The poor old wee wee woman was now in a dreadful quandary. The lion was king of beasts, and the wee wee old woman didn’t know anything that could kill the lion. So the wee wee old woman sat down on an old stump, discouraged and all tired out. Presently the wee wee old woman saw a wee little black flea, on her checked apron. So just in joke and for nonsense the wee wee old woman said, “Oh, wee wee flea, do kill lion; lion wont kill bear, bear won’t kill dog, dog won’t kill cat, cat won’t kill rat, rat won’t gnaw rope, rope won’t hang butcher, butcher won’t kill ox, ox won’t drink water, water won’t quench fire, fire won’t burn stick, stick won’t beat wee wee pig, wee wee pig won’t go over bridge, and I sha’n’t git home to-night!” Now the wee wee flea was a kind-souled, womanish little wee wee flea, and no sooner was she made acquainted with the poor old wee wee woman’s trouble than the wee wee flea gave a spring and lighted just inside the lion’s right nostril, out of the reach of his paw. Here the wee wee flea began to bite the inside of the lion’s nose so sharp that he got dreadful mad, and just out of spite began to kill the bear, whereupon the bear began to kill the dog, the dog began to kill the cat, the cat began to kill the rat, the rat began to gnaw the rope, the rope began to hang the butcher, the butcher began to kill the ox, the ox began to drink the water, the water began to quench the fire, the fire began to burn the stick, the stick began to beat the wee wee pig, the wee wee pig began to go over the bridge, and the wee wee old woman got home time enough to go to bed that night. A CHINK CHINK STORY. The old story-tellers in the sea-faring towns used to strike their clenched hands on their knees so as to make a sound like the chinking of money. THE WISE LITTLE WOMAN WHO OPENED THE PEWS.[6] I. Have you heard of the tropical Isles of June, The coral isles with their splendors of palms, Where the sails hang loose in the languorous noon, And a dusky sun is the rising moon, And the Southern Cross hangs over the sea Like the jewels of Heaven? Ah, me! ah, me! Those gardens of gold in the opal main, How they tempted the souls of the pilots of Spain! But as John the old Sailor was wont to say, When he told old tales in his comical way, “’Tis only the gold that _does_ good that is good— And only the rightful gold is gain. Alas for the spoil of the pilots of Spain! ’Twas fool’s gold all.” [Illustration: DRAW-BRIDGES.] II.