Zelda walked away, muttering, “Beekeeping is much too difficult for children.”

  Laura grinned at the children. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

  “You told Benny you have an emergency,” said Henry. “How can we help?”

  “Actually,” said Laura, “I have two emergencies.” She pulled off her gloves. “First, I’m starting a beekeeping class in two weeks for local children. But I’ve never taught children before. I thought since I know you all so well, I could practice my teaching on you. My second emergency is that David was called away on business. He’ll be gone all week. I really, really need your helping hands to harvest our honey.”

  Jessie twirled a lock of her straight brown hair around and around her finger. “Will we work with real, live honeybees?” she asked.

  “Of course,” said Laura.

  “Will we wear spacesuits like yours?” asked Benny.

  Laura ruffled Benny’s hair. “Absolutely!” she said. “Except these are beekeeping suits.”

  “Count us in!” said Henry.

  Laura gave them high-fives. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said. “You’ll start after lunch. Right now, I have to check a few things in the pasture. You can go inside and unpack. There’s a room at the top of the stairs with bunk beds that I fixed up for you. I’ll send Walt over to give you a tour. He knows this farm better than anyone. We’ll meet back here for lunch.”

  Grandfather smiled. “I can see you don’t need me. Laura, it’s wonderful to see you again. I know the children are in good hands.” He hugged his grandchildren good-bye. “I have work to do back home,” he said. “I’ll see you all at the end of the week.”

  After Grandfather left, the children quickly unpacked. Then they went back outside. They were eager to see more of the farm. A man wearing faded-blue overalls and scuffed work boots stood waiting for them. His bushy, white eyebrows and wavy white hair reminded Benny of Santa Clause. “I’m Walt,” he said in a booming voice. “Laura asked me to show you around. Let’s go.”

  Walt took long strides. They hurried to catch up. “Do you work here?” asked Henry.

  Walt grunted. “This was my farm for fifty years,” he said. “’Til I got too old. Laura and David came along and bought the place. I tried sittin’ around my house all day doin’ a whole lot of nothin’. But I got bored.”

  “I hate being bored,” said Benny.

  Walt looked at the little boy with the brown hair as if noticing him for the first time. Walt grunted, then said, “I asked the Sheas if they needed help. And here I am.”

  Walt showed them Applewood’s vegetable garden, tall rows of corn, pumpkin patch, and fields of wildflowers. In the distance, stands of colored boxes stood along a fence. “Those are some of our beehives,” said Walt. “There’s more in the next pasture.” He looked at the children. “Can’t say I approve of putting kids and bees together.”

  “Didn’t your children help with your bees?” Henry asked.

  “Never did have kids,” said Walt. “Don’t know much about ’em.”

  “Oh!” Violet clasped her hands. “What’s that?” A little, white building with purple trim and a purple door stood near the road. Purple flowers grew all around. Purple was Violet’s favorite color in the whole world.

  “Gift shop,” said Walt.

  “It’s so pretty,” said Violet. “Can we see inside? Please?”

  A bell tinkled as they entered. The children walked slowly around the small shop. There were jars of honey, baskets with honey-made soaps, honey body creams and lip balms, and boxes of honey granola, trail mix, and cereal bars.

  A heavyset teenage boy was stacking cookbooks on a shelf. His bee-shaped name tag said: NOAH. “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “Is everything here made with honey?” asked Benny.

  Noah looked around. “Not the cookbooks,” he said. “Or the tee shirts. Are you taking Walt’s farm tour?”

  “We are,” said Violet. “This shop is my favorite so far.”

  “Have…” Noah’s voice grew shaky, “have you seen the bees?”

  “We’re seeing them after lunch,” said Henry.

  Benny grinned. “We get to wear spacesuits! Um, bee suits.”

  Noah gulped. “Be careful…you don’t want to get stung.”

  “We’ll be careful,” Jessie said. She wondered why Noah worked so close to bees when he was obviously afraid of them.

  Walt lifted a bushy, white eyebrow. “Good grief, Noah,” he said. “Don’t go making people afraid of bees. Honeybees are just about the most amazing insects on the whole planet. You’ve never even visited our hives.” Walt turned to the Aldens. “Let’s go,” he said, “time for lunch.”

  They reached the farmhouse just as Laura drove in from the field. Her face looked tight with worry. “There’s a tear in the fence near the hives,” she said, climbing out of the truck.

  “Are the hives okay?” asked Walt.

  Laura nodded. “They look okay.”

  The old farmer scratched his chin. “Could be a branch fell on the fence during that storm last night.” He climbed into the red truck. “I’ll go mend it.”

  Laura turned to the children. Her troubled face eased into a smile. “Anyone hungry?” she asked.

  “Me!” said Benny.

  “I thought so.” She laughed.

  About the Author

  GERTRUDE CHANDLER WARNER discovered when she was teaching that many readers who like an exciting story could find no books that were both easy and fun to read. She decided to try to meet this need, and her first book, The Boxcar Children, quickly proved she had succeeded.

  Miss Warner drew on her own experiences to write the mystery. As a child she spent hours watching trains go by on the tracks opposite her family home. She often dreamed about what it would be like to set up housekeeping in a caboose or freight car—the situation the Alden children find themselves in.

  While the mystery element is central to each of Miss Warner’s books, she never thought of them as strictly juvenile mysteries. She liked to stress the Aldens’ independence and resourcefulness and their solid New England devotion to using up and making do. The Aldens go about most of their adventures with as little adult supervision as possible—something else that delights young readers.

  Miss Warner lived in Putnam, Connecticut, until her death in 1979. During her lifetime, she received hundreds of letters from girls and boys telling her how much they liked her books.

 

 

  Gertrude Chandler Warner, The Great Greenfield Bake-Off

 

 

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