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But as soon as he went inside the house he forgot all about Johnnie Green. And when, a few moments later, there was a terrible sound of scraping and scratching in the long hall that led to the innermost part of the house, Buster Bumblebee never once thought to mention to anyone that he had seen Johnnie in the dooryard.
Every poet shall interpret them differently, and interpret them rightly, because the soul is infinite. Milton's nightingale is not Coleridge's; Burns's daisy is not Wordsworth's; Emerson's bumblebee is not Lowell's; nor does Turner see in nature what Tintoretto does, nor Veronese what Correggio does. Nature is all things to all men.
It was true, too, that the Bumblebee family filled their house almost to overflowing especially when they began to store away great quantities of honey in it. But they never seemed to mind being crowded. And if any of them wanted more room he had only to go out of doors and get it. Buster Bumblebee's mother was the head of the whole family. Everybody always spoke of her as "the Queen."
He went straight to the clover field, because he wanted to ask Buster Bumblebee to take part in the torchlight procession. And Chirpy knew that the clover field was the best place to look for him, on account of Buster's being so fond of clover juice. Reaching the field where the red clover grew, Chirpy began to hunt for the biggest blossom of them all.
Feeling very wise himself, Buster Bumblebee bustled over to the doorway and said to old Spot: "Do you hear that bee? He's inside the fiddle!" Then old Spot actually laughed aloud. "You're mistaken," he replied. "That's the bumblebee in the pumpkin." "Bumblebee!" Buster cried. "Pardon me but you are mistaken yourself. That's no bumblebee.
When the workers as well as Buster Bumblebee heard the raking, scraping sound in the hall of their house they all stopped what they were doing and shrilled "An enemy!" And with one accord they rushed for the front door. They were terribly angry. Not wishing to miss anything that was going to happen, Buster joined the mob and went sailing out into the open meadow.
Just as he arrived at this sound conclusion the vicar reached the bend of the lane where it sloped round by the spur of the down, a bustling bumblebee making him notice this by brushing against his nose as he buzzed through the air in that self-satisfied important way that all bumblebees affect in their outdoor life; and, looking over the hedge that sank down at this point, he saw a group of boys gathered round the edge of the pond.
Coleman's lawn as the summer drew near, warm and splendid. One evening, he was sitting in a little summer-house at the foot of the lawn, before which was a bed of tulips. They were closed for the night but the wind was waving them slightly. All at once, out of one of them, there flew a big buzzing bumblebee. "There! That's something done!" said a voice a gentle, merry, childish voice but so tiny!
If I stayed under cover whenever the sun didn't shine, the orchard would soon be overrun with insects." Now, it happened that Buster Bumblebee was sipping nectar from a head of clover near by. Of course, he wasn't listening to what Mrs. Ladybug and Miss Moth were saying. But he couldn't help hearing their remarks. And being a great admirer of Betsy Butterfly, he wasn't at all pleased.
"Resting in bed," the trumpeter explained. Buster Bumblebee suddenly grew much excited. And he climbed up on a table and shouted for everybody to be quiet. "I don't believe you know about me!" he cried, as soon as the house was still. "The Robber Fly attacked me. But I don't need to go to bed. I'm not the least bit nervous." Several of the family near him began to titter.
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