“‘On I flew, faster and faster, and at last I found myself again in the field of high grasses near the edge of which I had first seen the old fly. The noises and darkness of the grasses had frightened me then, but now they seemed like home to me. I was too tired to fly another inch, so I just dropped down, right into the middle of a clump of grasses.
“‘It was now much too dark to see anything and the grasses made such a rustle in the wind that the old firefly did not miss the sound of my wings at first and had flown quite some distance ahead before he realized that I was not in front of him any longer. Then, how angry he was! He knew that I must be hiding somewhere near by, and he went bumping back and forth over the field, hitting his poor head against stalks and getting crosser every minute. He flew quite close to me two or three times and I held my breath for fear he would pounce upon me. But after a long, long time he gave up hunting for me and flew angrily away.
“‘And not any too soon, either, for the moon came out presently and shone so bright that he could have seen me down in the clump of grasses at once. I waited until I was quite sure that he was out of sight and would not come back, then I sprang up and flew home as fast as my poor weak wings would carry me. And you may be sure that I have kept out of the way of fireflies ever since.’
“Thistledown stopped talking, quite out of breath and tired with his long story.
“‘It was a very interesting story,’ said the little girl, ‘and I thank you very much for telling it to me. And I’ll remember, too, what the Queen of the Fireflies told you about not meddling,’ she added thoughtfully.
“Then the little girl stood up, still holding Thistledown gently in her chubby hand.
“‘I am going to do what you did to the firefly—only I hope it won’t hurt you,’ she said. ‘Get behind you and say pouf—like that,’ and puffing out her rosy cheeks, she sent Thistledown sailing merrily away through the warm, sunshiny air.”
Letty ended her story with a little laugh.
“I feel as out of breath as Thistledown did, when he had finished his adventure,” she laughed.
“Ho!” ejaculated Christopher, who had nearly burst in his effort to keep his promise not to interrupt. “He couldn’t have blown out the old firefly’s lamp. They’re not made that way. They’re a part of the firefly—the light they make, I mean. The person who wrote that story did not know very much about beetles and things.”