[WHAT THE BEE TOLD ME.]
BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS.
The other night, after my children had been tucked away safely in bed, I was seated in my library reading. The house was very warm, and I opened the huge window on the south side of the room to let in a little air, and as I did so a little bee came buzzing in through the slats of the shutters. I paid no attention to him at first, but after I had taken my arm-chair again, and had settled back in comfort to resume my story, the little creature began to buzz about my ears in a fashion which did not altogether please me.
"Shoo!" I cried, waving my hand gently at him. "Why don't you shoo?"
Now you may believe me or not, as you please, but the little bee giggled, and said:
"What shall I shoe? Bees can do lots of things, but they can't shoe. They are not blacksmiths."
The reply amused and interested me, and I put down my book and gazed at him without saying a word, waiting for his next remark.
"In fact," the bee continued, "I could tell you a story about that very point, if you'd listen."