Thus it happened that Uncle Hannibal on one of his visits to his native town that year, promised to give us a little talk.

Since there was no public hall in the neighborhood, the gathering was to be held at the capacious old Methodist chapel.
There had been no regular preaching there of late, and the house had fallen into lamentable disrepair.

The roof was getting leaky; the wind had blown off several of the clapboards; and a large patch of the plaster, directly over the pulpit, had fallen from the ceiling.
Fall was now drawing on, with colder weather, and so, on the day of Uncle Hannibal's talk, the old Squire sent Addison and me over to the chapel to kindle a fire in the big box stove and also to sweep out the place.
We drove over in the morning--the meeting was to begin at two o'clock--and set to work at once.

While we were sweeping up the debris we noticed insects flying round overhead.

For a while, however, we gave them little heed; Addison merely remarked that there was probably a hornets' nest up in the loft, but that hornets would not molest any one if they were left alone.