` DYMCHURCH FLIT ' THE BEE BOY 'S SONG Bees ! Bees ! Hark to your bees ! ` Hide from your neighbours as much as you please , But all that has happened , to us you must tell , Or else we will give you no honey to sell ! ' A Maiden in her glory , Upon her wedding-day , Must tell her Bees the story , Or else they 'll fly away . Fly away -- die away -- Dwindle down and leave you ! But if you do n't deceive your Bees , Your Bees will not deceive you . Marriage , birth or buryin ' , News across the seas , All you 're sad or merry in , You must tell the Bees . Tell 'em coming in an ' out , Where the Fanners fan , 'Cause the Bees are justabout As curious as a man ! Do n't you wait where trees are , When the lightnings play ; Nor do n't you hate where Bees are , Or else they 'll pine away . Pine away -- dwine away -- Anything to leave you ! But if you never grieve your Bees , Your Bees 'll never grieve you ! Just at dusk , a soft September rain began to fall on the hop-pickers . The mothers wheeled the bouncing perambulators out of the gardens ; bins were put away , and tally-books made up . The young couples strolled home , two to each umbrella , and the single men walked behind them laughing . Dan and Una , who had been picking after their lessons , marched off to roast potatoes at the oast-house , where old Hobden , with Blue-eyed Bess , his lurcher dog , lived all the month through , drying the hops . They settled themselves , as usual , on the sack-strewn cot in front of the fires , and , when Hobden drew up the shutter , stared , as usual , at the flameless bed of coals spouting its heat up the dark well of the old-fashioned roundel . Slowly he cracked off a few fresh pieces of coal , packed them , with fingers that never flinched , exactly where they would do most good ; slowly he reached behind him till Dan tilted the potatoes into his iron scoop of a hand ; carefully he arranged them round the fire , and then stood for a moment , black against the glare . As he closed the shutter , the oast-house seemed dark before the day 's end , and he lit the candle in the lanthorn . The children liked all these things because they knew them so well .
The Bee Boy , XXXXX 's son , who is not quite right in his head , though he can do anything with bees , slipped in like a shadow .
Bess Dan Hobden fall hop-pickers lanthorn lightnings lurcher oast-house perambulators