“Why did you make such a fuss?” said the Miss Sahiba, after motioning to the girls, who were crowding into the room, to leave her alone with Buté.
“How could I help making a fuss?” exclaimed the astonished Buté; “the dreadful thing might have stung me!”
“Likely enough,” said the Miss Sahiba coldly, as she seated herself on the edge of the bed; “but what harm could it do?”
Buté was more and more surprised. “It was a horrid poisonous creature!” she cried.
“It was such a little one,” said the lady, looking steadfastly into the face of the girl.
Buté did not know what to make of her teacher taking the matter so quietly; she herself was not disposed to take it quietly at all. “I wish that you would have the place searched,—oh, every corner of it!” she cried. “I should not wonder if a whole nest of scorpions were hidden in some hole in the wall!”
“That’s likely enough,” said the Miss Sahiba quietly; “this is a season for insects. I saw pretty fire-flies last night; I am going to look for them again in the compound.”
“You think of fire-flies, when there may be scorpions in this very room!” exclaimed Buté. “The Sahiba does not seem to care for the danger to her poor little girl.”
Then the manner of the lady quite altered; the cold, careless look changed to one of earnestness and love. She drew the frightened Buté close to her, held her little trembling hand in one of her own, and with the other pointed to the dead scorpion which lay on the floor.