A Flea bit a Man, and bit him again, and again, till he could stand it no longer, but made a thorough search for it, and at last succeeded in catching it. Holding it between his finger and thumb, he said—or rather shouted, so angry was he—”Who are you, pray, you wretched little creature, that you make so free with my person?”

The Flea, terrified, whimpered in a weak little voice, “Oh, sir! pray let me go; don’t kill me! I am such a little thing that I can’t do you much harm.” But the Man laughed and said, “I am going to kill you now, at once: whatever is bad has got to be destroyed, no matter how slight the harm it does.”