Betty was a trifle uncomfortable. She had a vague idea the humble-bee
was making sport of her. The next moment she was sure of it; for he
burst into a deep laugh, and shook so from side to side that she
thought he would surely topple off the wisp of hay on which he was
sitting.

"I think you 're real mean," said Betty, as he slowly recovered
himself; "I don't like folks to laugh at me, now!"

"I 'm not laughing at you _now_," explained the humble-bee, gravely; "I
was laughing at you _then_. Do you object to that?"

Betty disdained to reply, and began to pull a dry clover-blossom to
pieces.

"Tut, tut, child! Don't be so touchy! A body can laugh, can't he, and
no harm done? You 'd better be good-tempered and jolly, and then I 'll
tell you where I 'm going,--which, I believe, was what you wished to
know in the first place, was n't it?"

Betty nodded her head, but did not speak.

"Oho!" said the humble-bee, rising and preparing to take his departure.
And now Betty discovered, on seeing him more closely, that he was not a
humble-bee at all, but just a very corpulent old gentleman dressed in
quite an antique fashion, with black knee-breeches, black silk
stockings, black patent-leather pumps with large buckles, a most
elaborate black velvet waistcoat with yellow and orange stripes across,
and a coat of black velvet to correspond with the breeches; while in