LABOUR IN VAIN. 
HE man, in passing, carelessly swished his 
cane against the wallflower, and she went 
off from it as though she were a rocket and 
the cane a match. 
She was a bee—not very big, being only 
about half an inch in length; but she was 
black, with tawny-yellow legs, and she was 
very hairy, and somehow that made her look 
larger than she was. 
Also, her hum made her seem more dan- 
gerous than she really was, for there is some 
doubt as to whether her sting could have 
pierced anybody’s skin. 
At that moment she was gathering honey 
and pollen, and, to judge by appearances, she 
was about full up, for the pollen covered her 
like gold-dust, and she seemed literally to 
ooze honey at every joint—which, after all, is 
only another way of making beeswax. 
Then, all of a sudden, and without a fraction 
of a second’s warning, a strange thing hap- 
pened. The bottom of the floor she was 
standing upon—that is, the leaf on to which 
she had backed—fell out. 
I don’t mean fell off—leaves generally do 
