t on pushing up the scuttle the opening was found to be no more than
fifteen inches square; and Uncle Hannibal was a two-hundred-pound man
with broad shoulders. He mounted the singers' bench, but he could barely
get his large black head up through the hole.

"Ah!" he cried in disgust. "Why didn't they make it larger? Just my
luck. I never can get to the front!"

Grabbing Addison playfully by the shoulder he said, "I will put you up."

But at first Addison held back. "They'll sting me to death!" he
protested.

"Wait!" Uncle Hannibal cried. "We will rig you up for it!" And leaning
over the front rail of the gallery, he shouted, "Has any lady got a
veil--two or three veils?"

Several women gave their veils, which Uncle Hannibal tied over Addison's
hat; then the Senator put his own large gloves on Addison's hands. By
that time the gallery was full of people--all laughing and giving
advice. A man produced some string, and with it they tied Addison's
trouser legs down and fastened his jacket sleeves tight round the
wrists. Then Uncle Hannibal lifted him up as if he had been a child and
at one boost shoved him up through the scuttle hole. When Addison had
got to his feet in the loft, the Senator passed him a wicker lunch
basket and a tin pail.

Tiptoeing his way perilously over the scantlings, laths and plaster,
Addison made his way back to the rear end of the meetinghouse. The
honeycombs were mostly on a beam against the boards of the outer wall.
The punk smoke was so dense up there that he could hardly get his
breath. The bees, nearly torpid from the smoke, were crawling sluggishly
along on the underside of the roof, and offered no resistance when
Addison broke off the combs.

With his basket and pail well filled, he tiptoed back to the scuttle and
handed the spoils to Uncle Hannibal, who instantly led the way down the
back stairs and outdoors.

"We have despoiled the Egyptians!" he cried. "I didn't do much myself,
but a younger hero has appeared. Now for a sweet time!" And he passed
the pail and basket round.

There was as much as twenty pounds of honey, and every one got at least
a taste. The old Squire and I had now stopped puffing smoke, and we
joined the others outside. To this day I remember just how Uncle
Hannibal looked as he stood there on the meetinghouse platform, with a
chunk of white, dripping comb in his hand. He took a big bite from it;
and I said to myself that, if he took many more bites like that