ime he
was stung he would whisk his head around like a dog after a flea, and
bite himself, until finally he had literally chewed himself up, when
he fainted from sheer exhaustion, and I was saved. You can imagine my
surprise when next morning I awakened to find a dying lion in my
room."

"But, Baron," said Ananias. "I don't understand one thing about it. If
you were fast asleep while all this was happening how did you know
that Jang did those things?"

[Illustration: "Jang buzzed over and sat down upon his back, putting
his sting where it would do the most good." _Chapter V._]

"Why, Jang told me himself," replied the Baron calmly.

"Could he talk?" cried Ananias in amazement.

"Not as you and I do," said the Baron. "Of course not, but Jang could
spell. I taught him how. You see I reasoned it out this way. If a bee
can be taught to sing a song which is only a story in music, why can't
he be taught to tell a story in real words. It was worth trying
anyhow, and I tried. Jang was an apt pupil. He was the most
intelligent bee I ever met, and it didn't take me more than a month to
teach him his letters, and when he once knew his letters it was easy
enough to teach him how to spell. I got a great big sheet and covered
it with twenty-six squares, and in each of these squares I painted a
letter of the alphabet, so that finally when Jang came to know them,
and wanted to tell me anything he would fly from one square to another
until he had spelled out whatever he wished to say. I would follow his
movements closely, and we got so after awhile that we could converse
for hours without any trouble whatsoever. I really believe that if
Jang had been a little heavier so that he could push the keys down far
enough he could have managed a typewriter as well as anybody, and when
I think about his wonderful mind and delicious fancy I deeply regret
that there never was a typewriting machine so delicately made that a
bee of his weight could make it go. The world would have been very
much enriched by the stories Jang had in his mind to tell, but it is
too late now. He is gone forever."

"How did you lose Jang, Baron?" asked Ananias, with tears in his eyes.

"He thought I had deceived him," said the Baron, with a sigh. "He was
as much of a stickler for truth as I am. An American friend of mine
sent me a magnificent parterre of wax flowers which were so perfectly
made that I couldn't tell them from the real. I was very proud of
them, an