BY THE WAYSIDE 
OFFICIAL ORGAN OF THE WISCONSIN AND ILLINOIS AUDUBON SOCIETIES 
One Year, 25 Cents Price, Three Cents One Year, 25 Cents 
Published by the Wisconsin Audubon Society. 
Entered January 27, 1903, at Milwaukee, Wis., as second-class matter, under Act of Congress of March 3, 1879. 
VOL. VI. JUNE, 1903 No. 2 
The Good Flea and the Wicked King. 
Once upon a time there was a Wicked King 
who made his people very unhappy. Every¬ 
body detested him, and those whom lie had put 
in prison and beheaded would have liked to 
whip him. But how? He was the strongest, 
he was the master; he did not have to give 
account to anyone; and when he was told 
that his subjects were not content, he replied: 
“Well, what of it? I don’t care a rap!” 
which was an ugly answer. 
As he continued to act like a king, 
and as he became every day a little more 
wicked than the day before, this set a certain 
little Flea to thinking over the matter. It 
was a little bit of a Flea who was of no 
consequence at all, but full of good sentiments. 
This is not the nature of fleas in general, but 
this one had been very well brought up; it 
bit people with moderation, and only when it 
was very hungry. 
«/ o */ • 
“What if I were to bring the King to rea- 
son?” it said to itself. “It is not without 
danger—but no matter! I will try!” 
That night the Wicked King, after having 
done all sorts of naughty things during the 
day, was calmly going to sleep, when he felt 
what seemed to be a prick of a pin. 
“Bite!” 
He growled and turned over on the other 
side. 
“Bite! Bite! Bite!” 
“Who is it that bites me so?” cried the King 
in a terrible voice. 
“It is I,” replied a little voice. 
“You? Who are you?” 
“A little Flea who wishes to correct you!” 
“A Flea! Just you wait! Just you wait 
and you shall see!” 
«/ 
And the King sprang from his bed, twisted 
his coverings, and shook the sheets, all of which 
was quite useless, for the good Flea had hidden 
itself in the royal beard. 
“'Ah,” said the King, “it lias gone now, 
and I shall be able to get a sound sleep.” 
But scarcely had he laid his head on the pil¬ 
low, when— 
“Bite!” 
“How? What? Again?” 
“Bite! Bite!” 
“You dare to return, you abominable little 
Flea! But think for a moment what you are 
doing! You are no bigger than a grain of 
sand, and you dare to bite one of the greatest 
kings on earth!” 
“Well, what of it? I don’t care a rap!” 
answered the Flea in the very words of the 
King. 
“Ah, if 1 only had you!” 
“Yes, but you haven’t got me!” 
The Wicked King did not sleep at all that 
night, and he arose the next morning in a kill¬ 
ing ill-humor. He resolved to destroy his ene¬ 
my. By his orders, they cleaned the palace 
from top to bottom, and particularly his bed¬ 
room; his bed was made by ten old women, 
very skillful in the art of catching fleas, but 
they caught nothing, for the Good Flea had 
hidden itself under the collar of the King’s 
coat. 
That night, this frightful tyrant, who was 
dying for want of sleep, lay back on both his 
ears, although this is said to be very difficult. 
But he wished to sleep double, and he knew no 
better way. Scarcely had he put out his light 
when he felt the Flea on his neck. 
"Bite! Bite!” 
“Ah, zounds! What is this?” 
“It is I—the Flea of yesterday.” 
“But what do you want, you rascal—you 
tiny pest?” 
“I wish you to obey me, and to make your 
people happy!” 
“Ho, then, my soldiers, my captain of the 
guard, my ministers, my generals! Every¬ 
body! The whole lot of you!” 
The whole lot of them came in. The King 
was in a rage which made everybody tremble. 
He found fault with all the servants of the 
palace. Everybody was in consternation. 
