AS the three slackers, Hardy, Peters and Jones, were getting ready to leave camp and go about their unfinished business of the day, Ted wondered how he could turn his new popularity to account. With the help of the greater friendliness the morning's adventure had brought him, could he not induce the slackers to listen to another appeal as they sat around the fire that night? With his mind full of thoughts of what he hoped to be allowed to say, the boy little dreamed that he was to win even greater renown as a hunter that very afternoon.

His discovery of a bee tree was what led to the second adventure. While he and Hubert were bringing in the dead wild-cat they stopped for a short rest under a tall pine about three quarters of a mile from the camp. As they sat there, Ted looked up and noted a black, quivering line against the bright sky that seemed to stream out from the trunk of the tree just above the lowest branch and about fifty feet from the ground. His curiosity aroused, the boy rose to get a better look, and then made certain that the black, quivering line was composed of flying insects.

"Hubert, look!" he cried. "Those must be bees and this must be a bee tree."

Ted now suddenly recalled this incident, as the slackers were moving away, and, rising, he called out:

"Oh, Mr. Hardy! I ought to tell you. I think I've found a bee tree."

The three slackers turned, all attention, and Ted described what he had seen. A bee tree it certainly was, they all declared; a "mighty good find, too," for everybody would be "glad of a bait of honey."

"Come and show it to us right away," proposed Buck Hardy. "We can help July cut the tree down before we go to the traps, then leave him to gather and bring in the honey. Do you feel like walking there and back, son?"

Ted cheerfully consented, declaring that he was not tired and that his wounds were no longer very painful. So the whole party, except Hubert who was now asleep by the fire, started off toward the bee tree, carrying axes and even buckets, in confident expectation of a satisfactory yield of honey.

The distance was not great and Ted soon located the tree, a tall pine near an inwinding arm of the swamp. But after he had seen the tree felled and cut into here and there in the search for the wild hive, he began to feel tired and, turning about quietly, started back toward camp. He had not gone far when an outcry indicated that honey had been found, but he did not turn back, telling himself that he could enjoy his share later. He soon lay down beside Hubert and fell into a deep sleep.

He was awakened some two hours later by movements of July, who reported the yield of honey, very small and expressed the conviction that there were further stores somewhere in the same tree. Ted, who was now rested and felt but little annoyed by his wounds, proposed that they go back to the tree and look for more honey. July agreed and the awakened Hubert was invited to accompany them, but declined.

So Ted, carrying a repeating rifle belonging to the camp, and July, carrying an axe and two tin buckets, started off, followed by two dogs. The felled tree lay across a wiregrass-covered space enclosed on three sides by clumps of palmettos and a blackjack thicket. Only a few bees still lingered over the ruins of their hive and there was little danger of being stung, but July took the precaution of setting fire to a section of a discarded undershirt with a view to putting them to rout by means of the thick, stifling smoke.

Then he cut into the tree at several points and after a half hour of vain effort declared that it was "no use wastin' any more elbow-grease," but Ted urged him to further endeavor. The negro obligingly swung his axe again and very soon cut into a second hollow containing honey, no doubt connected by a narrow passage with the cavity opened earlier in the afternoon. The last blow of the axe penetrated the honey itself, breaking several fine layers of comb and sending the liquid forth in a slow thick stream.

While July filled his buckets, Ted took a large piece of the honey-comb and sat down on a neighboring log to enjoy the feast.

"Hello! what's up?" the boy cried suddenly, noting that both dogs were now snuffing excitedly and that the hair on their backs stood erect.

As if in answer a large black bear appeared, moving clumsily out of the blackjack thicket and making straight for the bee tree, toward which it had no doubt been attracted by the scent of the much beloved honey. Seeing the negro, the boy, and the now snarling dogs, the surprised animal halted, reared on its hind legs and snorted.

"Where dat rifle?" cried July, as both he and Ted started to their feet and retreated a few steps.

When they reached the bee tree the rifle had been laid aside, Ted thoughtlessly following the example of the negro who put by all that he carried in order to be free to swing his axe. Now they saw in alarm that the rifle lay within a few feet of the bear and could not be reached. At this discovery panic seized them and they raced to the other end of the open space, a distance of some fifty yards the negro even forgetting to snatch up his axe.

There they knew they were safe enough for the present, for the wildly barking dogs were between them and the bear, which showed no desire to advance upon anything but the bee tree, toward which, after getting down upon its all-fours, it glanced hungrily, seemingly wondering whether its further progress thither would be opposed.

Encouraged by shouts from Ted and July, the two dogs grew bolder. They advanced so close that the bear abandoned the immediate prospect of a feast and showed fight, growling fiercely and chasing its enemies backward. But the dogs ever returned to the attack, urged by the repeated "Sick 'im!" of the negro and the boy, who hoped that the running fight, if kept up, would bring the rifle safely within their reach.

After more than twenty minutes this opportunity was still awaited, for not much ground was covered in the conflict. The dogs repeatedly raced forward as if bent on a furious attack, but skipped away as the enraged animal plunged at them. Having put them to flight, the bear would halt, and so the coveted weapon remained within the danger zone.

But at last, harried continually, the bear began to fag and showed a desire to seek shelter. Having gradually neared the trunk of a pine in the course of its shiftings of position, it was seen to look up as if into a haven of refuge. Another rush of the dogs, encouraged by still louder shouting, seemed to decide the issue. As if weary of the struggle, the heavy creature rose on its hind legs, embraced the trunk of the pine, and began to climb, going rapidly upward without rest until it found itself among the spreading branches more than sixty feet from the ground.

Then, with shouts of satisfaction, Ted and July ran forward, the former reaching the rifle first because the latter halted a moment to recover his axe.

"Better gim me dat rifle," said July urgently as he joined the boy.

"Oh, no," objected Ted; "I want to shoot this bear."

July yielded only because it was "Cap'n Ted"; any other mere boy could have retained the weapon only after listening to long and loud protest. The two circled the pine until they found the point whence the dark bulk of the bear could be seen most plainly outlined amid the clustering boughs of the tree's top.

Ted fired once, twice—six times—and the bear did not move.

"He must have a bullet-proof hide," the boy panted, loath to admit that he had missed so often.

"Better gim me dat rifle, Cap'n Ted. Won't do to waste so much 'munition."

"Well, didn't the men shoot thirteen times before they brought down that bear the other night?"

"I's sho 'fraid you can't hit 'im."

"Well, I can keep on trying," the now irritated boy said sharply. "I'm the hunter—not you. You're the cook."

This silenced July, except for continuing expressions of eagerness to see the finish. The persistent boy kept firing and, at last, at the eleventh shot, the big game was seen to sway to one side, as if loosening its grip on the branches. Then the heavy body came crashing down.

"I got him! I got him!" cried Ted, wildly excited.

July fingered the prize, roughly estimating its length and weight, but Ted was chiefly interested in the five bullet holes in the creature's side, proving that his aim was much better than at first appeared.

After they had returned to camp and Hubert had listened appreciatively to the great news, Ted's elation suddenly gave place to misgiving and regret. The boy fell silent and looked troubled, as he recalled that the bear was not needed for food and that the great bulk of its flesh would be wasted. But when the slackers trooped into the fire-lit circle after nightfall the boy sprang to his feet and proudly announced:

"Mr. Hardy, I've got a bear skin for you, if you want it."

The slackers crowded round and listened in astonishment, most of them commending and praising the boy in the most generous terms. But, as they sat smoking round the fire after supper, Sweet Jackson suddenly began to laugh, sarcastically remarking:

"He says we mustn't waste a ounce o' meat, but soon's he gets a chance he shoots a bear, and there's nobody to eat it. Very fine to talk! I've seen preachers that didn't live up to ther preachin' before to-day."

Buck Hardy turned upon the scoffer with a look of disgust and scorn, but Ted was the first to speak.

"You've got me there, Mr. Jackson," he frankly confessed. "I've been sorry ever since I did it. I was so excited I didn't take time to think."

"How could he help it—with the blood of a man in him?" demanded Buck.

"I won't do it again," Ted solemnly declared.

"You won't get a chance," said Jackson, his tone still sneering. "That was a chance in a thousand."

Ted then spoke of the meatless and wheatless days urgently recommended in the President's proclamation of January 18, in order that we might spare and ship the food sorely needed by our fighting allies in Europe. His listeners looked their astonishment as the boy outlined the Food Administration's program: no wheat on Mondays and Wednesdays and at one meal on the other days of the week; no meat of any kind on Tuesday, no fresh pork or bacon on Saturday; and rigid economy in the use of sugar at all times.

"For goodness' sake," cried Bud Jones, "does he want us to starve so them people in Europe can have plenty?"

"You know better than that," Buck quietly retorted.

"Of course not," said Ted. "There's plenty to eat without wheat bread and biscuits. What's the matter with corn bread and rye bread and potatoes and rice and oat-meal porridge?"

"But how can anybody get along without meat?" asked Al Peters.

"We don't need it every meal or even every day," said Ted. "We just think we do. What's the matter with fish and eggs and oysters and a whole lot of things to take the place of meat?"

"But everybody can't get all that," objected Bud Jones. "The President sure has put us on short commons."

"He wants us all to eat plenty of good food, and we can do it and still save wheat and meat for our allies if we are not wasteful," insisted Ted. "But we ought to be willing even to go on 'short commons' in order to win this war. What we ship to 'them people in Europe,' as you call our allies, is not thrown away. It goes to feed the men who are fighting our battle as well as their own. We are all in the same boat. And they are helping us in other ways. We haven't got enough ships to carry our soldiers across, but England and France will furnish what we lack. I read Secretary Baker's report to the Senate—it was ten columns, but I read it through—and he said we'd have half a million soldiers in France early this year and that another million would go over by next January. Some people say it can't be done because we haven't got the ships, but our allies will give us the ships. Then oughtn't we to save and even deny ourselves in order to send them wheat and meat? Why, it's just as plain! We must work together—Americans, English, French and the rest—to win this war. And here in this country every man must do his part. We've got to win this war—or be the Kaiser's cattle. Do you want to cut wood and tote water for the Germans for the rest of your days?"

Ted looked around the fire-lit circle. Nobody answered. Again the situation had become embarrassing. Again Sweet Jackson rose, with a muttered oath, and went off to bed. Again other uneasy slackers feigned drowsiness, rose yawning, and promptly followed.

"Look at 'em," whispered Hubert. "I told you so. You put up a mighty good talk, but it won't do any good."

But Ted smiled hopefully, for again Buck Hardy kept his seat. Once more the big slacker kept the boy by the fire an hour longer, asking many questions and listening soberly while he answered as best he could.

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