“Learned men who have studied this curious subject relate the following experiment, which was performed in order to prove that it is the venomous liquid introduced into the wound, and not the wound itself, that causes the pain. When one pricks oneself with a very fine needle the pain is of no consequence and passes almost immediately. Well, the prick of a needle, insignificant in itself, can be made very painful indeed if the little wound is poisoned with venom from a bee or a wasp. The learned men I just spoke of dipped the point of a needle into the bee’s venom-sac and with the needle thus moistened lightly pricked themselves. The pain that followed was severe and protracted, even severer and of longer duration than if the insect itself had stung the experimenters. This difference is to be explained by the fact that the needle, large in comparison with the insect’s sting, introduced into the wound much more venom than the sting itself could have conveyed. Now you understand, I hope, that it is the injection of the venom into the wound that causes all the mischief.” “That is plain enough,” assented Jules. “The bee’s sting is barbed,” continued Uncle Paul; “that is to say, it is furnished with teeth somewhat like those of a saw and pointing backward. In its haste to fly away after stinging, the bee does not always succeed, on account of these teeth, in drawing out the sting from the wound it has inflicted; and thus the sting is wrenched from the bee’s body, to the endangering of the insect’s life. The venom-sac is left behind also; it is that little white globule one sees outside the wound and at the base of the sting. If the person stung, hastening to extract the sting, is awkward enough to press on the little sac, a great part of the venom is likely to be injected into the wound, with a corresponding increase of pain. This is a warning to you, whenever you are stung by a bee, to draw out the sting cautiously and to be careful not to press on the venom-sac.” CHAPTER XLVIII BENEFICENT PARASITES Continuing the subject of the day before, Uncle Paul laid emphasis on the distinction between those hymenopterous insects that sting and those that do not. “At the end of the abdomen,” said he, “the one class have a poisoned weapon for self-defense, as in bees and wasps, while the other class are furnished simply with the implement called a terebra, sometimes concealed in a fold of the skin, sometimes standing out in full view, and used, not for stinging, but for introducing the creature’s eggs into such places as will provide the nourishment required by the future brood. Insects of this latter class are called by the general name of ichneumons. This morning Emile caught one, which I will show you.” “I found it on a flower,” said Emile, “and I wrapped a handkerchief round my hand for fear of being stung. The thing it has sticking out at the end of its body looks rather dangerous.”