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Page 8
"There, there! You needn't cry so much about it; you're not killed
yet--though if you were, you couldn't cry, you know, and so it's a
general rule against crying, my dear! And how did you come to tumble
over? But I can see well enough how it was,--I needn't ask you
that,--walking over sand-pits with your chin in the air, as usual. Of
course if you go among sand-pits like that, you must expect to tumble;
you should look."
The beetle murmured something that sounded like "I _did_ look," and
Sylvie went on again:
"But I know you didn't! You never do! You always walk with your chin
up--you're so dreadfully conceited. Well, let's see how many legs are
broken this time. Why, none of them, I declare! though that's certainly
more than you deserve. And what's the good of having six legs, my dear,
if you can only kick them all about in the air when you tumble? Legs
are meant to walk with, you know. Now, don't be cross about it, and
don't begin putting out your wings yet; I've some more to say. Go down
to the frog that lives behind that buttercup--give him my
compliments--Sylvie's compliments--can you say 'compliments?'"
The beetle tried, and, I suppose, succeeded.
"Yes, that's right. And tell him he's to give you some of that salve I
left with him yesterday. And you'd better get him to rub it in for you;
he's got rather cold hands, but you mustn't mind that."
I think the beetle must have shuddered at this idea, for Sylvie went on
in a graver tone:
"Now, you needn't pretend to be so particular as all that, as if you
were too grand to be rubbed by a frog. The fact is, you ought to be
very much obliged to him. Suppose you could get nobody but a toad to do
it, how would you like that?"
There was a little pause, and then Sylvie added:
"Now you may go. Be a good beetle, and don't keep your chin in the
air."
And then began one of those performances of humming, and whizzing, and
restless banging about, such as a beetle indulges in when it has
decided on flying, but hasn't quite made up its mind which way to go.
At last, in one of its awkward zigzags, it managed to fly right into my
face, and by the time I had recovered from the shock, the little fairy
was gone.
I looked about in all directions for the little creature, but there was
no trace of her--and my "eerie" feeling was quite gone off, and the
crickets were chirping again merrily, so I knew she was really gone.
And now I've got time to tell you the rule about the crickets. They
always leave off chirping when a fairy goes by, because a fairy's a
kind of queen over them, I suppose; at all events, it's a much grander
thing than a cricket; so whenever you're walking out, and the crickets
suddenly leave off chirping, you may be sure that either they see a
fairy, or else they're frightened at your coming so near.
I walked on sadly enough, you may be sure. However, I comforted myself
with thinking, "It's been a very wonderful afternoon, so far; I'll just
go quietly on and look about me, and I shouldn't wonder if I come
across another fairy somewhere."
Peering about in this way, I happened to notice a plant with rounded
leaves, and with queer little holes cut out in the middle of several of
them. "Ah! the leaf-cutter bee," I carelessly remarked; you know I am
very learned in natural history (for instance, I can always tell
kittens from chickens at one glance); and I was passing on, when a
sudden thought made me stoop down and examine the leaves more
carefully.
Then a little thrill of delight ran through me, for I noticed that the
holes were all arranged so as to form letters; there were three leaves
side by side, with "B," "R" and "U" marked on them, and after some
search I found two more, which contained an "N" and an "O."
By this time the "eerie" feeling had all come back again, and I
suddenly observed that no crickets were chirping; so I felt quite sure
that "Bruno" was a fairy, and that he was somewhere very near.
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