He comes at the close of the winter days, As we sit in the firelight after tea; He steals from the corner, and smiles and plays For the tired wee little folk and me. And what are the tunes that the piper sings As the strange pipe trembles with melody?-- I'd like to tell you the beautiful things He tells to the wee little folk and me. But they fade as soon as the piper goes To take his journey o'er heather and sea. Will he come again to us? Nobody knows. Will you wait with the wee little folk and me? WHAT THE BEE TOLD ME. BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS. The other night, after my children had been tucked away safely in bed, I was seated in my library reading. The house was very warm, and I opened the huge window on the south side of the room to let in a little air, and as I did so a little bee came buzzing in through the slats of the shutters. I paid no attention to him at first, but after I had taken my arm-chair again, and had settled back in comfort to resume my story, the little creature began to buzz about my ears in a fashion which did not altogether please me. "Shoo!" I cried, waving my hand gently at him. "Why don't you shoo?" [Illustration] Now you may believe me or not, as you please, but the little bee giggled, and said: "What shall I shoe? Bees can do lots of things, but they can't shoe. They are not blacksmiths." The reply amused and interested me, and I put down my book and gazed at him without saying a word, waiting for his next remark. "In fact," the bee continued, "I could tell you a story about that very point, if you'd listen." "Go ahead," said I. "I'll be delighted." And the little bee told me the following story. Once upon a time, a great many years ago, the Queen of the bees sent to the Lord High Treasurer of her kingdom for his annual report, and when it came she was very much surprised to find that the treasury contained about half as much treasure as she had supposed. "Where is the rest of the money?" she demanded in severe tones. "We haven't had it, your Majesty," said the Lord High Treasurer. "Haven't we earned it?" she asked. "Yes," replied the Lord High Treasurer. "But we haven't been able to sell all the honey we've made. We've been too industrious." "It is impossible to be too industrious," said the Queen. "Send the Trade Secretary here." The Trade Secretary came at once, and bore out all that the Lord High Treasurer had said. The bees had made more honey than they could sell. "Then we must have a mass-meeting and tell all the beeple," she observed. "The what?" I asked, interrupting the bee's story. "The beeple. You folks are people. We bees are beeple," explained my little visitor. I laughed, and he continued: