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He had got a great deal of useful practice by endeavoring to find out, by the various rules and laws of sorcery, exactly why the old Bee-man did not happen to be something that he was not, and why he was what he happened to be. He had studied a long time at this matter, and had found out something. "Do you know," he said, when the Bee-man came out of his hut, "that you have been transformed?"
While he was wandering about, an awful roar was heard resounding through the passages of the mountain, and soon there came flapping along an enormous dragon, with body black as night, and wings and tail of fiery red. In his great fore-claws he bore a little baby. "Horrible!" exclaimed the Bee-man. "He is taking that little creature to his cave to devour it."
Without a moment's hesitation, the Bee-man rushed into the cave and threw his hive straight into the face of the dragon. The bees, enraged by the shock, rushed out in an angry crowd and immediately fell upon the head, mouth, eyes, and nose of the dragon.
"What do you mean by that?" said the other, much surprised. "You have surely heard of animals and human beings who have been magically transformed into different kinds of creatures?" "Yes, I have heard of these things," said the Bee-man; "but what have I been transformed from?" "That is more than I know," said the Junior Sorcerer. "But one thing is certain you ought to be changed back.
When he saw me he straightened up, looked at me, and settled back again. My heart went out to him, and I sat down beside him. "Have you ever seen a finer afternoon?" I asked. He glanced up at the sky. "Fine?" he answered vaguely, as if it had never occurred to him. I saw instantly what the matter was; the exuberant bee-man was in process of transformation into the shy bee-man.
In the ancient country of Orn, there lived an old man who was called the Bee-man, because his whole time was spent in the company of bees.
One afternoon not long ago, a fine autumn afternoon, when the trees were glorious on the hills, the Indian summer sun never softer, I was tramping along a wood lane far back of my farm. And at the roadside, near the trunk of an oak tree, sat my friend, the bee-man. He was a picture of despondency, one long hand hanging limp between his knees, his head bowed down.
The great monster, astounded by this sudden attack, and driven almost wild by the numberless stings of the bees, sprang back to the farthest portion of his cave, still followed by his relentless enemies, at whom he flapped wildly with his great wings and struck with his paws. While the dragon was thus engaged with the bees, the Bee-man rushed forward, and, seizing the child, he hurried away.
"I came," said the Languid Youth, "to have my energies toned up." "You have come to the right place," said the Very Imp. "We will tone you up. And what does that old Bee-man want?" "He has been transformed from something, and wants to find out what it is. He thinks he may have been one of the things in here."
And now would you like to be changed back to your original form?" "Indeed I would!" said the Bee-man, "I have the strongest yearning to be what I originally was."
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