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Updated: June 7, 2025
Perhaps someone in the Oa had sent word with him that she was wanted there for a day's sewing, and she knew nothing would please Coonie better than to have her refuse to listen. But by this time her tormentor, despairing of ever enticing her out by fair words, resolved to launch a bomb which he knew was sure to bring the besieged raging to the walls.
He always addressed it in speaking to it as a "little man." When it came running to him and jumped on his lap or climbed up his trousers, he would say, while patting its head as if it were a dog or a child, "Coonie, ma mannie, Coonie, ma mannie, hoo are ye the day?
She is by no means helpless, however. She has, in fact, an entire army ready to fight for her at a moment's call. When the other bees heard their Queen's cry for help they all rushed out of their hives and began at once attacking Coonie. They buzzed angrily around him and burrowed into his fur until he rolled over and over on the ground, doubled up with the pain.
"You're always in an awful rush." Mr. Todd gave a doubtful grin. "Well say, Coonie, this here's the backwoodsest place I ever seen; us Americans can't stand it."
You know Aunt Mary thinks you're the handsomest fellow in Oro." But Coonie was not be flattered into obliging anyone. "Look here, you," he growled, "what d'ye think I run this mail for, anyhow? Think it's a charitable institution?
"Now, we'll drive you clean back to Lakeview, if you don't speak up smart and say you'll take it!" she cried. But Coonie did not mind. Mr. Basketful was by this time in the middle of the road, so he prolonged the encounter as long as possible. "Go ahead," he said, settling himself comfortably in his seat; "you'll soon be at the Oa, if you keep on.
Already he felt sure he could smell the honey, so he left Coonie and ran toward the hive at the end of the row in high spirits. But before he knocked on it he stopped and looked back. He wanted to see how Coonie was getting along. Now, Coonie did not really want any honey.
"Good-mornin'!" he called, rather crustily, for Coonie affected good manners before no one, no matter what was his aim. "Will you hand this bundle to the Missus in there, if you're goin'. It's some o' the fool truck I've got to lug across the country for weemen." Mr.
Meantime the subject of all this discussion was not oblivious to the fact that some strange undercurrent of feeling was working against him. Coonie was the instrument used to make a reality out of the intangible thing. The mail-carrier was coming slowly down the hill one September morning with hanging head and sullen mien.
"You certainly ought to be a competent judge of a minister's duty, Coonie," replied the schoolmaster sarcastically. Mr. Basketful paused in the operation of weighing the butter. "Coonie's right," he said, with conviction. "Mr. Egerton can preach, but 'e's not wot I call spiritually minded." "That's it!" cried Coonie.
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