes. “I’m not afraid!”
He really thought Unk Wunk was trying to drive him away from his find in order to enjoy it himself. He didn’t believe for an instant that it was really a nest full of angry wasps he had imprisoned.