f them. We affirmed that
they were nice, harmless things to play with. So we went forth to see
the gnats. We got him to the nest and stirred them up, and in a few
minutes the innocent, unsuspecting boy was covered with yellow jackets.
Of course, he ran to the house screaming, and they had a time in
getting them off of him. He was badly stung, but we made it appear that
we had gone down there to fight them, which was a favorite pastime with
us, and that he got too near the nest. Thus we escaped a well-merited
whipping.

About the same time in life my younger brother and I caught a rabbit
and dressed it for breakfast. It was Saturday afternoon, and father and
mother had gone to her father's, some six miles away, to stay till the
next evening. That night the aurora borealis was unusually bright, and
as the excitement of Millerism had not died away, there was much talk
of the world's coming to an end. My oldest sister, Mary, was getting
supper ready and was greatly alarmed. She would go out and watch the
sky, and then go back to see about the supper. Finally I said, "Mary,
do you really think the world will come to an end before morning?" "I
do believe it will," said she. "Then," said I, "_we must have the
rabbit for supper_." I had no notion of losing my rabbit by such a
trifling circumstance as that.

Later in life, when old enough to work in the harvest field, we had a
neighbor who was very "close," and we never had any fancy for him. He
was always boasting of his ability to work with bees. One year he had a
large harvest, and many hands employed, and we were helping him. One
day we told him we had found a fine bee tree which could be cut down in
a few minutes, and that if he would go and take the honey he might have
it all except what we could eat. He was delighted with the proposal, so
after supper a number of us started for the bee tree, a mile and a half
from his house, in a dense forest. He had several buckets prepared to
secure a large amount of honey. When we began to chop, the bees began
to roar, and our friend was frantic with delight. Soon the tree fell,
and he "waded in" with his axe and buckets to get the luscious spoil.
As he went in we went out, and soon he discovered himself in a big
bumble-bees' nest alone with all his buckets, etc., a mile and a half
from home! We saw no more of him that night, and did not care to meet
him next day.

This reminds me of another bee scrape, in which my father figured
l