A BEE met a mouse and said--
"Come over till we, make a house."
"I will not," said Luchag, the mousie.
"He to whom thou gavest thy summer honey,
Let him make a winter house for thee;
I have a little house under the ground, p. 98
That can reach neither cold nor breeze,
Thou wilt be a ragged creature,
Running on the tops of the trees."