"Slow down, my good friend," said the deceased. "Push your mining
operations in a less sacrilegious direction. Respect the dead, as you
hope for death!"

"You have that about you," said the gnome, "that must make your grave
respected in a certain sense, for at least such a period as your
immortal part may require for perfect exhalation. The immunity I
accord is not conceded to your sanctity, but extorted by your scent.
The sepulchres of moles only are sacred."

To moles, the body of a lifeless mule
A dead mule's carcase is, and nothing more.




LXXXVIII.


"I think I'll set my sting into you, my obstructive friend," said a
bee to an iron pump against which she had flown; "you are always more
or less in the way."

"If you do," retorted the other, "I'll pump on you, if I can get any
one to work my handle."

Exasperated by this impotent conservative threat, she pushed her
little dart against him with all her vigour. When she tried to sheathe
it again she couldn't, but she still made herself useful about the
hive by hooking on to small articles and dragging them about. But no