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CHAP. II.

GAY.

The Bee thus returned began to feel something like pleasure, and as the morning sun lighted the place in which he had been so long a prisoner, his hopes revived that he should yet feel a greater benefit from them.

He had not room to move his wings freely, yet he thought them rather more pliable, and creeping upon the branch of the tree which shaded the entrance of his habitation, he endeavoured to cleanse them from the dirt and stiffness which had incumbered them, and after repeatedly stroking his back with the little brushes with which Nature had supplied his feet, he succeeded, and was able to fly from his station to a neighbouring flower.

He had not forgotten the Butterfly, but he did not suppose that he would remember him or his engagement of the preceding evening, but again he had to acknowledge the mistake of prejudice, for he had not been long upon the flower, (made more sweet by his having found the use of his wings to obtain it,) before he saw his friend approaching, flying through the air, and never fixing till he had found the spot on which he had left him.

The loud humming of the Bee soon discovered that he was not far off, and the Butterfly hastening towards him, congratulated him on having found his liberty. "You are taking your breakfast," said he, "I give you joy of a fine morning," and after the kindest enquiries of how he now found himself, he expressed his hope that he would be able to accompany him to a field of cowslips which he had passed at a little distance; "they smell so sweet, and look so beautiful," continued he, "hanging down their yellow heads, that though I certainly admire a greater variety of colours, I could not but be pleased with these, and had I not wished for your company, could have flown from one to the other for some time; I am sure one day's feasting on their sweets will restore you to perfect health; come, shall I lead the way?"

"I cannot but be grateful for your solicitude," returned the Bee, "and that you should so far forget your nature as to be anxious for me who am of so different an one; I am able to fly but very slowly, if at all, and you will like to extend your rambles much farther than I can accompany you; do not, therefore, think of tying yourself to me." The Butterfly was evidently disappointed; "I know," said he, "that our natures are different; I am not held in such high estimation as yourself, nor am I half so useful, or my life so long as your's; 'the creatures but of a day,' is what we are generally called, yet that day it is my wish to spend well, and as far as is in my power to be of benefit to another; if it was to one meaner than myself it would be gratifying, but when I consider that it is to a Bee that my services are useful, it is doubly so; why then will you deny me this pleasure?"

The Bee could not but be struck with this singular proof of friendship in one from whom he had not deserved it, and though he might be unwilling that any of his old companions should see him associating with one whom they were mostly inclined to treat with contempt, he could no longer resist his importunity, and therefore promised to accompany him to the place he had mentioned, and where he was amply recompenced by the delicious food he found there, for the fatiguing though short flight he had taken to procure it, whilst the good-natured Butterfly was equally gratified by seeing his friend enjoy the fragrance he had introduced him to. "You will stay here all day," said he, "and by night I expect to see you strong and hearty; if you please, I will fly about a little, and perhaps shall be able to bring you intelligence of food for to-morrow, but promise me to remain here till my return."

"Undoubtedly," replied the Bee, half lost in one of the sweet recesses he was thus enjoying, "believe me I feel your kindness! If you had not visited me last night, and encouraged my feeble efforts to move, I should have laid still and died, and all these bounties of Nature would have been spread in vain for me; indeed, I am obliged to you, and feel that though you may never be of such service to me again, I should be sorry to lose your acquaintance."

This acknowledgement was sufficient for the Butterfly, who fluttered about in grateful joy, and in the course of the day made many excursions, from all of which he returned with good humour and kind enquiries; while the Bee continued to fly from flower to flower, and though he was sometimes ready to regret that he had not a hive, to which he could carry the produce of his labours, and receive the commendations of his mother for so doing, he felt that he was yet too weak to work to much advantage, and therefore tried to be content with what was necessary for himself.

Several Bees came to this field of sweets, in which he was thus revelling; but none of his old acquaintance were among them, and he forbore to speak to them; "though idle myself," said he, "I will not make others so by engaging them in talk with me;" and indeed so anxious was he not to disgrace the character of what a Bee should be, that if he thought any of them were noticing him, he would pretend to be earnestly at work also, lest they should suppose him an idle drone.

In his next visit, the Butterfly brought him such intelligence as he thought would be agreeable to him; "We are in the land of plenty," said he, "every thing is flourishing, and innumerable flowers are every where to be seen."

"I shall soon be able to visit them," returned the Bee, "and after one more night's rest I shall almost forget that I have been ill; I have already recovered my spirits, and my health will soon return."

As they were thus talking, they observed a troop of children with baskets in their hands, and an old man at their head, who seemed to be directing their steps to the field they were in.

"These are some of my tormentors," said the butterfly, "though they appear to admire me, and to wish me no harm, they are in reality my greatest enemies; even the sound of their voices puts me in a fright: Oh! how sick I am of hearing them singing, "Butterfly, butterfly, come to me," though you may be very sure I never accept their invitation; once I was shut up in a box for nearly a whole day by one of these kind admirers, with a few green leaves for me to eat and sleep upon; and I suppose she thought she was doing me a very great favor to procure me such a residence; but I was much more obliged to another little girl, who in her absence let me out of my confinement, and since that time I have been more than ever anxious to escape their notice."

"I know nothing of an alarm of that sort," replied the Bee, "children are in general afraid of me, and I have sometimes been half inclined to regret it, though in reality I believe it is the best thing that could happen, but these," continued he, "if I am not mistaken, are going to