Publisher's Synopsis
I was robbing a bee tree, when I heard my old man calling: "Breckinridge! Oh, Breckinridge! Where air you? I see you now. You don't need to climb that tree. I ain't goin' to larrup you."He come up, and said: "Breckinridge, ain't that a bee settin' on yore ear?"I reached up, and sure enough, it was. Come to think about it, I had felt kind of like something was stinging me somewhere."I swar, Breckinridge," said pap, "I never seen a hide like your'n. Listen to me: old Buffalo Rogers is back from Tomahawk, and the postmaster there said they was a letter for me, from Mississippi. He wouldn't give it to nobody but me or some of my folks.
