“Child-stealer would be more to the point, I think, or infant-abductor,” remarked the old gentleman, who saw, perhaps, how anxious Betty was for sympathy, and was determined not to give her another opportunity of considering herself injured.

He seemed to be very busy considering the subject for a second or so, and then he said suddenly:  “But if you want to go, why, come along, for I must be off.  But don’t make a practice of it, mind, when you get back.”

“You have n’t told me where yet,” suggested Betty.

“True; so I have n’t,” said the old gentleman, setting his three-cornered hat firmly on his head and settling the fine laces at his wrists.  “It’s to By-and-by.  And now, if you ’re ready, off we go!”

He took Betty’s hand, and she suddenly found herself moving through the air in a most remarkable manner,—­not touching the ground with her feet, but seeming to skim along quite easily and with no effort at all.

“If you please, Mr.—­” She paused because she suddenly remembered that she did not know the name of the gentleman who was conducting her on so delightful a journey.

“Bombus,” said he, cheerfully,—­“B.  Bombus, Esq., of Clovertop Manse, Honeywell.”

“But you ’re not a minister, are you?” inquired Betty.

“No; why?” returned the gentleman, quickly.

“Because you said ‘Manse.’  A manse is a minister’s house, is n’t it?” asked Betty.

“No, not always,” Bombus replied.  “But I call my place Clovertop Manse because it belongs to me and not to my wife, do you see?  I call it Manse because it is a man’s.  It is perfectly plain.  If it was a woman’s, I ’d say so.”

“Well, I don’t think you ’re much of a humble-bee—­” began Betty, and then caught herself up short and stopped.

Mr. Bombus gave her a severe look from under his three-cornered hat, but did not reply at once, and they advanced on their way for some little time in silence.  Then the gentleman said: 

“I ’ve been thinking of what you said about my not being a humble-bee.  Of course I am not a humble-bee, but you seemed to lay considerable stress on the first part of the word, as if you had a special meaning.  Explain!”

Poor Betty blushed very red with shame and confusion; but the gentleman had a commanding way with him and she dared not disobey.

“I only meant, sir,” she stammered,—­“I only meant—­I—­did n’t think you were very humble, because you seemed very proud about the place being yours.  I thought you were ‘stuck up,’ as my brother says.”

“Stuck up?  Where?” queried Mr. Bombus, anxiously.  “Pray don’t make such unpleasant insinuations.  They quite set my heart to throbbing.  I knew—­I mean I saw a humble-bee once,” he remarked impressively, “and would you believe it, a little boy caught him and impaled him on a pin.  It was horrible.  He died in the most dreadful agony,—­the bee, not the boy,—­and then the boy secured him to the wall; made him fast there.  So he was stuck up.  You surely can’t mean—­”